The cotton trousers fitted him too tightly. The .45 was uncomfortable, stuck down inside the belt band. Hood leaned back from the plane's window but the discomfort persisted, and he wondered if the bulky thing were worth the effort of slipping Subandu for a moment at the hospital and regaining his "possessions" from a worried Andrews. But you never knew. There was one point about a Webley .45--Birettas and short-barelled Colt Specials and what-have-yous were all very small and handy, but a .45 would stop a man, it surely would. The discomfort seemed a little less.

1965.