The footsteps altered course. His cries had been heard. He began to sob with relief.
His sanity left him completely the moment he caught sight of the Slime Beast. It wasn't even horrible. It was beautiful. He couldn't understand why everyone had made such a fuss about it He hated the villagers for trying to kill it. If only they had offered it the hand of friendship, of course it would have responded. The pain had gone now. It hadn't really hurt him. It had all been in his mind. He could think clearly now, but the others couldn't. All it wanted was a friend. He was surprised to find that he could stand up now. Easily. He smiled. Held out his hand. He would go back to the village with it. Show everybody. Make them feel sheepish. The soldiers too.
See! Its hands were out Embracing him. Claws around his neck. Ice-cold fetid breath on his face. Perfume. He never believed that he would pass out with sheer happiness ...
Liz nestled closer to Gavin for warmth as they listened to the firing coming from the distant village.
'Seems we chose the wrong place.'
'Sounds like the army are having the whale of a time up there.' he replied and kissed her. Tm glad. It saves us a lot of trouble.'
'Uncle too,' she smiled. 'He'll be livid when he learns they've killed it.'
He laughed softly.
'I'm dying to see the look on his face.'
'Can we really go back to London tomorrow?' she murmured.
'All the treasures of all the kings of England wouldn't keep me here a day longer,' he promised and pressed his lips to hers, his tongue searching out her mouth.
Suddenly he stiffened, and held his head to one side.
'What is it?' The anxiety had returned to her voice.
'I don't know for sure,' he replied, 'but I thought I heard something, down by the mouth of the big creek, probably about a couple of hundred yards away. Let's watch quietly for a minute. It may be nothing.'
The minutes passed then they heard a faint stirring of the spartina grass. A sucking noise such as that made by a Wellington boot being forcibly withdrawn from mud. The figure of a man was silhouetted against the silvery sheen of the receding tide. The outline was plain and only too familiar. Safari-type hat, bushy beard.
'It's Uncle!'
'Yes, it's him all right,' Gavin snapped. 'He must have been there all the time. Well I think we'll just hang back and let him make his own way to the blockhouse. Relationships are somewhat strained at the moment to put it mildly, and I've no particular desire for his company out here at this time of night. I think somehow that this expedition will be permanently dissolved tomorrow.'
They watched as Professor Lowson gathered up his bundle of netting and set off across the salt-marshes. In spite of their recent animosity towards him they could not help admiring his agility.
They let him go a distance of about three hundred yards before they decided to follow.
Professor Lowson was seething with anger. He, too, had heard the shooting followed by the silence.
The fools. The bloody fools! The most marvelous scientific discovery of all time was within the very grasp of mankind. And what did they do? They blasted it to eternity as though it were a wild animal escaped from a zoo. Now its origin would never be discovered. He thought of Gavin's theory; maybe the young fool did have something after all! A pioneer from another galaxy. Perhaps another would be sent when this one failed to return, yet it could land anywhere. He might never have the chance again.
Depression clouded his mind. The power of which he had dreamed would never be his after all. Yet, how powerful had the Slime Beast been? Had it not after all fallen to rifle bullets! He would have staked his life on the fact that those scales were virtually impenetrable.
He plodded on, his pace slowing. All was lost. He looked up. The moon was less bright now. There was a paleness in the eastern sky. The false dawn. Another half hour and the real dawn would follow. The night was almost spent.
He changed course slightly to avoid having to wade through a maze of small pools. The narrow path alongside the reed-beds was the easiest route to take.
The tall rushes were swaying, yet the breeze had dropped. There was no wind at all. A less observant man than Professor Lowson would not have given it a second thought, but his years of thoroughness in all he did had taught him to query everything. He took nothing for granted. A moistened finger was held up. There was definitely no current of air in any direction. The reeds were still moving. Something was forcing its way through them.
He stood and watched. Whatever it was, was moving very slowly. In fact it took almost five minutes to cover the remaining fifteen yards before it emerged on to the well-trodden marsh track.
It took some moments for the scene before him to register on Lowson's brain. He just stood there and looked at the Slime Beast. It gazed back at him with glazed expressionless eyes. Neither of them moved. It was as though old friends had been reunited after a short absence.
Then the Professor smiled in the same way he might have done when meeting a friend. He smiled and then he laughed. There was no fear in his heart. Only joy. Jubilation.
'So you were master of mankind after all, my friend,' he chuckled. 'They couldn't beat you in the end, not even with their rifles and tanks.'
The Slime Beast still remained on all fours just looking up at him. The slime was running freely from its scales trickling down on to the saltings and forming small greyish-green pools. Wisps of vapour were rising from its body carrying the putrifying stench into the air where it hung in small clouds. It was almost as though its terrible power was evaporating from it second by second.
There's something the matter with you old son,' Low-son murmured in the most affectionate terms he had ever used. 'You're losing your slime. If you were of this earth I'd say you were bleeding to death!'
He thought rapidly. There was no wound as such on the creature's body. The hail of rifle fire which it had withstood appeared not to have left a mark upon it Perhaps other factors had interfered with its make-up, like lead-poisoning, climate or salt residue from the marshes. It could be any one or a combination of all.
He came to a decision. A cure was impracticable, impossible and there was no time. There was only one thing to do. He must examine the Slime Beast while it was still alive. Before it was too late. All was not lost after all!
He bent down and picked up the net. It was almost too easy to be true, like shooting a sitting rabbit.
Still the creature did not move. Its strength was draining away rapidly. Maybe he would not even need the net. Yet he could afford to take no chances.
He drew back his arms, poised for a second and then the net sailed from his grasp. It spread out, appearing to hang motionless for a split second before plummetting downwards. Perfect, beyond his wildest dreams.
The Slime Beast remained immobile. If it was aware of the fact that it was now a prisoner it gave no sign. Baleful expressionless eyes looked through rising clouds of stinking vapour and its breath rasped, becoming weaker by the second.
Professor Lowson knew what he must do. He was certain that the Slime Beast's power emanated from the foul slime which constantly oozed from its pores. Once free of the body this evaporated into nothingness within a very short time. However if a sample of it were taken and kept in an airtight container he believed that it would remain in its original form allowing him to carry out the necessary tests.
From his pocket he withdrew a small, empty medicine bottle. He uncorked it and stepped forward. The most constant flow of slime was pouring from the flared nostrils like mucus. It was from there that he must take the sample he required.
CHAPTER TWELVE
'On my God! Look!' Liz Beck recoiled at the sight which greeted them as they rounded the bend in the reed-bed. Gavin's restraining hand pulled her back.