AFTER another tot of brandy, handed to him by Liz, Mallard Glover began to feel a whole lot better. He stopped trembling. After all he was capable of outrunning this hellish thing which the archaeologists referred to as the Slime Beast. So long as it didn't corner you, you were all right. He grinned to himself. Suppose it did manage to surprise the two men who had gone out to look for ft, disembowelled them as it had done to Manton Haywood.

He glanced at Liz. Hell! He wouldn't have stopped that mob from the village if it hadn't been for her. And she didn't even realise ... She was lying on top of the sleeping-bag eyes closed, asleep. There were a couple of buttons on her blouse undone. She wasn't even wearing a bra. He leaned forward in order to obtain a better view. Now he could see a nipple. His eyes travelled down her slender form. There was a patch of wet on the outside of her jeans between her thighs. His imagination began working. She'd been playing around with that fellow called Gavin. He'd shot on to her. It brought back memories. He'd never had a woman properly, only Violet, the village pro, and everybody had had Violet She'd been charging a quid since before the war. No fancy playing about for your money. Never even took her knickers off. That was why she always wore wide-legged ones.

He thought of Liz naked. He'd never even seen between a woman's legs properly. Something was pushing hard at his trousers. He couldn't remember the last time when it had reared up like that. He started undoing a few buttons, watching her all the tune. Her eyelids did not even flicker.

Perhaps he could just enjoy himself for a while and leave it at that. She'd be none the wiser when she woke up. Maybe another stain on her jeans if he wanted to be really daring. She'd never guess ...

Minutes later his desires were mounting rapidly. He checked himself. It was just a waste. Pure fantasy! What were young girls for anyway?

He rose to his feet, still holding himself, and tip-toed over to her. He stood looking down on her. She had moved in her troubled slumbers. Her legs were wider apart now. Gently he lowered himself down and knelt between them. He stretched out a hand. The third button on her blouse was almost undone anyway. All it needed was a gentle touch. The garment fell open and now he had an unrestricted view of the pure white flesh, rising and falling in time with her breathing. The pink nipples seemed to invite his mouth.

Liz's eyes flickered open the moment Mallard Glover's lips closed over her left breast. She was filled with amazement and disgust. Instinctively her right hand came across his weather-beaten face with a resounding slap.

'You filthy lecherous pig!' Her eyes were blazing. As he reared back she rolled beneath him and jumped to her feet. For the first time she noticed the lower half of his body. Fear stabbed at her heart. She almost retched. To think it had been so close!

'You foul demented snake!' she screeched, backing off and putting a packing-case between herself and Glover.

He grasped himself with both hands pointing the object of her disgust directly at her. He leered. Then his expression changed, almost pleading.

'I won't hurt you.' he avoided her gaze, 'just this once, please.'

'Don't you dare even touch me!' There was contempt in her voice.

He stood and watched her, only his hands moving. His lust was rising again. His features were contorted into a snarl. He was an animal—and he wanted a mate.

'So you're too good for me, eh?' he began to shout. 'You let that jumped-up kid do it didn't you? Maybe you let him do it regularly. Why not me then?'

She was frightened. If she didn't give him what he wanted, he would take it Any way he could. He was no better than the Slime Beast. Worse in fact. You knew where you stood with the mud monster.

He lunged forward. There was nowhere to dodge him in this cramped space. Her foot rested on the empty packing-case, and shot out in a sudden kick. The fowler staggered back as the wooden box crashed against his shins, and splinters embedded themselves in the flesh. He let out a shriek of pain.

Liz darted for the doorway. He grabbed at her and missed. She ran out into the corridor. Fortunately the door yielded as she pulled and then stuck. The gap was no more than a foot, but wide enough for her.

She felt his fingers closing on her blouse as she wriggled out into the night air. There was a tearing sound and then she was free. Naked to the waist, but free.

Glover had to waste valuable seconds forcing the door back enough to allow him to pass through, and Liz did not mean to squander that advantage. Leaping bounds took her on to the salt-marshes, the soft carpet beneath her squelching with each step.

The saltings were silvery beneath the full moon and she could see around her clearly. The sea-wall lay to her right. Beyond it stood their Land Rover. She started towards it then suddenly changed direction. Gavin had the keys to the vehicle for one thing. Another factor was that the big creek would be full as the tide was in by now.

She fought down her panic. Her best plan would be to keep parallel to the sea-wall, for way beyond the deserted lighthouse was a rickety old footbridge. She could cross there. After that Sutton would be her best bet. The nearest telephone box would soon settle Mallard Glover.

She glanced behind her quickly. The fowler was less than a hundred yards away, and he had one advantage over her. He knew every inch of these salt-marshes. But she had youth on her side. The contest could go either way.

Her heart pounded wildly. She prayed that she had the stamina to last out. If only the mud did not become any softer.

Liz could hear him now: closer. She followed the banks of the big creek. Fifteen feet of swirling muddy water lay to her right, dark and sinister. Yet she would plunge in and swim if she had to.

She dared not delay by looking back again. He was much closer now and the spike grass and tall reeds were impeding her progress. She could hear the breathing, laboured and rasping. How had he so suddenly gained on her?

She threw a quick glance over her shoulder. Merciful God! She screamed. Loud and clear. She fought to control her sanity. Compelled her aching muscles and bursting lungs to respond to an even greater effort.

It was not Mallard Glover who followed her.

It was the Slime Beast!

Subconsciously she could taste blood in her mouth. This sudden supreme effort was almost too much for her body. It cried out to her to surrender—to lie down and die.

Only her will-power drove her on. Yard after yard, slowing down all the time. The beast must catch her now!

She closed her eyes, waiting. She prayed again that it would be quick.

Then there was silence. She opened her eyes again. She was alone. The towering bullrushes around her could have concealed a thousand reptilian horrors such as the one which pursued her. Yet why should the beast resort to stealth when it had her at its mercy?

Now there were footsteps again. Rubber boots squelching in the mire. Glover! She must hide. It was too late for further flight now for he could be no more than thirty yards away.

There was a movement and a scream of sheer mortal terror. Then she saw Glover, staggering, yelling. His mind completely gone. On his heels was the Slime Beast! Two yards from him. A yard. The screaming died in a choking gurgle. She wanted to turn her head away but she could not. She was compelled to watch.

Scaly talons ripped through clothing and flesh simultaneously. Blood spouted. Greenish-grey scales became scarlet in a matter of seconds. Clawfuls of bloody entrails were crammed into cavernous jaws. The dripping slit-like mouth was incapable of taking it all, much of it running down on to the body and splashing in the mud.