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.

'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.

'He's caught it,' he breathed, admiration and fear in his voice. The Professor's actually captured the Slime Beast! '

'What's he doing?' she whispered. 'It's almost as though he's fondling it, patting it.'

Gavin peered through the hazy moonlight. It was becoming lighter every second. Although they were still fifty yards or so from Professor Lowson and his captive they could barely make out the details.

'He's doing something with a bottle,' the young archaeologist murmured. 'Taking a sample of that foul slime.'

Slowly the level of slime in the tiny bottle rose. The creature's breathing was becoming fainter and fainter.

'Ah!' Lowson grunted with satisfaction. 'I think that should do the trick.' He stood up. 'Thank you my friend. You have given me the power for which I have searched for a lifetime. Your visit to Earth has not been wasted.'

The Slime Beast breathed deeply, a shuddering which shook its whole frame. Then its breath grew faster. The flow of slime changed to a gentle oozing.

Suddenly for the first time Professor Lowson felt a twinge of fear. The Slime Beast was not going to die. It had merely been resting. Recharging itself to build up that tremendous power again! The stench, too, was increasing.

Lowson coughed and retched. It reminded him of the day when they had first discovered it.

Now there was a movement from the trapped monster. A stirring. It struggled to rise, and fell back. The netting had done its work I

A terrible roar echoed across the marsh. It gave vent to full voice. The Professor cowered back. He knew that his only chance of survival lay in flight. No longer was he concerned about the Slime Beast. The soldiers could come and finish it off in safety if they liked.

But his boot caught against a tuft of spartina grass and he was sent sprawling, the tiny bottle flying from his grasp. Frantically he searched the long marshy grass. He could not leave without that,

The Slime Beast crouched like a tiger waiting to spring. Its huge form tensed, took the strain and the entwining netting stretched, resisted and held for a moment, before finally bursting asunder. The creature fumbled for a second and then it was free.

Professor Lowson looked up as it towered over him, astride him like a colossus. He knew without a doubt that he was going to die.

It seemed to hover over him for an eternity. He saw it as a grotesque stone gargoyle, motionless except for the occasional drip of slime which ran down the scaly countenance and fell to the ground. Some dripped on him, and he felt its coldness burning into him like acid, painful yet at the same time invigorating. His veins coursed with fire at its touch and for a brief moment he imagined the sensation of bathing in it, covering his whole frame with invincibility, with power. He closed his eyes at the thought.

Suddenly he was airborne. The Slime Beast was swinging him aloft above its head crushing his ribs in a powerful grip. Liz's scream projected Gavin from the state of self-hypnosis into which he had drifted. Everything was so unreal. Perhaps he preferred to dream after all.

The flame-gun was in his hands. His cigarette lighter usually efficient, refused to spark at the first flick. Valuable seconds were lost. Then the paraffin fumes were belching forth flame. He adjusted the licking tongue of fire to its maximum length. There was no point in going any closer to this horrific creature than was absolutely necessary. Then he broke into a run.

Professor Lowson was already dead, yet the Slime Beast was not finished with him. Some instinct told it that within its grasp was an enemy more deadly than those who had attacked it in the village. It began to roar. One claw held the dead man by the waist whilst the other sought and found the scraggy neck. It braced itself and pulled. There was a loud crack followed by a tearing sound, as head and body parted. It tugged again and snapped the remaining sinews.