t recognize him then. He turned
around, walking back to the bus stop. There were still two dimes and a
nickel in his pocket.

* * * * *

He hunched down on the seat of the bus that seemed to crawl up Tenth
Avenue. But no one noticed him in the almost empty vehicle. He got off
at Sixty-Sixth and forced himself to walk to West End, up that to the
apartment-house.

Men were drawing up in cars--men with guns in their hands. He made a
final dash for the apartment entrance. This must be the real show--for
which the other had been only a dress rehearsal to throw him off
balance. They could wait.

He fumbled with the lock, until he finally got it open. Then he jumped
in, slamming the door shut behind him. Ellen stood there, and the
creature that had assaulted him before was pawing at her. But he had
no time for the monster.

"Stay there!" he shouted at her. "You can't risk it outside now! We've
got to--"

He saw she wasn't listening to him. He had to get rid of the creature
somehow, if he could get it far enough away from her. Then they'd find
some way to get outside, without going out through the entrance.

The creature sprang at him awkwardly. His arm darted down to catch one
shoulder, and his right hand swung back and up. There was a savage
satisfaction in seeing the creature crumple.

Ellen's voice reached him. "Will! Will, before I go crazy...."

"You're free," he told her. "Go down the fire escape and leave that
here. I'll get rid of them out front somehow."

He shut the door again, and went down. The words had sounded brave
enough, but there had been no courage behind them. Fear still rode
him, like the little golden haze that again hovered over him, showing
they had spotted him.

He walked out, with it thick around him, rising slowly in temperature.
They had him--but Ellen might get away. He walked down the steps, his
hands up. They drew back, surprise and something else on their
features, their eyes on the haze that surrounded him. They were
shouting, but he couldn't hear the words over the shrieks of the
people along the street, rushing inside or trying to drag their kids
to safety.

Hawkes doubled his legs under him and leaped. He was still attacking
the tiger--the slim young man, down by the big gas-storage tanks,
directing the new crop of human dupes.

His charge carried him there, while the young man slipped aside. Then
someone fired a gun.

He heard the young man