The draught in the corridor fanned the fire and the flames filled everywhere with their golden glow, casting eerie shadows. He forced himself to look at the door. Pieces of broken wood lay inside on the concrete and something glinted in the jagged hole: a shimmering of greyish-green slime on a webbed claw which was already snapping off another length of wood.
For a second Gavin stood as though transfixed. Every movement in his body seemed to have been halted by some invisible force. He had read of people being paralysed by fear. He had never believed it... until now!
The flame wafted back towards him. He felt the heat on his face. He stepped back. He could move again.
Another chunk of wood bounced on the floor. Gavin leapt forward. There was no time to lose,
The gap was larger now. Something was thrusting itself inside. A head. Squashed scaly features, bared reptilian lips, gaping quivering nostrils, eyes glinting evilly, reflecting the light from the dancing flame.
The stench was overpowering. Gavin retched even as he threw the burning newspaper into the face of the fiend. He staggered back narrowly missing a blow from that mighty claw which would have meant instant death had it connected He stumbled and fell hi a heap on the floor.
A wild unearthly scream of rage and fear filled the night air. A thousand souls hi the torments of hell could not have sounded more terrible. It seared his mind. He wanted to scream as well. Liz was already screaming.
Then suddenly there was silence for a few seconds. Nothing moved. Shambling slithering footsteps faded away across the marsh,
'What's going on?'
The beam from the torch blinded him but he recognised the Professor's voice. Gavin struggled to his feet Liz appeared on the scene also and flashed her own torch revealing her uncle, hair awry, clad hi shirt and long pants.
Gavin fought to remain calm. 'We've had a visitor, but he's gone now. It was the Slime Beast."
'Nonsense, you've been dreaming. . .'
'Just look at that then I' Gavin pointed to the splintered wood on the floor and the jagged hole in the door which was still dripping with foul-smelling slime. 'Can't you smell it, Professor?'
Lowson nodded dumbly.
'Well it's on the loose.' Gavin retorted, 'and we're responsible. We freed it from the mud. We must report it first thing tomorrow morning!'
'Oh yes,' Professor Lowson's tone was laced with sarcasm, 'and subject ourselves to ridicule. It might never be seen again. Then we should look fools in the eyes of the public. I think we agreed among ourselves that we should devote tomorrow to researching it. Then, in the light of our discoveries, we can determine our next course of action.'
'I suppose you're right,' Gavin began pulling on some jeans and attempted to make it look as though he had come out of his own room to repel the Slime Beast. 'There's one thing we must remember though. This beast is highly dangerous. Whatever the outcome of our research it has got to be destroyed. It's a menace to mankind!'
THEY slept badly for the rest of the night Gavin knew well that his improvised repairs to the door of the blockhouse were not enough against the Slime Beast should it return. However it could not enter without making a noise and Gavin was relying on sufficient warning to enable him to use the burning paper again.
After the Professor had returned to his quarters Gavin and Liz went back to their sleeping-bag.
'It's too horrible for words,' Liz sobbed, pressing her body close to his. 'I mean it's all very well Uncle Jack wanting to keep it a secret, but we can't keep quiet about a monster like that on the rampage.'
'We'll have to for the moment,' Gavin replied. 'If we go and tell the authorities that this thing's on the loose without proof of its existence they'll put us in the nut-house for a spell! '
All three of them were up soon after dawn. Liz prepared a breakfast of bacon, beans and coffee after which they felt considerably better.
Professor Lowson stuffed tobacoo into his pipe. 'Well, we can't make a move before nine o'clock. The tide doesn't turn until eight and we shan't be able to cross the big creek on to the other side of the saltings until then.'
It seemed a long wait. The Professor retired to his stuffy compartment, rummaging through books and papers. Gavin and Liz sat on the spartina grass outside the blockhouse and watched the sun come up.
'I wish we didn't have to go back to that awful hole.' Liz squeezed his hand as she spoke. 'Right now I'd like to pack everything up and go home. I don't ever want to see this horrible place again.'
'Don't worry,' Gavin tried to reassure her. 'Maybe as soon as your uncle's carried out an examination on the ' Slime Beast we'll be moving off. I guess poor old King John's treasure will take a back seat for a while.'
Liz suddenly sat bolt upright and pointed towards the sea-wall. There's somebody coming. Looks like quite a party too.'
Gavin focused his binoculars on the distant group.
'That's funny! They're police. Three in uniform and two who are obviously in charge. Plain clothes men. And somebody else. Seems to be showing them the way. It's that character your uncle punched on the jaw last night. The wildfowler fellow.' He lowered his glasses. 'Maybe he's come to prefer assault charges against the Professor. Still he'd hardly bring half the local police force with him. One constable would be enough.'
'Poor old Uncle Jack,' Liz moaned. 'Always in trouble over something.'
They sat and watched as Glover led the small parry across the saltings, taking a winding course in order to avoid the deep creeks. They could see them clearly now. The fowler had a worried, almost frightened, expression on his face. Hardly a trace of anger. The leading police officer was tall and austere, his companion short and stocky. The three constables had an air of perplexity about them.
They came to a halt in front of Gavin and Liz.
'Is Professor Lowson about?'
There was nothing friendly about the official man and Liz felt her stomach muscles tighten.
'Does somebody want me?' the Professor appeared in the doorway of the blockhouse, pipe in mouth, and an expression of annoyance on his face. Glover scowled at him but it appeared to go unnoticed.
'I'm Chief-Inspector Harborne,' the policeman held up his official card. This is my colleague, Detective-Inspector Borg.'
'What can we do for you?' Lowson was puzzled. He was not used to dealings with the law and felt at a strong disadvantage.
"There's been a ghastly murder committed.' Harborne's voice was terse, matter-of-fact 'A terrible mutilation with no apparent motive. I understand from Mr Glover here that the murdered man called upon you in the early hours of yesterday evening; a Mr Manton Haywood'
Gavin and Liz gasped audibly. Even Professor Lowson was shaken.
'What! ' he croaked. The bird-watcher ?'
That's him,'
While Harborne talked, Borg and the three constables wandered about the outside of the building. Mallard Glover fidgeted with his hands and looked down at the ground.
'He lived in the old lighthouse which you can see from here at the end of the sea-wall. I wondered if you saw or heard anything unusual during the night.'
Lowson became off-hand. 'Nothing at all. He did call here just after dark. Claimed we were disturbing his birds with our presence here, but he didn't stop long. Never came inside in fact.'
'I see.' Chief-Inspector Harborne fixed his gaze steadily on the other. 'Might I infer from that that it was not exactly a friendly meeting?'
'Not particularly.'
'Well,' Harborne's tones were grim. This is one of the vilest killings I've come across in my thirty years in the Force. The body was,' he lowered his voice so that Liz would be unable to hear him, 'mutilated and dismembered. The entrails have disappeared. Everywhere there was blood and ... slime! A horrible greyish-green slime that smells of putrifaction. The experts at this moment are trying to identify it. It's not of these marshes, that's a certainty! There was a trail of it leading from the sea-wall to the lighthouse, along the road into Sutton and back again out on to the marshes. Already most of it appears to be evaporating. Like some behemoth had risen from a watery lair and then gone back again. Trouble is you can't trace the stuff on the marshes otherwise we'd track it down without any trouble. My theory is that the murderer is a homicidal maniac. He used this vile stuff as part of a ruse to try and throw us off the scent Pretty crude, but its no monster! That stuff's for horror movies and comics.'
'Seems a bit far-fetched.' Lowson lit his pipe as though in boredom. 'If we see some monster about we'll get in touch with you.'
'Never mind the monster,' Harborne's tone was acid. 'It's a murderer we're after and we shan't rest until we've got him. So just keep your door locked at night if you must camp out here.'