. "It doesn't like the light."

He might have relaxed then, but it moved. One of its arms unfolded,
swung outward holding something metallic. Simon yelled. He grabbed the
shot-gun, shoved the door catch down, threw his weight sideways. He
landed on his shoulder and kept on rolling. He reached the other side
of the road, straightened up, and saw the roof of the car fly off with
a roar. He fired then, from a crouching position and without taking
aim. A lucky shot that hit the end of the weapon arm and shattered it.
Then he ran, and the Assassin followed.

He ran in the direction he'd been heading, and gave himself up to
terror. He was primaeval man fleeing from sabre-tooth. He was living a
nightmare. His brain reeled, air burnt his lungs, and his pounding
heart echoed in his temples. Then he was running into a blaze of
light, between headlights that enfolded him like a mother's arms, and
he was clinging to a radiator cap. Dimly he heard the crash of high
powered rifles about him. A black figure came into his haven of light,
began to loosen his tie.

"Get out of the light," he gasped. "It doesn't like the light."

"Who invited you?" grunted Andrews. He put Simon's arm round his neck,
and half carried him round to the side of the car, pushed him into the
front seat.

"I'll be all right in a minute," said Simon.

"Yeah," said Andrews, and left him.

After a little while the trembling in his limbs began to subside,
breathing became easier. He leaned forward and watched a strange
battle. The Assassin was about seventy yards ahead, moving slowly
nearer. Two men stood on the right hand side of the car, pumping
bullets into the grey, indistinct mass. Andrews stood watching with
his hands in his jacket pockets. Suddenly he said, "All right, let go.
You're only wasting bullets."

Simon looked at him in alarm. "Hey, you're not just going to stand
there. It doesn't like the light, but light can't kill it."

"Lie down on the floor," said Andrews dourly, without looking at him.

"Eh?"

Andrews ignored him, stepped two paces forward. The Assassin was about
twenty yards away now, seeming to have to fight against the stream of
light. Andrews took his hands from his pockets. Simon saw what he was
holding, and dived for the floor. He clasped his hands over the back
of his neck as the night exploded with a gigantic crash.

When his ears had stopped screaming he got up. Andrews, an elbow on
the window ledge, was watching him ex