nemy
that lurked there in the cliffs.

Again the crags flung back the insult, but this time the echoes, booming
over the moor, were drowned by another voice, the voice of the enemy.

At the far end of the moor appeared a gigantic form, a form that
shambled on grotesque, misshapen feet, growling angrily as he came.

He came rapidly despite his clumsy gait, and as he came he mouthed
terrific threats.

Close to the other he halted and only then did recognition dawn in his
eyes.

"_You, Mal Shaff?_" he growled in his guttural tongue, and surprise and
consternation were written large upon his ugly face.

"Yes, it is I, Mal Shaff," boomed the other. "Remember, Ouglat, the day
you destroyed me and my plane. I have returned to wreak my vengeance. I
have solved a mystery you have never guessed and I have come back. You
did not imagine you were attacking me again when you sent your minions
to that other plane to feed upon the beings there. It was I you were
attacking, fool, and I am here to kill you."

Ouglat leaped and the thing that had been Henry Woods, newspaperman, and
ninety-eight other men, but was now Mal Shaff of the fourth dimension,
leaped to meet him.

Mal Shaff felt the force of Ouglat, felt the sharp pain of a hammering
fist, and lashed out with those horrible arms of his to smash at the
leering face of his antagonist. He felt his fists strike solid flesh,
felt the bones creak and tremble beneath his blow.

His nostrils were filled with the terrible stench of the other's foul
breath and his filthy body. He teetered on his gnarled legs and
side-stepped a vicious kick and then stepped in to gouge with
straightened thumb at the other's eye. The thumb went true and Ouglat
howled in pain.

Mal Shaff leaped back as his opponent charged head down, and his knotted
fist beat a thunderous tattoo as the misshapen beast closed in. He felt
clawing fingers seeking his throat, felt ghastly nails ripping at his
shoulders. In desperation he struck blindly, and Ouglat reeled away.
With a quick stride he shortened the distance between them and struck
Ouglat a hard blow squarely on his slavering mouth. Pressing hard upon
the reeling figure, he swung his fists like sledge-hammers, and Ouglat
stumbled, falling in a heap on the sand.

Mal Shaff leaped upon the fallen foe and kicked him with his taloned
feet, ripping him wickedly. There was no thought of fair play, no
faintest glimmer of mercy. This was a battle to the death: