e vague, goggling eyes which were turned always upon me
were cold and merciless in their viscid hatred. I dipped the nose of
my monoplane downwards to escape it. As I did so, as quick as a flash
there shot out a long tentacle from this mass of floating blubber, and
it fell as light and sinuous as a whip-lash across the front of my
machine. There was a loud hiss as it lay for a moment across the hot
engine, and it whisked itself into the air again, while the huge, flat
body drew itself together as if in sudden pain. I dipped to a
vol-pique, but again a tentacle fell over the monoplane and was shorn
off by the propeller as easily as it might have cut through a smoke
wreath. A long, gliding, sticky, serpent-like coil came from behind and
caught me round the waist, dragging me out of the fuselage. I tore at
it, my fingers sinking into the smooth, glue-like surface, and for an
instant I disengaged myself, but only to be caught round the boot by
another coil, which gave me a jerk that tilted me almost on to my back.

"As I fell over I blazed off both barrels of my gun, though, indeed, it
was like attacking an elephant with a pea-shooter to imagine that any
human weapon could cripple that mighty bulk. And yet I aimed better
than I knew, for, with a loud report, one of the great blisters upon
the creature's back exploded with the puncture of the buck-shot. It
was very clear that my conjecture was right, and that these vast, clear
bladders were distended with some lifting gas, for in an instant the
huge, cloud-like body turned sideways, writhing desperately to find its
balance, while the white beak snapped and gaped in horrible fury. But
already I had shot away on the steepest glide that I dared to attempt,
my engine still full on, the flying propeller and the force of gravity
shooting me downwards like an aerolite. Far behind me I saw a dull,
purplish smudge growing swiftly smaller and merging into the blue sky
behind it. I was safe out of the deadly jungle of the outer air.

"Once out of danger I throttled my engine, for nothing tears a machine
to pieces quicker than running on full power from a height. It was a
glorious, spiral vol-plane from nearly eight miles of altitude--first,
to the level of the silver cloud-bank, then to that of the storm-cloud
beneath it, and finally, in beating rain, to the surface of the earth.
I saw the Bristol Channel beneath me as I broke from the clouds, but,
having still some petrol in