spot. Slowly and deliberately he went, paying no attention to the
creeping tongues of flame that crept along damp trails of spilled
gasoline.

Jimmy Holden felt helplessly alone.

For "Uncle" Paul Brennan was the laughing uncle, the golden uncle; his
godfather; the bringer of delightful gifts and the teller of fabulous
stories. Classmate of his father and admirer of his mother, a friend to
be trusted as he trusted his father and mother, as they trusted Paul
Brennan. Jimmy Holden did not and could not understand, but he could feel
the presence of menace. And so with the instinct of any trapped animal,
he curled inward upon himself and cringed.

Education and information failed. Jimmy Holden had been told and told and
instructed, and the words had been graven deep in his mind by the same
fabulous machine that his father used to teach him his grammar and his
vocabulary and his arithmetic and the horde of other things that made
Jimmy Holden what he was: "If anything happens to us, you must turn to
Paul Brennan!"

But nothing in his wealth of extraordinary knowledge covered the way to
safety when the trusted friend turned fiend.

* * * * *

Shaken by the awful knowledge that all of his props had been kicked out
from under him, now at last Jimmy Holden whimpered in helpless fright.
Brennan turned towards the sound and began to beat his way through the
underbrush.