As the man stood, puzzled and scared, something brushed very
lightly,-even coquettishly,--against his knuckles. He started in
nervous fright. An instant later, the same thing brushed his
knuckles again, this time more insistently. The man, in a spurt
of fear-driven rage, grabbed at the invisible object. His fingers
slipped along the smooth sides of the bewitched bag that Lad was
shoving invitingly at him.

Brief as was the contact, it was long enough for the thief's
sensitive finger tips to recognize what they touched. And both
hands were brought suddenly into play, in a mad snatch for the
prize. The ten avid fingers missed the bag; and came together
with clawing force. But, before they met, the finger tips of the
left hand telegraphed to the man's brain that they had had
momentary light experience with something hairy and warm,
--something that had slipped, eel-like, past them into the
night;--something that most assuredly was no satchel, but ALIVE!

The man's throat contracted, in gagging fright. And, as before,
fear scourged him to feverish rage.

Recklessly he pressed the flashlight's button; and swung the
muffled bar of light in every direction. In his other hand he
leveled the pistol he had drawn. This time the shaded ray
revealed to him not only his bag, but,--vaguely,--the Thing that
held it.

He could not make out what manner of creature it was which
gripped the satchel's handle and whose eyes pulsed back greenish