he foremost of the two metallic monsters advanced upon the convertible and began licking the chrome off the grill with a long, tong-like tongue. Meanwhile, its companion circled to the rear and took a big bite out of the trunk. There was an awesome CRUNCH! and the convertible gave a convulsive shudder.

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At this point, Dexter got out and ran. More accurately, he jumped out and ran. A hundred feet down the road, he stopped and turned. He was just in time to see monster No. 1 bite off the right headlight. CRUNCH! Not to be outdone, monster No. 2 bit off the right taillight. CRUNCH-CRUNCH! An acrid odor affronted Dexter's nostrils, and he discerned a faint yellow haze hovering about the convertible. The rear wheels went in two bites. The 250 H.P. motor required three. CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH! The upholstery caught fire and began to burn. A gout of flame shot up as the gas tank exploded. Far from discouraging the two monsters, the resultant inferno merely served to whet their appetites. CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH!

Dexter's shoulders sagged, and the spot next to his heart that the convertible had shared with his best girl gave a spasmodic twinge. Removing his suitcoat and slinging it over his shoulder, he turned his back on the grisly repast and set out sadly for Sugardale.

He had not gone far before his stalled thought-processes got into gear again.

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The falling star he had been assigned by his editor to write up had been an unusually brilliant one according to the report the paper had received. Maybe its unusualness did not stop there. Maybe it was something more than a mere meteorite. Certainly the two monsters could not be classified as local woodland creatures.

All of which was fine as far as copy was concerned. But it didn't bring his conver