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. Jimmy Holden saw him coming. It was like one of those dreams he'd had where he was unable to move, his muscles frozen, as some unknown horror stalked him. It could only end in a terrifying fall through cold space towards a tremendous lurch against the bedsprings that brought little comfort until his pounding heart came back to normal. But this was no dream; it was a known horror that stalked him, and it could not end as a dream ends. It was reality. The horror was a close friend turned animal, and the end was more horrible because Jimmy Holden, like all other five-year-olds, had absolutely no understanding nor accurate grasp of the concept called _death_. He continued to whimper even though he realized that his fright was pointing him out to his enemy. And yet he had no real grasp of the concept _enemy_. He knew about pain; he had been hurt. But only by falls, simple misadventures, the needles of inoculation administered by his surgeon mother, a paddling for mischief by his engineer father. But whatever unknown fate was coming was going to be worse than "hurt." It was frightful. Then fate, assisted by Brennan's own act of trying to obliterate any possible evidence by fire, attracted a savior. The approaching car stopped on the road above and a voice called out, "Hello, down there!" Brennan could not refuse to answer; his own car was in plain sight by the shattered retaining fence. He growled under his breath, but he called back, "Hello, the road! Go get the police!" "Can we help?" "Beyond help!" cried Brennan. "I'm all right. Get the cops!" The car door slammed before it took off. Then came the unmistakable sounds of another man climbing down the ravine. A second flashlight swung here and there until the newcomer faced Brennan in the little circle of light. "What happened?" asked the uninvited volunteer. Brennan, whatever his thoughts, said in a voice filled with standard concern: "Blowout. Then everything went blooey." "Anyone--I mean how many--?" "Two dead," said Brennan, and then added because he had to, "and a little boy lost." The stranger eyed the flames and shuddered. "In there?" "Parents were tossed out. Boy's missing." "Bad," said the stranger. "God, what a mess. Know 'em?" "Holdens. Folks that live in the big old house on the hill. My best friend and his wife. I was following them home," lied Brennan glibly. "C'mon let's see if we can find the kid. What about the police?" "Sent my wife. Telephone down the road."