“Bedford!” cried Cavor, and behold! he was halfway between me and the grating.

“Go back!” I cried. “What are you doing⁠—”

“They’ve got⁠—it’s like a gun!”

And struggling in the grating between those defensive spears appeared the head and shoulders of a singularly lean and angular Selenite, bearing some complicated apparatus.

I realised Cavor’s utter incapacity for the fight we had in hand. For a moment I hesitated. Then I rushed past him whirling my crowbars, and shouting to confound the aim of the Selenite. He was aiming in the queerest way with the thing against his stomach. Chuzz! The thing wasn’t a gun; it went off like a crossbow more, and dropped me in the middle of a leap.