"Didn't you feel it up there?" Phil asked.
"Feel what?" Greeley said, his eyes measuring the lessening distance between the two cars. "You mean the horror?"
"No," Phil said. "Peace. Understanding—"
But just then the car ahead of them slowed a bit and something green flashed out of it, rolled over half a dozen times, and darted toward an alley.
"Brakes!" Greeley yelled and Phil almost tumbled into the lap of the man beside the driver as the forward rockets jetted and the back of the car lifted and slammed down. Then he realized he was the only one left in the car and scrambled out.
"The alley's blind; there's no way for it to get out," Greeley was calling. "Advance abreast. Gish, back us up!"
"Don't hurt him," Phil warned.
"We know enough for that!" Greeley yelled back.
By this time Phil was behind them, and saw the green cat crouching defiantly in the narrow alley's blind end, some twenty feet away from the advancing men.
The distance lessened to ten, and then the green cat darted forward, dodged this way, that, and dove between Greeley and the man on his right, straight into Phil's outstretched hands.