Chapter III: Part 3

"I think it was that coupe back there," the thug said, peering out the window. "I must have hit a tire: it's out of control."

"Good Lord!" the congressman yelled, "the curve's right ahead! We're pinned in between them. We're going to crash. Everybody's going to crash!"

No sooner was this dire prediction out of the congressman's mouth than it became a deafening reality. Ahead, the green sedan raced headlong into the concrete embankment with a rending smash and almost literally flattened itself into two dimensions.

This was the signal for the two lesser crashes that followed. The limousine engaged its radiator forcibly into the wreckage just in time to receive a skidding broadside from the coupe.

* * * * *

A moment of silence followed, emphasized by the approaching scream of a siren. The police car jolted to a stop and the two cops ran forward to the scene of destruction. They reached the coupe first.

"Here!" the first cop said. "What's going on?"

The faded blonde jutted her head out of the window. "He blew out my tire!" she rasped. "Not to mention all that pinching!"

"Pinching?" the cop asked curiously. "What kind of pinching, lady? Where?"

"All kinds of pinching," the woman said evilly. "Everywhere."

The cop peered at Marc. "Why's he dressed in that nightshirt?"

"How should I know?" the woman said. "Maybe he thinks he's cute or something."

The cop leaned closer. "Here, you," he said, "why are you dressed like that?"

"I'm tired," Marc said exhaustedly, "and I want to go to bed. I had a little drink about an hour ago...."

"Stop that now," the cop barked. "No nonsense."

"But it's all perfectly true," Marc said.

The cop started to speak further, but he caught sight of the congressman and his companion climbing out of the limousine and tore himself away.

"There are people dying in that car!" the congressman shouted tragically, hurrying forward. "It's awful, officer!"

"All maimed and cut up," the thug put in. "Loose heads and legs and stuff all over the place."

"Have you seen them?" the policeman asked.

"Well, they must be," the congressman put in quickly. "How could it be otherwise? The man in the car is Marc Pillsworth. I saw him just before the crash."

The policeman did a take. "Yeah?"

"Sure," the thug said excitedly. "Only now he's all cut up--loose head and arms and...!"

"Shut up," the congressman snapped.

"They might still be alive," the cop said. "We've got to do something about it."

"Indeed we do," the congressman said. "Perhaps we can assist them."

"Come on," the cop said. "You can give a hand."

* * * * *

Dutifully the three turned to the sedan. They turned and then stopped with a harmonized gasp, the cop taking the bass. In the moment of their turning there had been a sudden movement in the car and the door had swung partially open. In the opening there appeared a leg of provocative shapeliness.

"A leg!" the thug shuddered. "I told you!"

"A dame's leg," the cop breathed. "And just think what the rest of her must have been like with a leg like that! Just imagine...!" He sucked in his breath as the leg began to show unexpected signs of life. It quivered, turned and was quickly joined by a mate of equal perfection. It was only a moment before Toffee appeared in total, quite unmarked. Her mood, however, was hostile. Quitting the ruined car she turned back to the door and thrust her head inside.

"Of all the beastly, rotten, evil-minded, stinking things to do to a girl!" she snapped. "Come out of there you slimy-souled son of Satan and fight like a man. I'll teach you to make foul passes at a girl when she is stuck under a clutch. I'll show you...!"

"Good gosh!" the cop said. "Who's she talking to?"

"She must be hysterical," the congressman said, thoroughly shaken. "Probably got a crack on the head and isn't accountable for what she's saying."

"That's certainly no way to talk to the dead," the cop said.

"It's no way to talk to the living," the thug said. "If she hauled off at me like that I'd rather be dead."

"The poor child's obviously insane," the congressman said firmly. "There's no question about it."

Meanwhile Toffee was still at it. "Come out of there, you hulking lout," she grated, "before I come in there and drag you out by your ears!"

"Poor little thing," the cop said sadly. "She really believes Mr. Pillsworth can come out of that car. She refuses to believe he's dead."

By now Toffee had stepped forward and yanked the door all the way open. As the three in the background stared in varying degrees of apprehension, a thin figure in a brief linen gown crawled out on its hands and knees. The congressman swayed slightly as though about to faint.

"You look more natural down on all fours, you beast," Toffee rasped. "I ought to kick you right in the slats. Get up and try to face me if you've the nerve!"

* * * * *

Apparently the shock of the accident had given George's ectoplasm a further jolt for now he was completely materialized. He looked up at Toffee ruefully and got to his feet.

"I was only trying to get you loose," he said.

"The way you were pawing me was enough to get any girl loose," Toffee said. "Just don't try it again."

"Gawd a'mighty!" the thug whispered. "Pillsworth!"

"Pillsworth?" the cop said. "But that's the same guy who was pinching the other dame in the coupe. My gosh! how he gets around!"

Just then the other policeman, who had retreated to the background, arrived on the scene with Marc and the blonde in custody.

"Hey," he said, "I caught this creep on the creep. He was trying to sneak out."

The cop looked quickly at Marc, then back to George. "It's the same guy!" he said. "Which one of you birds is Pillsworth?"

Marc and George went smoothly into their routine of pointing to each other in unison.

"He is!" they said.

The cop turned to Toffee. "Do you know which is which?" he asked.

"Sure," Toffee said and nodded at George. "He's Pillsworth."

"She's crazy," George retorted hotly. "She's as crazy as bedbugs in a bathtub."

"That's right," the thug put in. "She's a looney if there ever was one."

Marc moved urgently to gain the cop's attention. "You've got to arrest that man," he said, pointing at the congressman. "He's a subversive and a murderer."

* * * * *

The congressman whirled about. "You must be insane, sir!" he rasped in frantic denial.

"_You_ must be," Marc said. "You must have been ripe for the hatch years ago."

"You're a fine one to talk," the blonde put in nastily. "Officer, this man is off his rocker like a busted hobby horse. He's done nothing but pinch me ever since we met."

Toffee levelled her gaze at Marc. "What were you doing pinching that tomato?" she demanded. "Just what were you getting at?"

"Oh, don't be crazy," Marc said distractedly.

"Oh, so I'm crazy, am I?" Toffee said, doubling her fists.

"You sure are, sister," the thug put in. "You're the most hopped up dame I ever saw." He turned to the cop. "She ought to be locked up."

"Oh, yeah?" Toffee said. "At least I didn't put anyone in a busted car and send them off to get killed. Officer, I want you to arrest that killer."

"Look, officer," Marc insisted, "you've got to take this man into custody. He's a menace to the whole country."

"If you take anyone in, officer," the blonde put in harshly, "make it this skinny bimbo. Pinch him like he pinched me."

The congressman moved in aggressively toward Marc. "You're making slanderous accusations!" he blustered. "You should be committed to an institution!"

"You're crazy!" Marc raged.

"_You're_ crazy!" the blonde screeched.

"_You're_ crazy!" Toffee hollered at the blonde.

"_You're_ crazy!" the thug insisted moodily.

The cop turned dizzily to his companion and held out a palsied hand. "Hurry!" he pleaded, "call the wagon, and let's take the whole bunch of them in. In another minute _I'm_ going to be crazy!"

* * * * *

The morning sun poured through the high windows of the courtroom, wasting its brightness on a scene of sullen dementia. Judge Carper's heavy face had achieved a shade of dyspeptic vermillion in record time this morning. Even the flies clung to the walls in muted terror as his gavel banged on the substantial wood of the bench and set the room atremble.

"Silence!" the judge roared. "Silence, damnit! And if one more defendant makes just one more crack about the sanity of any other defendant I'll lock the whole crew of you up and melt the key down for a watch fob." He ran his shaking hand over his forehead. "Besides, so far I don't even know which ones of you are the defendants and which are the complainants." He turned to the policeman. "Do you know?"

"I'm not sure," the cop admitted uneasily. "I think they're all both."

"Both what?" the judge asked confusedly.

"Both defendants and complainants. As far as I can tell everybody's mad as hell at everybody else. It sort of goes around in a circle."

"And I'm burned up at the lot of them," the judge said malignantly. "Who are those two over there without any clothes on?"

"I think they lost their clothes in the crash," the cop said vaguely. "The guy is really two guys, so it's hard to tell."

"What?"

"There are really two guys like that," the cop said. "Dressed alike."

The judge peered across at Marc with deep speculation. "I only see one of him," he said dryly.

"The other one disappeared," the cop said, casting down his eyes. "He--well, sort of evaporated."

"Evaporated? What are you talking about?"

"It's a fact, your honor. It happened on the way in. The only way I can explain it is that one minute he was there and the next he just sort of melted away."

"Rooney," the judge said, "have you lost your wits?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, judge," the cop sighed. "Everyone else has. Why not me?"

"There's only one man there, Rooney," the judge said harshly. "And judging by those skinny legs of his, maybe not even that."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you bucking for another vacation, Rooney, is that it?"

"Well, your honor, I do feel tired. It seemed to come over me all of a sudden, after I ran into all those people."

"All right, we'll see what can be done. In the meantime let's have no more of this falderol about one man being two, only one of them evaporated."

* * * * *

"Yes, your honor," Rooney said, greatly saddened. "There's only one man. I guess I was mistaken."

"Or drunk," the judge murmured sourly and turned his gaze to the assortment before him. "Now what happened with this gang?"

"They were all in a wreck that involved three cars. The young lady in the underskirt was driving the first one. She claims that the dark man with the scar tried to murder her by forcing her to drive a car with a broken steering gear."

"What does he say?"

"He says the young lady is mentally unstable and of low character. It seems that he and the congressman observed her in the car for some time before the crash. They say that her behavior was most erratic, that she wailed and shrieked and at one point tried to abandon the car in full motion."

"How else can you abandon a car?" the judge said sharply. "You have to be in full motion."

"I mean the car was in full motion."

"I see. Where was this gentleman and the congressman while they were doing all this observing?"

"They were in the second car. The congressman was driving. The dark man is his body-guard. He was cleaning his gun at the time and that's how he happened to shoot the third car, although the young lady insists he was trying to shoot her."

"I think I've lost the thread," the judge said foggily. "Who was in the third car?"

"The man with the skinny legs who says he isn't Pillsworth, and a blonde woman."

"He says he isn't Pillsworth and a blonde woman?" the judge asked, his eyes loosening in their sockets. "Why should he say a thing like that?"

"No, no," the cop said earnestly, "he just says he isn't Pillsworth."

"Then he admits to being a blonde woman?" the judge gasped. "He must be mad!"

"No," the cop said, "he doesn't admit anything about being a blonde woman."

"Then he denies being a blonde woman," the judge said with relief. "I wish you'd give me this story straight. Who accused him of being a blonde woman in the first place?"

"No one," the cop said, almost tearfully. "He was only accused of being Pillsworth."

"Pillsworth? You mean the fellow the hospital's looking for? Who said he was Pillsworth?"

A look of doom came into the cop's eyes. "The--the other one, your honor," he said.

"The other what?" the judge glowered. "Stop being evasive and answer my questions."

* * * * *

Rooney swallowed fatefully. "The other Pillsworth," he answered. "He accused Pillsworth of being Pillsworth--that is unless he's Pillsworth himself. Only he melted away so I guess we'll never really know. The blonde woman insists she can't identify him."

There was a dreadful silence as the judge tapped the palm of his hand with the gavel. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling then levelled it slowly on Rooney.

"So we're back to the blonde woman again, are we?"

"I'm afraid so," Rooney admitted weakly. "That's her over there, looking mad."

"I had hoped we were through with the blonde woman," the judge said acidly. "I thought we'd washed the blonde woman up."

"No, your honor, I'm afraid not."

"This isn't the same blonde woman that Pillsworth denies being, is it?"

"No, sir."

"Does she deny that she's Pillsworth, is that it?"

"No, sir," Rooney sighed hopelessly. "She's just a blonde woman. She refuses to give her name because her husband's a butcher."

"Is she a defendant or a complainant?"

"A complainant," the cop said. "She said that Pillsworth stole her car and pinched her. That is if he's Pillsworth, and he denies it."

"Don't you mean he pinched her car?"

"No, sir. He stole her car, but he pinched her--on the thigh."

"My word!" the judge said.

The cop nodded. "She wants to sue someone, only since there were two of them she doesn't know which one did the pinching. She can't be sure whether it was this Pillsworth or the other one--if you follow my meaning."

The judge paled. "Are you being deliberately cryptic, Rooney, or is it simply that you can't see your way clear to be clear, if I make myself clear."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you, your honor."

"Just a taste of your own medicine, Rooney," the judge said vengefully. "How do you like it?" He turned his gaze moodily on the blonde. "About this blonde...?"

"Yes, your honor?"

"She gets everything all snarled up. Every time she enters the picture it ceases to make sense. Do you suppose this would all clear up if I just had her thrown out of court?"

"I don't think so. With or without her, things are snarled up just the same. I've never seen so much snarling in all my life; these people just don't seem to like each other."

"What about this fellow who denies he's Pillsworth?" the judge asked. "Is he the only pure defendant in the bunch?"

"Oh, no, your honor. He's the biggest complainant of the lot. And he's far from pure. He's accusing the congressman of being the head of a gang of subversives who are planning to kill the entire population with bacteria."

* * * * *

The judge leaned across the bench, plainly scandalized. "The congressman!" he gasped. "Why Congressman Entwerp was a classmate of mine!"

"Yes, your honor. And he's threatened suit against this fellow for slander."

"Good," the judge said. "Have this Pillsworth or whoever he is brought before the bench. Obviously, he's a low criminal type. It sticks out all over him."

The cop nodded and turned in Marc's direction. "You," he said. "The judge will hear you."

Across the room, however, Marc gave no sign of hearing. Instead, he was gazing intently at the vacant chair next to his own. On his face was an expression of anxious annoyance.

"Now, look, George," he said, "You owe it to humanity to show yourself and help get this mess cleared up. Why not be a good loser for a change?"

The empty chair shifted, just perceptibly, with an air of complacency.

"Maybe they'll hang you," George replied hopefully from thin air.

"Don't be silly," Marc said. "There's no reason why they should. Come on, now, be a good fellow and help get this over with."

"Oh, I'm going to help get it over with," George said pleasantly. "When I'm through, they'll lower the boom on you so hard you'll be the first man in history to be buried in an envelope."

Just then Toffee leaned forward and touched Marc's arm. "The judge wants to speak to you," she said. "Come on, let's go."

Marc glanced around. "Did he call you too?"

"Well, no," Toffee admitted, "but I'm an interested party. I want to see that you get fair treatment."

"Couldn't you just stay out of it?" Marc pleaded. "Couldn't I just handle this myself?"

"Nonsense," Toffee said. "You need me. Come on, the old gaffer's beginning to look apoplectic again."

"Oh, all right," Marc sighed. Getting up he followed Toffee to a position before the bench. The judge glowered down at them critically.

"So glad you finally found you could come," he said.

"Thank you," Toffee beamed. "It's nice of you to have us."

The gavel barked irritably. There was silence until the judge's eyebrows ceased to twitch.

"What are you doing here?" the judge enquired with forced composure. "Who called you forward?"

"Lots of people have called me forward," Toffee said, "but that's just talk, judge. I'm just impulsive."

"Silence!" the judge said. "Good God, girl, no one asked you for any sordid confessions. I just want to know what you're doing here?"

Toffee nodded toward Marc. "I'm with him," she said.

"Then he's the man who was with you in the green sedan?"

"Oh, no." Toffee shook her head. "He's the other one."

The judge blanched. "The other one?" he asked apprehensively.

Toffee nodded. "They're exactly alike. Only this one is nicer. That's why I switched."

The judge raised his gavel warningly, and turned to Marc. "Are you twins, sir?"

Marc opened his mouth to speak, but before he could George's voice sounded immediately behind him.

"Do I look like twins, you thick-headed joker?" the voice asked. "And if you must drink in the morning, for Godsake lay off the cheap stuff so you don't see double. I always heard justice was blind but I didn't know it was blind drunk."

* * * * *

There was an ominous silence in the court as the judge raked Marc with a glance of pure loathing. "Are you deliberately in contempt of court?" he asked.

Again Marc started to speak and again the voice beat him to it. "In it?" it said. "I'm fairly swimming in high octane contempt."

The blonde who had been watching these proceedings with growing agitation suddenly sprang from her chair. "That's him!" she yelled hysterically. "I'm positive!"

"Be quiet, you!" the judge barked. "I've had enough out of you!"

"But he pinched me!" the blonde cried.

"You're lucky that's all he did," the judge snapped.

"But you don't know where!"

The judge eyed her distantly. "With that lumpy figure of yours," he said, "it could scarcely matter. Now, shut up." He turned back to Marc. "I understand you've been making libelous remarks against Congressman Entwerp."

Marc looked around hopelessly, afraid to open his mouth lest George would take over again. He compressed his lips into a thin line.

"Speak up, man!"

Marc looked up unhappily. "I--I--," he murmured fearfully.

"What's the matter with you?" the judge asked. "Let's hear your accusations against my good friend the congressman."

"The congressman?" Marc ventured, then brightened as he noticed there was no interference from George. "Oh, yes. The congressman must be imprisoned at once, your honor. He's a national menace. He instigated a propaganda program to dope the public against the threat of the foreign powers. But worst of all, he has enough bacteria culture to murder the entire population."

"And what's more," Toffee broke in, "he pinched my gadget."

The judge's eyes swiveled about hauntedly. "He _what_?"

"Pinched my gadget," Toffee insisted. "The one with the button."

"Now just a minute," the judge said a little wildly. "Wasn't it the blonde woman who had her gadget pinched?"

"Don't be silly," Toffee said. "She hasn't a gadget to be pinched."

"She hasn't?" the judge said in a startled whisper. "What happened to her gadget?"

"I guess she just didn't have one in the first place," Toffee said. "You can't just go out and buy them, you know."

* * * * *

The judge turned to the cop. "Do you know anything about why this blonde woman doesn't have a gadget?" he asked interestedly.

"Search me," the cop said. "I didn't know she didn't. Maybe it's because her husband's a butcher. Maybe...."

"Don't," the judge cried, shuddering. "Don't go on! I don't even want to think about it."

"Well, who cares about her gadget anyway?" Toffee asked bewilderedly. "It's _my_ gadget I'm trying to tell you about."

"And I don't want to hear about it," the judge said shortly. "This court is no place for examination room discussions."

"Or much of anything else," Toffee retorted angrily. "Especially justice."

"Look, judge," Marc put in desperately. "You've got to listen to me. About all this bacteria...."

"Bacteria?" the judge said, startled. "What about bacteria?"

"It's a threat," Marc said. "It's got to be stopped."

The judge nodded. "My dentist said the same thing the other day. Are you a dentist?"

"Of course I'm not a dentist," Marc said. "It's the congressman."

"That's preposterous," the judge said. "The congressman isn't a dentist, never has been. You're just trying to rattle me."

Again, as Marc started to speak, the voice from behind took over. "That's rich, that is," it slurred. "You were rattled the day you were born, you old tosspot, and you've been getting balmier ever since. If you have the brain of a gnat...."

The gavel smashed down on the bench like the crack of doom.

"Go!" the judge said. "Go and leave me alone! You're all trying to drive me out of my mind."

"With a mind like yours," Toffee said, "it would be a fast drive on a kiddy car."

"Go!" the judge screamed. "Go away!"

Defeated by sheer volume, Marc and Toffee retreated back to their chairs and sat down. The one next to Marc's scraped back a trifle of its own volition.

"You fiend!" Marc hissed at the empty chair. "That was a fine mess, wasn't it?"

"Glad you admire my work," George said complacently out of thin air. "Isn't it remarkable how exactly alike our voices sound?"

"Go to hell," Marc said sullenly.

"If I do I'll probably meet you there," George said. "The old boy has you marked down for a sanity test. I heard him say so as you left up there. Somehow, it warms me to think of you locked up with a bunch of homicidal maniacs. Who's to say what might happen to you?"

The gavel rapped on the bench again, this time more calmly.

"I'd like to speak to the congressman," the judge announced. "Not that I put any stock in the ridiculous accusations of that black-hearted nit-wit, but I would like to talk to someone rational for a change."

Across the room, the congressman rose from his chair with portly composure.

"I'm happy for the opportunity to defend myself against the ravings of this lunatic," he said smoothly, "though I'm certain the court hasn't taken them the least bit seriously."

"Of course not, congressman," the judge said grandly. "This court is always fair and impartial. Step up and have a chair. I'm sorry I can't offer you a drink during session, but perhaps we could have lunch together somewhere?"

"Good grief!" Toffee whispered. "They're carrying on like old sweet-hearts."

* * * * *

The congressman smiled pityingly at Marc. "Actually, I have the greatest compassion for our poor friend here," he said magnanimously. "Who knows what dreadful experience drove him out of his senses?"

"Why the old foghorn!" Marc hissed between clenched teeth. "He's got enough gall to float a fleet."

"As for his fantastic charges," the congressman continued, "they're almost too silly to refute." He beamed on the judge. "I think you know just about how subversive I am, your honor."

The judge smiled broadly. "Call me Ralph," he said.

"Okay, Ralph," the congressman smiled. "And about that bacteria business; the only bacteria culture I have is home in the refrigerator. I just happened to let some cheese go mouldy."

The judge laughed immoderately. "Oh, Congressman!" he gasped, wiping his eyes. "You always were a wit!"

Toffee frowned her disapproval. "This is worse than television," she said.

"What am I going to do?" Marc said. "I can't let him get away with it. I'll wind up in an asylum while he sells the whole country down the river."

Toffee nodded morosely. "We've got to think of something," she said. "If they won't listen to sense, I guess the only thing to do is resort to madness."

"How do you mean?"

"Trade seats with me," Toffee said. "I want to talk to George."

"It won't do any good. He won't listen to sense any more than the rest of them."

"That's all right," Toffee said. "What I have in mind is more nonsense--and a little hypnotism."

"Hypnotism?"

"Uh-huh. I told you I've been studying. Come on, trade."

* * * * *

As unobtrusively as possible they changed seats. Toffee settled herself, crossed her legs with care, and turned to the vacant seat at her side. When she spoke her voice was husky and confidential.

"Look, George," she said, "I've been thinking...."

The chair quivered interestedly. "Yes?" George's voice said out of emptiness. "What about?"

"You and me," Toffee said. "I've just been going over things in my mind, and you know, George, I've really been sort of foolish."

"How do you mean?"

"Well take the way I always favor Marc against you. Suddenly it just occurred to me that there's no logical reason for it. After all you're just alike--except for a few little differences, of course."

"Oh?" George said, a note of interest creeping into his voice. "What differences?"

"Well, for instance, you're more aggressive, George. You have a more active, dynamic personality. You're the sort who knows what he wants and goes out after it."

"I suppose you could say that," George admitted. "What else?"

"You're cleverer, too. Look at the way you've got Marc bottled up right now, for example. He's a dead duck. In fact, to tell you the truth, George, you make Marc look pretty sick. I'm beginning to think a girl would be much better off with you."

George cleared his throat. "You're sure you mean it?" he asked.

"Of course I do," Toffee said. "Why wouldn't I, George? It's not just that you're cleverer and more dominant than Marc, there are other little things too, things only a woman would notice. Your eyes, for instance."

"My eyes?"

Toffee nodded. "Uh-huh. Your eyes are ever so much more exciting than Marc's. I don't know what it is, but there's a subtle difference. I guess it's personality. I've always noticed it."

"Oh, my eyes aren't all that good," George demurred. "Pleasant and friendly, perhaps, but...."

"Oh, much more than that," Toffee insisted. "Flashing and roguish."

"You really think so?"

"Certainly. That and more." Toffee paused for a moment, appeared hesitant. "George...?"

"Yes, Toffee?"

"Would you show me your eyes? Just materialize them for a moment so I can gaze into them?"

"Do you really like them that much?"

"Please, George...."

"Well ... all right."

* * * * *

And so it was that the congressman, long distracted by a view of Toffee fawning on a vacant chair, suddenly found himself staring across the room at two disembodied eyes which lolled in mid-air, swiveling and rolling about in a delirious attempt to be flashing and roguish. He coughed in a strangled way and glanced around at the judge.

The judge, had the congressman been astute enough to notice, had suddenly gone white about the gills and showed a shifty disinclination to meet his gaze. The truth of the matter was that the judge, similarly baffled by Toffee's seductive attitude toward the chair, had also been subjected to the nasty sight of George's grotesque eye exercises. He, like the congressman, had experienced a feeling of giddiness at the nape of the neck and decided against mentioning the incident. After gazing upon a pair of air-borne eyes which have just crossed themselves in their zeal to convey the charm of the rake, one is generally loath to bring the subject up with anyone save the local psychiatrist. However, had either gentleman had the least inkling of the mad delights yet to come, they might have well bolted the room, shouting the news to the world.

The fact was that Toffee, in her endeavor to hypnotize George, was meeting with extraordinary success. Having gazed into George's eyes with his full cooperation it was only the matter of a moment before the hapless shade was completely mesmerized. The eyes, under Toffee's steady gaze, grew heavy, drooped, closed altogether, then reopened with a slightly dazed appearance. It was not a pleasant sight, but Toffee appeared to find satisfaction in it.

Not so, however, the judge and the congressman. Watching these developments with sidelong anxiety, they were sore put to it to continue with the business at hand.

"Yes, yes," the judge said vaguely, "you were telling me about this blackguard who's been saying all these filthy things about you...?"

"Eh?" the congressman said, starting. "_Oh!_ Oh, yes. This fellow, the blackguard. I was saying that if he was half a man...!"

The congressman got no further for it was precisely in this moment that Toffee commanded George to materialize. There must have been, however, a lack of authority in her tone, for the results fell short of perfection. In fact, they fell short by exactly fifty percent. George, starting at the top of his head, blossomed rapidly into being down to the waist and there, quite devoid of his lower quarters, stopped. In effect, no sooner did the congressman speak of half a man than the order was filled to exact specifications. The congressman not only stopped speaking, but stopped breathing as well.

* * * * *

A nervous hush fell over the courtroom, for by now several others had begun to notice the half-portion George and were just as reticent to mention the matter as either the congressman or the judge. The judge clutched grimly to the bench for support and forced himself to look away. He laughed a dry, cackling laugh.

"Well, well," he said with feeble heartiness, "we mustn't fall into a reverie, must we? You haven't half--I mean you haven't really begun to tell me about these slurs against you, congressman."

There was something markedly distraught in the congressman's expression as he turned back to the bench. He fiddled with his tie, reached into his pocket, took something out and began to finger it nervously. It was Toffee's gadget.

"Well," he babbled. "I was only saying that anyone with half--I mean any mind at all would be able to see ... uh ... see...."

As he spoke, the congressman turned the gadget absently in his hand. It was on the fifth turn, when it was pointing directly at the judge, that his finger inadvertently snagged against the button and shoved it to one side. Instantly, as though the judge had never been there at all, the bench was starkly and dramatically deserted, with only the gavel left to mark its recent occupancy. The congressman gaped unbelievingly, shook his head, closed his eyes, then opened them again. The judge was still absent.

The congressman turned to the others and found himself and the bench the focal points for a sea of shocked eyes. He shuddered, pressed the gadget self-consciously in a fit of nerves. The button snapped in the opposite direction. In the next instant there was a shrill scream from the faded blonde.

Those in court turned in unison to find that the judge, just as suddenly as he had departed, had reappeared. This time, however, he was comfortably ensconced in the lap of the distraught blonde. In a courtroom where many odd things had recently taken place, it was the general concensus that when the judge of that court sneaks from the bench, creeps up on the nearest blonde and hurls himself into her lap, some sort of climax has been reached. A murmur of indignation rose through the room.

The blonde, for her part, agreed with the concensus, but did not stop at an indignant protest. Doubling up her fist she belted the judge a nasty blow in the eye.

"You mangey old goat!" she shrieked.

The congressman, by now in a veritable frenzy of nervousness, pressed the button again. This time it was Toffee who disappeared. The murmur in the court became still more disturbed. The congressman twiddled the button in the opposite direction.

Miraculously, Toffee appeared behind the bench in the judge's position. She picked up the gavel and banged for attention.

"The court will come to order!" she shrilled happily. "Knock it off, everybody!"

* * * * *

A new kind of hush fell over the room. The congressman, slack-mouthed, looked up at Toffee with the fearful look of a man who has finally been backed to the wall on the question of his own sanity. The judge, nursing a blow on the left ear as another was being addressed to the right, looked up in horror.

"Here!" he yelled. "Get off that bench!"

"Get off that blonde!" Toffee shot back. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself." She whirled about on the trembling congressman. "As for you, you big fat traitor, I want a clean confession and no nonsense."

"I don't have to talk to you," the congressman said uncertainly. "You can't make me say anything."

"Maybe not," Toffee said, "but what about your conscience?"

"Conscience?" the congressman said uncertainly.

"The term is unfamiliar to you?" Toffee said. "I'm not surprised. Let me try to explain it to you. A guilty conscience can play awful tricks on people." She eyed the congressman closely. "It can even make you think you're seeing things, for instance."

The congressman's eyes widened with an awful fear. "See--see things?" he quavered. "What kind of things do you mean?"

"Well," Toffee said reflectively, "say a man is responsible for another man's murder. If his conscience gets ahold of him he may begin to see that man as still alive. He may even see two such men, just alike. In really bad cases the subject is likely to imagine one of the men in a state of mutilation, say cut in half. Of course, that's pretty extreme."

The congressman glanced compulsively in George's direction and turned ashen. George, still at half mast, stared back at him with fixed blankness. The congressman groaned.

"Then there's the very worst sort of conscience," Toffee went on. "That's when everything gets mixed up. Through a close study of recorded cases, we find that the first attack commonly occurs when the criminal is confronted with his crimes, usually publicly, as in a court of law."

"H--how do you mean?" the congressman whispered. "Whu--what happens?"

"Well, everything begins to appear to be just the opposite of what it really is. There is a famous English case in which the victim was so far gone that he actually believed that the magistrate on the bench had become a beautiful girl. He described the illusion, I believe, as a gorgeous redhead with an exquisite figure and legs too perfect to be true." Toffee laughed gaily. "Can you imagine anyone getting themselves looped up to that extent?"

The congressman forced a laugh that had all the light-hearted spontaneity of a coffin lid being pried up at midnight. "That boy was really gone, wasn't he--your honor?"

"Call me Ralph, old man," Toffee said.

"Of course, Ralph, old boy," the congressman said, blinking.

* * * * *

Experimatically, Toffee opened a drawer under the bench and withdrew a large black cigar. Inserting this into her month, she leaned forward toward the congressman. "Gotta light, friend?" she enquired.

The congressman started back sharply at this new incongruity. It was a moment before he recovered.

"Sure," he said, taking out a lighter and waggling it beneath the cigar. "Sure thing."

Taking a healthy puff on the cigar, Toffee leaned back luxuriously and blew out a cloud of smoke. "What say we adjourn?" she suggested. "We can slip around to the club and cut up a few touches with the boys."

"Well, all right," the congressman said, attempting a wan smile. "But...."

Toffee took the cigar from her mouth and leaned forward. "Yes, old man?"

"About these cases," the congressman said. "That fellow in England...."

"Oh, the one who thought the magistrate was a beautiful girl? It's hard to believe, of course, but you must remember it was an extreme case. The most severe ever recorded, I believe. The funeral was only a formality, of course, since there wasn't even a scrap of him recovered. Exploded, you know."

"Exploded!"

"That's right. The only thing of its kind in medical history. Poor devil went right off. With a great whopping roar, they said. The doctors said it was caused by repressed emotion."

"Oh, Mona!" the congressman groaned.

"Didn't mean to upset you, old friend," Toffee said. "It's an unpleasant thing to talk about."

"But couldn't they have saved him?" the congressman asked. "Suppose they had gotten him to a psychiatrist or something before it happened?"

"Actually it was much simpler than that," Toffee said ponderously. "The fellow could have saved himself merely by confessing. Confession, you know, is the only thing for a bad conscience. Highly recommended by all the best authorities. Those church people are doing it all the time--can't stop church people from confessing--and you never heard of one of them exploding, did you?"

"That's right," the congressman said hopefully. His gaze travelled out the window, a clouded look of inner turmoil on his face.

"It was just one of those things," Toffee put in. "One minute this chap was standing there in court just as hail and hearty as beans and the next--boom!--and the spectators were whisking him off their coat sleeves and passing round the cleaning fluid!"

The congressman whirled about in a convulsion of anguish. "I confess!" he blurted. "I confess _everything_!"

"Not everything," Toffee said. "Leave the racy personal stuff for another time."

The congressman reached out the gadget and dropped it on the bench. Toffee picked it up as he followed that contribution with a key.

"There's the key to the storeroom," the congressman said, "and the one to the private files. And here's a list of the members of the organization." He started as Rooney stepped forward and took him by the arm.

"Take him away," Toffee said blithely. "Find him a cell with lots of padding. And take his body-guard too."

* * * * *

As the congressman and the thug disappeared in the custody of Rooney, Toffee mashed out her cigar, quitted the bench and proceeded across the court where the blonde was still throttling the judge.

"Better let him up, honey," she advised gently. "He's turning a very nasty blue."

The blonde stopped to consider the judge's complexion and let him drop to the floor.

"Loathsome old bore!" she hissed as he sat up and rubbed his neck, then got to his feet and tottered off toward the bench. "That'll teach you next time."

Toffee moved on to Marc. "Well, don't just sit there," she said, "Let's get at it."

Marc looked up apprehensively. "At what?" he asked.

"Everything." Toffee said spaciously. "On the town."

"Haven't you had enough excitement?" Marc asked wearily.

"Not of the right sort," Toffee said. "What I crave is soft lights and wine and all that sort of elegant truck. Come on."

"What about George?"

"Oh, yes," Toffee reflected, "there is George, isn't there?" She regarded the transfixed half-spirit thoughtfully. "It would serve him right if we just left him here, cut off at the pockets. Still I don't suppose it's the thing to do...." A look of inspiration came to her face. "I know."

Taking her gadget from beneath her arm, she levelled it at George and pressed the button. Instantly George disappeared entirely. Toffee replaced the instrument and turned to Marc.

"There," she said brightly. "George in the handy pocket size, where he can't do any harm. Now we're all set for a life of gin and sin, and no interruptions."

"Now, wait a minute!" Marc said. "We're not set for anything, much less a life of gin and sin as you so pungently put it. Do I have to remind you that I have a wife to think of?"

"I don't care if you have a whole regiment of wives to think of," Toffee said testily. "I've protected and preserved you and, by gum, you're mine. At least right now. Your wife can just take her chances on what's left."

"If you continue with this scandalous talk," Marc said, shocked into primness, "I'm going to be forced to get up and walk right out of here."

"You take one step without me," Toffee warned, "and I'll break both your legs."

"Oh, well...." Marc sighed.

"That's better," Toffee nodded. "Of course I'll need some clothes, something terribly expensive and revealing...."

* * * * *

She broke off as the doors of the courtroom burst open and Julie, followed by the three doctors from the hospital, charged down the aisle.

"My God!" Marc cried. "Julie!" He swung around to Toffee. "Go away! Vanish!"

"I'm darned if I will," Toffee said. "I've stuck by you through all the thin and now I want some of the thick of it."

"Don't worry," Marc said miserably. "Just wait till Julie sees us; things will get thick in a hurry."

Even as Marc spoke the atmosphere began to congeal swiftly. Julie, having caught sight of the curious tableau formed by Marc and the scantily clad Toffee, jarred to a stop, digging her heels into the floor. A sharp, enraged sound came from her lips.

Julie, after her experience of the night before had recovered her physical faculties, but her emotional condition was still skittish. A wife, summoned to identify her dying husband, rather sets her mind on a scene of tearful sighs and murmured remembrances, with perhaps a touch of violin music in the background. When she finds her waning spouse looking perfectly alive and perky and in close proximity to a dangerous looking redhead, her bubble has a tendency to burst with a considerable bang.

"_Marc Pillsworth!_" Julie screamed. "Who is that woman!" And raising her handbag aloft she proceeded forward with mayhem unmistakably number one on her agenda.

Groaning, Marc rose from his chair. "She's going to kill me!"

Meanwhile, the doctors had also caught sight of Marc.

"There he is!" the first doctor said. "We'd better close in on him fast."

"It's amazing," the second doctor mused. "The man must be living sheerly on the energy of hysteria. He should have been dead hours ago." He turned to the third doctor. "Do you have the chloroform ready?"

The doctor nodded and exhibited a can and a large sponge. "Wait till the Medical Association hears about this," he said excitedly. "They'll never believe it!"

Thus armed, the men in white pressed forward close in the wake of Julie.

Marc retreated in confusion toward the bench. "They're all after me!" he cried. "I can't stand much more of this. If just one more character tries to kill me...!"

* * * * *

The doors of the court swung open and a tall, grim-lipped man barged into the room and down the aisle. He was carrying a large meat axe. Across the room the blonde leaped joyously from her chair.

"Darling!" she yelled and ran to meet him. They came together in a tight clinch just inside the gate. "How did you find me, honey?"

"Bureau of Missing Persons," the man said cryptically. "Where is he?"

"Who, sweet?"

"This creep who kidnapped you. Point him out."

The blonde glanced around. "That's him," she said, pointing, "the one with all those people following him."

The man observed Marc's retreating figure with a professional eye. "Not much meat on him," he judged, "especially around the shank." He shoved the blonde aside. "This'll only take a second."

"Mother in heaven!" Toffee cried, "the whole population is out to get you." She pulled Marc out of reach of Julie's bag as it made a broad swipe at his head. "Come on, let's join the judge!"

Together, they raced around the bench and started to mount to the chair.

"Get away!" the judge screamed, taking in the ranks of Marc's attackers. "Don't come up here!"

"Sorry," Toffee said, leaping lightly up beside him and snatching up the gavel. "This is total war!"

Marc gaining the bench, turned his attention to Julie. "Please, dear!" he cried. "There's nothing to be sore about!"

"Oh, isn't there?" Julie gritted. "What about that naked little trull you're with?" She hefted the bag anew.

"Let me at him!" the enraged butcher bellowed from the flank. "I'll get him if I have to hack that bench away around him!"

In answer, Toffee brandished the gavel in a wide gesture of defiance which terminated solidly on the side of the judge's nose.

"Ouch!" the judge roared, grabbing his face with both hands. "Clear the court!"

"Hell!" the butcher yelled. "I'm going to smear the court with that lousy kidnapper!"

The siege of the bench raged, and it will always be a sterling testimony to Julie's physical prowess that as she scaled the bench, the lethal handbag never once ceased to twirl over her head; if it happened to strike the judge more often than anyone else it was only because her aim was deflected by her overwrought emotions. To Marc and Toffee, however, the real menace lay in the butcher and his cleaver. Only by the most adroit maneuverings with the gavel was Toffee able to delay his murderous progress with a few strategic licks on the shins.

* * * * *

The doctors, on the other hand, gave themselves over more to calculated strategy. While two of them tried to close in on Marc from the sides, the chloroformist, can and sponge held ready, crept up from the rear. They might have succeeded in this maneuver except for Toffee. The redhead, seeing that time and speed were of the essence, abandoned her attack on the butcher and sailed forward, the gavel raised in one hand, the gadget in the other. Her plan was to dispatch the flankers with a single action, then sweep on to overcome the third doctor with all dispatch. The strategy, however, was too hastily conceived to be really successful.

Marc in an effort to avoid Julie's bag, leaped forward at just the wrong moment. Throwing himself toward Toffee, he received the full impact of both the gavel and the gadget, one to the ear. He reeled to one side, stumbled and sprawled to the floor, shaking his head.

"Oh, no!" he wailed, looking back reproachfully at Toffee. "Not you too!"

But Toffee didn't answer; she was far too surprised and pleased at the sudden results of this little accident. In banging Marc over the head with the gadget, she had inadvertently sprung the switch and introduced George, completely restored to the last molecule, into the very center of the proceedings. She only regretted she hadn't thought of it sooner as she saw the attackers, in the confusion, turn on George in force.

"Stay down," she hissed and dropped down lightly beside Marc. "While George is standing in for you, let's get out of this."

Marc rose to his knees, took in the new development and nodded. "This way," he said, indicating a door behind the bench. "I saw the judge crawling out this way a minute ago."

Together they scuttled on their hands and knees to the door. Marc edged it open, let Toffee through, then followed after. Safe, they turned back to see how the battle was developing around the bench.

George appeared to be finding himself at rather a rude disadvantage. And it is entirely conceivable that the besieged spook might well have been confused in that his last conscious moment had been the one of promised amour just before Toffee hypnotized him. Now, suddenly restored to awareness, instead of a fawning redhead, he found himself confronted by what appeared to be a select group of the worst fiends of hell.

George's gaze grew more and more terrified as he took in the swinging handbag, the slashing meat axe and the intense, determined faces of the doctors. With a single shriek of despair, as the meat axe made a swipe at his ear, he staggered backwards and vanished into thin air.

"Poor George," Toffee giggled. "I've got a feeling he checked out for good just then. He looked like a ghost who's just remembered a previous engagement."

* * * * *

Marc got up, closed the door and flicked the latch. He stopped, glanced around at the room. It was some sort of inner chamber, resplendent of leather and polished wood, a place of durability and hard surfaces, lighted by a large brass lamp standing on an enormous oak desk. At the far end of the room a door stood ajar, opening onto a hallway which pointed the direction of the judge's recent escape. Marc crossed to it and closed and locked it.

"Well," Toffee said, perching herself lightly on the corner of the desk. "This is more like it. Private."

Marc turned wearily from the door. "Just leave me alone," he sighed. "Just let me sit down somewhere and relax. This is the first time in almost twenty-four hours that I haven't had someone at my heels trying to kill me."

"Poor Marc," Toffee said. "You do need a rest."

Marc started across the room toward a large leather-covered chair. He was nearly there when he caught his foot in the lamp cord and fell.

Even as he struck the floor he was aware of the crazy see-saw flashes of light traveling up and down the wall. It wasn't until he rolled over, however, that he saw the lamp teetering precariously on the edge of the desk just above his head. He started to cry out, but before he could force the sound to his lips the lamp slipped beyond the edge and plunged downward. It seemed to explode in his face....

* * * * *

It grew out of the darkness, a place of familiar beauty. The light came slowly like the first faint tracings of dawn, etching the gentle slopes, the intricate, clustered outline of the forest.

Marc looked around at Toffee who was sitting beside him on the rise of the knoll. In the glowing half-light she was beautiful beyond words.

"I ought to break your thick skull," she said. "Will you never learn to pick up those huge feet of yours?"

"Huh?" Marc said.

"Tripping over that damned cord just when we'd gotten away from them all. Big-footed oaf."

"Oh, golly, that's right," Marc said. "We're back in the valley."

"You're darned tootin' we're back in the valley," Toffee said fretfully. "And that means it's all over. No high-life, no snaky-dressed, and no...."

"There wouldn't have been any of that anyway," Marc put in hastily. "It's just as well."

"Don't be too sure," Toffee said with a sidelong glance. "All I needed was a few more minutes and...."

"What happened to your gadget?" Marc asked, changing the subject.

Toffee picked up the instrument from the grass beside her and shook it. It made a loose rattling sound.

"I broke it when I hit you over the head with it." She tossed it away from her and it rolled down the slope and out of view. "It's served its purpose." She turned to Marc. "That is if you'll just stop making people want to kill you."

"I feel all dented and scratched," Marc said. "But I guess I'm all right."

"You'd feel more dented and scratched if I'd gotten ahold of you," Toffee said. "For instance...."

Suddenly she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him. For a moment Marc felt that he must have gotten mixed up with a metal clamp.

"Gee whiz!" he said as she released him.