Toffee observed the dummy more closely. "Very dull," she said. "No sex
appeal. Maybe it's those shorts she's wearing."
"Shorts?" Marc said. "You mean you can still see shorts--and things?"
"What are you babbling about?" Toffee said hopelessly. "What's wrong
with that dummy, anyway?"
Marc stared at the manniquin wonderingly. "Good Lord!" he breathed,
"I've developed X-ray eyes! As far as I'm concerned that dummy's as
naked as a plucked chicken."
"But that's impossible!" Toffee said.
"Yes," Marc said, "but it's true. To me, that dummy is sheer unadorned
plaster and nothing else. This is awful!"
"Maybe it will wear off," Toffee said uneasily.
* * * * *
Just then a bejewelled matron appeared at the end of the aisle.
Inadvertently Marc glanced in her direction, then shudderingly looked
away again; the woman's dress had melted away and she had been left
strolling amongst the counters in only her girdle. Marc lowered his
head and waited for her to pass.
"This is shocking!" he groaned. "I can't go around like this, seeing
everyone without their clothes! It's indecent!"
"But how did it happen?" Toffee asked. "If we knew what caused it,
maybe we could do something about it."
There was not time for Marc to answer this, for right on cue, with a
blast from his whistle, Sergeant Feeney and his underlings swarmed at
the head of the aisle.
"Duck!" Toffee hissed and, crouching down, vanished swiftly into the
inner reaches of Imported Liquors.
Marc, followed this example, dropped to his hands and knees and
scrambled behind the nearest counter in Sportswear. The official
scufflings at the entrance grew louder.
"Spread out, men!" Sergeant Feeney thundered. "Check everybody!"
Behind the counter Marc settled back against the merchandise drawers.
Then he jumped as a feminine voice sounded close beside him.
"May I help you, sir?" the voice inquired.
Marc, without thinking, looked around. A large, brassy blonde with
circles under her eyes had hunkered down beside him. She smiled broadly
at his glance.
"It's nice to get down here away from the noise and confusion, isn't
it, sir?" she said throatily. "The customer is always right in this
store--especially as far as I'm concerned."
As she spoke, the upper half of her dress slowly disappeared,
revealing the most remarkably full net brassiere. Coloring prettily,
Marc hastily snapped his eyes shut.
"Leave me alone!" he said in tones of anguish. "Please go away!"
"Go away?" the blonde said woundedly. "But I thought.... Three men have
pinched me already today and, the way you crept in here, I thought
maybe you were the more earnest type."
"I'm quite earnest," Marc said soberly. "In fact...."
"Goody," the girl said. She snuggled down beside him. "Now, what do we
do?"
"I don't know what to do," Marc said miserably, "that's just it!"
"You don't?" the girl said unbelievingly. "You certainly don't expect
me to tell you, do you?"
"How could you?" Marc asked reasonably.
"Well, I could, I guess, if I wasn't a lady," the girl said with a
touch of pique. "Why are you squinting at me like that."
"The light hurts my eyes," Marc said briefly. "Really, I think you
ought to go away."
The girl sighed deflatedly. "I guess I might as well," she said.
"You're too ignorant and I'm too refined. I must say, though," she
added wistfully, "for a minute there I expected great things." She
started to move away.
"Just a minute!" Marc said quickly.
The girl fairly whirled around again. "Yes?" she said. "Have you
thought of something?"
"Yes," Marc said. "Since this is the sportswear department, I assume
you have dark glasses?"
The girl sighed again. "There are some around somewhere," she said.
"Well, find me some," Marc said, "only make them darker--dark enough
that I won't be able to see through them at all. Paste cardboard inside
them or something."
The girl looked at him quizzically, then shrugged. "Okay," she said. "I
know when I'm licked."
"And hurry," Marc urged. "There's no time to lose."
* * * * *
The blonde departed, and Marc's attention was taken by a hurried
scuffling in the aisle. He opened his eyes and cautiously peered out.
A series of blue-clad legs, that, even as he watched them, turned bare
and hairy, raced by. When they had passed, Marc leaned back again and
gave himself over to a moment of quiet and confused contemplation.
He tried hard to find some clue to the cause of his extraordinary eye
affliction, but arrived at nothing definite. There was a rustling at
his side and he turned to find that the blonde had rejoined him. He
closed his eyes again as the net brassiere, for a second time, began to
appear from beneath the fading fabric of her dress.
"Here are the glasses," the blonde said coldly. "I put tape on the
inside of the lenses." Marc held out his hand and she gave them to him.
"Your eyes certainly must be sensitive."
"You'll never know," Marc said gloomily and slipped the glasses on.
"Can you see anything at all?" the blonde asked inquisitively.
"Not a thing," Marc said. "It's a great relief."
"Mister," the blonde said flatly, "I guess I just don't understand you."
There was the sound of stealthy approach from the direction of
the aisle, and Marc quickly lowered the glasses to observe Toffee
approaching on tip-toe. She was carrying a bottle of champagne under
each arm and she looked enormously pleased.
"I think they've gone," she said. Then, seeing the blonde, suspicion
flickered in her eyes. "Leave it to you; all I have to do is turn my
back and you're snuggled up with some big blonde."
"I'm not snuggled up," Marc said. "I've been making a purchase."
"Of what?" Toffee said sharply.
"These glasses," Marc said. "The young lady was good enough to fix them
so you can't see through them."
"Just glasses," the blonde murmured regretfully. "And that's all." She
made a small sound of disillusionment. "And I thought this was going to
be my lucky day, too."
"It is," Toffee said. "If anything had passed between you two besides
a pair of glasses, you'd be wearing your neck off the shoulder this
season."
"Where did you get the champagne?" Marc broke in. "Or is that a subject
too delicate to discuss?"
"Almost," Toffee said grandly. "I ran into a salesman in Imported
Liquors with foreign ideas. We indulged in a bit of hand-wrestling
amongst the East Indian wines, and he lost. He's resting quietly now,
however." She held out one of the bottles of champagne. "I used this
to defend myself." She shoved the bottle into Marc's hand. "Let's get
slightly damp."
Meanwhile the blonde had begun to edge away.
"Leaving?" Marc asked pleasantly.
"I'm going over to Imported Liquors," the blonde said.
She departed, and Marc extracted the cork from the bottle with a
fruity pop and handed it back to Toffee.
"A pause for refreshment," he said, "and then we've got to do something
about my eyesight. Did you say the cops have gone?"
"The last I saw of them," Toffee said, "they were lumpering through
ladies' lingerie, headed for silverware and china." She paused for a
deep drink from the bottle. "With the head of steam they had worked up
they should be far beyond the horizon by now."
"Good," Marc said. He received the bottle from Toffee and drank
thirstily. "Cops have a positive talent for being disagreeable."
"A bad lot," Toffee nodded. "They tend to weigh on the spirit. And
speaking of spirits don't keep sucking at that bottle all day. Save
some for me."
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later, one bottle depleted, the other tucked
protectively beneath Toffee's arm, the two emerged unsteadily from
behind the counter and started on an uneven course down the aisle.
"You'll have to lead me," Marc said thickly. "I can't see a thing."
Toffee took his hand. "Blind as a drunken bat," she giggled.
"You will probably lead me astray," Marc said happily.
"I shall do my best," Toffee said. "Luckily, I'm familiar with the
route."
Marc held back for a moment. "I've just figured it out," he said. "It
was that burp medicine that affected my eyes. We've got to go look up
that druggist."
"All right," Toffee said. "But if I had X-ray eyes I would be content
to stand on street corners and whistle."
This concluded, they tottered on to the end of the aisle and down the
stairs.
"Going astray!" Marc sang vaporishly. "Going astray! I'm jus' going
astray!"
With a wild lurch the two fugitives precariously left the stairs and
emerged onto the first floor. As they started unsteadily down the aisle
a veiled and voluminous lady in black turned from her examination of
a silk blouse and observed their progress with smiling approval. She
turned benignly to the sales girl who was serving her.
"Isn't that sweet?" she murmured. "Imagine a stunning girl like that
sacrificing a day to take her poor old blind father shopping."
Toffee and Marc proceeded in a more or less orderly fashion to the
doorway, leaving the good Sergeant to ransack a store now empty of its
quarry.
* * * * *
Five minutes later and three blocks removed from the department
store, the two law-evaders paused to reconnoitre. Or at least Toffee
reconnoitred while Marc, still sightless behind his glasses, awaited
directions. He held out his hand in readiness, waiting to be led. At
his side, Toffee momentarily broke her mood of concentration.
"As I see it," she said, "our next move is to flee the city."
"But what about the druggist?" Marc said. "I've got to find out about
my eyes." He stopped as he became aware of a nervous tugging at his
sleeve.
"Hey, man," a voice said, "I've been lookin' for you everywheres."
Marc hastily lowered his glasses. He glanced down to find a familiar
shifty-eyed, weasel-like face peering up at him.
"You!" he said.
"Yeah, man," the diminutive peddler of lewd pictures grinned. "You
still got the cool stuff, huh?"
"The cool stuff?" Marc said with sudden stiffness. "If you mean that
collection of disgusting pictures, no I haven't got them. At the
moment, I believe they're listed as Exhibit A in the case of The People
against Marcus G. Pillsworth."
"Man!" the little man wailed. "You mean somebody goofed and the cops
got 'em?"
"Precisely," Marc said frigidly.
"Who's this Pillsworth cube?"
Marc drew himself up into a living tower of glowering hauteur. "I am
Marcus G. Pillsworth," he said nastily.
"You!" the little man said. "You got hooked with the goods?"
"I got hooked," Marc said flatly, "with the goods just where you
planted it on me."
"Jeez!" the little man cried despairingly. "You just can't rely on
nobody no more." He chewed his lip for a moment, then looked up at Marc
anxiously. "What about the French Elixir? Did the bulls heist that,
too?"
"French Elixir?" Marc said. "I don't know anything about your French
Elixir."
"The hell you don't, man," the little man said. "I faded it into your
coat pocket. Did they find it?"
Marc paused. A chill of apprehension skittered up his spine. "Into my
coat pocket," he said. "A small brown bottle?"
"It wasn't a big blue jug," the little man said impatiently. "You still
got it?"
Marc reached into his pocket and pulled out, first one brown bottle,
then another. They were almost identical except that the liquid in the
one marked 'French Elixir' had been depleted by approximately one
fourth.
"Good night!" Marc yelled. "I drank the wrong stuff!"
"You drank the Elixir!" the little man said. He snatched the bottle
from Marc's hand. "You _drank_ it?"
"I said I drank it," Marc said distractedly.
"Then, you owe me twenty bucks, man. That bottle of genuine,
hard-to-get French Elixir sells for fifty, sixty dollars." He held out
his hand. "Pad my palm, friend."
"I certainly will not pad your palm," Marc said indignantly. "Do you
know what that stuff's done to me?"
"Huh?" The little man paused reflectively. "How should I know what
it done," he said. "They say all sorts of stuff could happen to you,
according to how you're repressed." He regarded Marc interestedly.
"What happened?"
"I've got X-ray eyes!" Marc said dramatically. "That's what happened."