"But I've got it all figured out," Toffee said complacently. "While
you've been wasting your time with this grifter, I've been working out
a plan."
"I'm sorry," Marc said wearily, "but I don't think I could stand
another one of your plans. Not today."
"But this will work," Toffee said brightly. "Now the problem, to put it
succinctly, is for me to go to the country, but not to be noticed by
Julie. Well, actually, that's the easiest thing in the world."
"Oh?" Marc said. "If you imagine that Julie is likely to overlook a
half-naked redhead...."
"Now, look at it this way," Toffee interrupted, "if you wanted to hide
yourself where would be the best place?"
"Me," Hotstuff interjected, "I always go out and mix with the crowds
when I'm on the dodge."
"Exactly!" Toffee said. She looked on Hotstuff with new respect, then,
glancing back to Marc, pointed across the street. "See that bus?"
* * * * *
Tilting his glasses, Marc followed the direction of her pointing
finger. Diagonally across the street was parked a large yellow
sight-seeing bus of a vintage so distant as to defy memory. At the
front of the bus stood a tall, cadaverous looking individual in shirt
sleeves, about whom was an atmosphere of listless resignation. Inside
the bus, the seats were starkly uninhabited.
"What we do," Toffee went on enthusiastically, "is hire that bus and
fill it up with a lot of people. Then we drive out to the country, and
when Julie sees this great gang knocking about the place she'll never
pay any special attention to anyone in particular. She'll never notice
me."
"That's ridiculous," Marc said. "In the first place I doubt I'd ever be
able to hire the bus privately."
"From the looks of business," Hotstuff said, "you could probably have
it for a song."
"Even so," Marc said doggedly, "we are not a crowd. We are only two
people, and I'm positive Julie is quite capable of picking a strange
young lady out of a group of two."
"I'd be very happy to accompany you," Hotstuff said. "In fact I insist
on it, so's I can protect my investment."
"There!" Toffee said. "We're forming a crowd already. All we need are
about twenty more."
"And where are we going to get them?" Marc asked serenely.
"I could have a number of my business acquaintances and
their--uh--molls--out here on the corner in a flash," Hotstuff offered
obligingly. "I know a number of personalities who are quite hot to get
out of town for various reasons."
"Go get them!" Toffee said. "We'll hire the bus while you're gone."
"Now, just a second...." Marc yelled, but Hotstuff had already scurried
off down the street toward the corner poolhall.
* * * * *
The deal for the bus was concluded in almost the same instant that Marc
approached the gangling individual on the sidewalk.
"Sure, mister," the man said sadly. "Why not? A day in the country
would suit me fine. You can have the bus and me for whatever you want
to offer, and you can bring along all the friends you want."
Marc fatefully handed over a couple of bills and glanced, not without
apprehension, down the street. "The others should be along any moment
now," he said. He turned to Toffee. "Just how are we going to explain
all these people to Julie. We can't just say I asked them out for
dinner."
"Well, then," Toffee said, "we'll just say you're a group of botany
students on a field trip." As though that satisfactorily explained
everything she started into the bus. "Heigh, ho! Oh, for a day of
biology in the open air!"
"I thought you said botany," Marc said, uneasily.
"One can always hope," she said grandly.
True to his word, Hotstuff was back almost instantly, trailing after
him a cast of characters the likes of which is rarely seen on the
streets before sundown. The men, five of them in all, were heavy-browed
and flashily dressed. Their female counterparts--or molls, as Hotstuff
had described them--were so unanimous in their endorsement of low
necklines, high heels, dyed hair and ankle bracelets that they seemed
almost to be in uniform.
At the approach of this strange swarming, Marc lowered his glasses
only to replace them even a bit more quickly than was entirely
necessary.
"Good Lord!" he groaned. "It looks like Saturday night at the police
lineup."
At that moment, however, Hotstuff arrived at the front of the bus, his
questionable companions crowding close behind him.
"These is some of my best chums," he announced with beaming pride.
"I would introduce you to them only they don't like their names
mentioned." He drew forward a crimson-lipped creature who had crossed
the street close to his side.
"This is Floss, my mouse," he said.
Floss, whose hair ran the gamut of colors from jet at the roots
to orange-red at the ends--with blond, brown and platinum
intervening--gazed at Marc from beneath mascara-encrusted eyelashes.
"Hi, tallstuff," she said in a smoky tone, "ain't I seen you somewheres
before?"
"Knock it off, Floss," Hotstuff said. "Today's vacation. Besides, the
gent can't see you through those glasses, so don't waste your wattage."
He grinned at Marc. "She likes you, man."
"I always like to improve public relations," Floss said delicately.
"I'm much obliged," Marc said, edging away. "Well, I suppose we ought
to be on our way."
"Okay, everybody!" Hotstuff yelled. "Climb aboard! We're off to
mingle with nature!" He took Marc's arm and guided him to the steps.
"Everybody brought a couple of bottles," he said. "All you have to do
is supply the grub. Boy! is this going to be some party!"
"Yes," Marc said fatefully, "it probably is."
* * * * *
It was not until the bus left the city and was churning its way into
the fresh-budding atmosphere of the country that the little assemblage
began to get into the true spirit of the trip.
Until then they had been content to sit quietly drinking from their
bottles, but now, with the green fields and trees unfolding before them
they were moved to song. Lifting their voices in shattering discord,
they howled out a little number about an unfortunate heroine called
Underslung Fannie whose amorous exploits, according to the lyrics, were
distressingly uncanny. At the rear of the bus, Marc slunk in his seat
and turned to Toffee.
"Leave it to you," he moaned. "How am I ever going to palm off this
tight little segment of the underworld as a bunch of fun-loving
botanists?"
"Oh, they're not so bad," Toffee said. "At least you don't have to
worry about whether they're bad or not. You know they're bad right from
the beginning."
"And so are you," Marc said dryly. "However, I suppose everyone seeks
his own level. I might have expected this."
Toffee generously patted his cheek. "You're just overwrought," she
said. "You need a drink." Reaching under her seat, she brought out the
bottle of champagne. "Take some of this and you will see everything in
a happy glow."
"Behind these glasses?" Marc asked.
"You may even find the nerve to take them off," Toffee said.
"In this crowd?" Marc said. "Heaven forbid!"
Nevertheless, after several lengthy drafts from the bottle, Marc did
begin to see things more brightly, and he did remove his glasses. It
gave the congregation before him a strange, bare-shouldered look, but
the effect, since everyone was seated, was hardly shocking. He was
careful, however, to keep his gaze averted from the passing landscape,
particularly after a startling view of a pink-skinned, full-formed
farmgirl scattering feed to a flock of hideously defeathered chickens.
After a time he began to look on his new-found companions a bit more
fondly.
"At least," he yawned, mellowed by the champagne and the warm sun,
"they're a happy bunch of criminals."
As though to prove his words correct, the company suddenly roared with
laughter, and Marc, content that things were going well, put his head
back against the seat and dozed off.
The burst of laughter, however, had Marc listened more closely to it,
was more a cause for alarm than complacency. In its gleeful, boisterous
tones was the announcement that the drunken little band of miscreants
had found still a new outlet for their antisocial tendencies.
A blowsy blonde named Dora, spotting a cop lounging against his
motorcycle along the highway, had observed the prescribed amenities
between the law and the underworld by leaning out the window and making
a series of rude and meaningful gestures. Admiring Dora's finesse in
this affair, her escort, a blue-jawed second-story artist named Moose,
leaned out beside her and dispatched a depleted whiskey bottle at the
cop's head, scoring a solid hit along side the ear. Their friends and
companions, as a result, had fairly collapsed in their seats with
helpless laughter.
* * * * *
In this sordid incident were the beginnings of a well-routined game.
The criminals, seeing no end of fun in this little sport, organized
themselves into a team so that it might be pursued with the greatest
efficiency and dispatch. Splitting themselves into cop-watchers,
cop-insulters and cop-smackers, they became a yelling, yowling
menace to every patrolman and peace-enforcer along the highway. As
Marc continued to slumber, a chorus of sirens began to wail and
shriek in the wake of the lumbering bus. Of those involved in this
not-so-innocent diversion, only the bus driver was distressed.
"Now, cut it out, you!" he yelled back at his cop-assaulting
passengers. "Lay off before you get me into serious trouble!"
"Step on the gas, you hacky!" Moose roared. "Give it the gun!" And
having delivered this command, he snatched up another bottle and sent
it sizzling through the window toward the head of an unsuspecting
sheriff's deputy.
"Got him!" Floss shrieked with childish glee and collapsed to the aisle
in a fit of giggles.
The sirens following the bus had reached a many-throated scream before
Marc finally awoke. Opening his eyes with a start, he gazed about,
firmly convinced that the world had gone mad. A glance toward the
front of the bus and another out the rear, however, swiftly told him
the frightful truth of the matter.
"Stop that!" he yelled. "Stop it this instant!"
"Look, mister!" the bus driver hollered. "Either you quiet down those
maniacs or I'm going to drive this bus right off a cliff somewhere!"
Marc looked ahead down the highway. Mercifully, deliverance, of a sort,
was at hand.
"Just around the next bend!" he yelled. "Take the drive to the left!"
"Golly!" Toffee cried happily, "isn't this exciting!"
Marc cast her a brief, scathing glance and concentrated on the road
ahead. The bus, traveling at maximum speed, was rattling and creaking
in every joint. Tires squealing, the driver took the turn ahead, then
cut sharply to the left and through the gateway that bore the sign,
'Pillsworth Acres.'
The bus careened up the circle of the drive, spitting gravel and dirt
from beneath its tires. A rambling, stone-faced house loomed rapidly
ahead. Green, tree-studded lawns stretched away on all sides. Down the
rise to the west a swimming pool flashed by, studding the greenness
like a glimmering, intermittent sapphire. With a scream of the brakes,
the bus ground to a terrifying stop at the entrance to the house. In
the distance, back on the highway, the avenging sirens grew louder,
then faded swiftly away into the distance. The driver at the front of
the bus went limp in his seat.
"All out!" he gritted. "Get the hell out of here before I go nuts!"
Marc whirled about to Toffee. "Why didn't you wake me up?" he demanded.
"What for?" Toffee asked blithely. "You'd only have worried. And
everything turned out fine, didn't it?"
As the company of undesirables staggered, reeled and toppled from the
bus onto the lawn, Marc and Toffee followed after. Marc refitted his
glasses to his nose and paused before the driver's extended hand.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Look, buddy," the driver said, "where can I hide this hack? Those cops
may be comin' back here any minute."
"Seems a shame to hide it," Marc said acidly, "when we've spent so many
happy hours together in it."
"I gotta hide it, mister," the driver said. "I don't want to get into
any trouble. You see, this ain't my bus."
"What?" Marc said.
* * * * *
The driver shook his head woefully. "I was just standing there when
you came along and offered to hire it. The guy who owns it was in a
java joint down the street. I just got fired off my job this morning,
and when you came along and made me that offer, well, it was such a
beautiful day and all...."
"You, too!" Marc said, aghast. "Isn't anybody legitimate today?"
"I still think I ought to hide this can."
"Hide it by all means!" Marc agreed. "Remove all trace of it." He
motioned toward the woods. "Drive it out there, where it will never be
seen again."
Hotstuff, who had overheard this exchange, moved in confidentially. "Me
and my pals are experts at obscurin' the evidence," he offered. "We
could convert it into an icebox, so's they'd never know the difference."
The driver shook his head. "I think the woods are better," he said. He
sighed. "Besides, I want to be off by myself for a while, where I can
take a nap."
Toffee held out the bottle of champagne which was still half full.
"Take this with you," she said. "You need it."
"I sure do, lady," the driver said gratefully, accepting the bottle. "I
need every drop of it. I'm going to get so drunk I won't even know who
I am."
At this point Mr. Busby, Marc's paunchy, genteel caretaker, tottered
curiously down the steps and approached the bus with evident caution.
"'Afternoon, Mr. Pillsworth," he said uncertainly. "I see you brought
along some--uh--guests."
"Why, yes, Busby," Marc said, with an attempt at nonchalance. "I
brought them up for a little outing. A group of business associates and
their wives."
At this description, Floss straightened her skirt and put a hand to her
hair. Hotstuff removed his hand gracefully from a companion's pocket
and smiled ingratiatingly.
"I see," Busby said quietly, but in his pale eyes there was an enormous
doubt.
"Where is Mrs. Pillsworth?" Marc asked casually. "And Mario?"
"I'm not just certain," Busby said. "They took their paints and a lunch
hamper and went off into the woods." He pointed to the south. "They
were headed out that way."
"I think I'll hunt them out and have a word with them," Marc said.
"And your--uh--associates?"
"Oh, yes," Marc said. He leaned a bit closer to Busby. "What do you
think would amuse them, Busby?"
"I don't suppose I should say it, sir," Busby said, "but I think I
ought to slip inside and put the silver and Mrs. Pillsworth's jewels in
the vault. As for amusing them, we haven't any dope or revolvers on the
premises, but, then, perhaps they've brought their own."
"I shouldn't be surprised," Marc said.
"And while I'm about it, sir," Busby went on, "I think I'd better put
the lock on the wine cellar."
"Wine cellar!"
It was Hotstuff, the ever-present eavesdropper, who spoke up. "Hey,
gang, there's a wine cellar!" he announced. "Cool, huh?"
"Say," Floss drawled, sidling up to Marc, "you've really got class,
huh? A wine cellar is right up my alley. The lower I get the better I
like it."
* * * * *
Toffee stepped forward, eyes glittering. "You may get lower than you
care to, doll, if you keep on like that. You may find yourself six feet
under with a very dim out-look."
"Listen, sister," Floss said belligerently, "I'll tangle with you any
time."
"You may never get untangled if you do," Toffee flared. "You may wind
up wearing that fright wig of yours on your bustle!"
"I'll risk it, carrot-top!"
"There's no risk involved," Toffee said, doubling her fists. "I'll make
you a money-back guarantee!"
"Well, well," Hotstuff said approvingly, "the girls are getting real
well acquainted, ain't they?"
"Too well," Marc said. "We'd better separate them before they get
downright intimate." He turned to Busby. "Show the guests to the wine
cellar."
"But, sir...."
"I know, Busby," Marc said, "but they'll probably be quiet there--at
least for a while."
"I suppose so, sir," Busby said dully. He started back toward the
house, and the raucous little band fell in behind him. As they
departed, Toffee stared after Floss malevolently.
"I may belt that kid one yet," she murmured.
Behind them, the bus started up, lurched crazily forward, shot through
the hedge bordering the drive and took off drunkenly across the lawn
and into the trees.
"Oh well," Marc sighed. "I suppose it might be worse--though I can't
imagine how."
"Devastation seems to be prevalent today," Toffee agreed.
"And with you helping it along," Marc said, "I seem to have gotten a
double order." Lifting his glasses briefly, he stared off toward the
woods. "I suppose I'd better get going. The sooner I settle things the
better."
"If you want my advice," Toffee said, "take a gun."
"What in the world would I do with a gun?" Marc asked.
"It would give weight to your argument," Toffee said. "These Latin
lovers expect jealous husbands to carry guns."
"I am not jealous," Marc said stiffly, "I'm just worried, that's all."
"In that case," Toffee said, "why don't we just wait here until they
get back? We could join the party in the cellar."
"It's this spring-time daffiness that really upsets me," Marc said.
"Everyone seems out of control."
"Look," Toffee said, "if they went to the woods in that direction,
why don't we go to them in the other direction and let Julie do the
worrying for a change. Fair's fair, isn't it?"
"How could that possibly worry Julie," Marc asked. "She wouldn't even
know we were there."
"That's right," Toffee said evilly, "she wouldn't, would she?"
"Unprincipled little trollop," Marc said.
"Unprincipled to the bone," Toffee agreed. She sighed. "But what good
does it do me?"
"I suppose I should drop in on my guests before I leave," Marc said,
"just to make sure they're comfortable."
"They're probably so comfortable by now, they're unconscious."
"They're better that way," Marc said.
This settled, he turned away, then turned quickly back again as Busby,
wringing his hands with desperation, suddenly flew through the door and
down the steps.
"Sir! Sir!" he yelled. "They've done it already, sir! I can't
imagine.... They must be quick as cats!"
"What are you talking about, Busby?" Marc asked.
"The silver, sir!" Busby wailed. "And Mrs. Pillsworth's jewels!
Your--associates cleaned out the lot! And they merely passed through
the house, sir!"
"Like corn through a goose," Toffee murmured.
"Oh, Mrs. Pillsworth will be furious, sir!" Busby lamented. "Mrs.
Pillsworth puts great store by her silver and jewels!"
* * * * *
Marc shuddered with apprehension. Julie would be more than furious; she
would be livid. And, worse than that, she would be livid at him! Since
the pack of thieves who had taken the things were his guests, the whole
thing, therefore, would be all his fault. She would never forgive him.
"We'll have to get them back!" he said.
"I could call the police, sir!"
"No!" Marc fairly yelled. "No, Busby, don't call the police." He
frowned concernedly. "Are they all down in the cellar now?"
"Revelling," Busby said hauntedly. "Revelling and shouting and
guzzling. I don't think I'd go down there if I were you. It's a regular
den of vice."
"Nevertheless," Marc said, "they need a good talking to. It's hardly
good manners to accept a man's hospitality and steal his wife's jewels."
"It was probably Floss," Toffee said vengefully. "She's got her eye out
for a good thing, all right."
Together, the three of them entered the house, crossed the wide, cool
hall at the front, passed through the solarium and kitchen and drew
up at the doorway that led down to the cellar. The sound of coarse
laughter momentarily halted their steps. From inside his jacket, Busby
extracted a revolver.
"Perhaps you should have this, sir," he said. "I keep it for
emergencies."
"And this is certainly an emergency," Marc said. Taking the gun, he
faced the stairway. "I will speak to them firmly and if that doesn't
work, I'll--I'll--"
"Call the police, sir?"
"No! No, I'll--I'll hope for the best."
"With that mob," Busby said dismally, "the best is bound to be
something worse than the worst, if you get my meaning."
"Nevertheless," Marc said, "we will have to face them with it." He
led the way through the door and down the steps into the dim, musty
sweetness of the cellar. As they descended, a second roar of laughter
rose to greet them.
"Hey!" a voice called roughly out of the shadows. "Mine host
approaches--with vassals?"
"Vassals of what?" another voice inquired woozily. "Or do you mean
sea-going vassals?"
Marc peered into the dimness and held up a hand. "Ladies and
gentlemen," he said, not without a note of irony. "Ladies and
gentlemen, Busby, here, has just told me a most shocking story."
There was a stirring in the dark. "Old Busby did that?" a voice said
interestedly. "He hardly looks like he'd know any shockin' stories."
"Shame on Busby!" a feminine voice giggled out of the distance.
A form moved out of the shadows and proved to be Floss. "Let's hear
this shockin' story," she said eagerly. "Ain't nothin' like a good
shockin' story to get the party goin'."
Marc put up his hand again. "No," he said, "you don't understand; it's
not that kind of a shocking story."
"A true confession, huh?" a voice said sullenly from behind the wine
bins. "Don't sign it, Busby. Get a good shyster before you put your
name to it."
"Please!" Marc said. "Let me tell you...."
"Not if it makes us accessories to the fact!" the voice came back. "I
don't want to hear it. I'm putting my fingers in my ears!"
"Let's all put our fingers in our ears!" a blonde-sounding voice
tittered. "It tickles!"
"Now, just a minute!" Marc yelled. "Listen! Someone here has stolen the
silver and my wife's jewels, and I've got to have them back. The only
thing I can do is appeal to you as a friend."
"You'd appeal to me even as an enemy," Floss giggled tipsily. "Advance,
friend and be recognized."
"If he does," Toffee snarled, "he'll also be cauterized. Stay back, you
two-bit lollypop!"
But Marc was not to be distracted from the matter at hand. "Now, which
one of you did it?" he asked. "There won't be any arrest if you will
just return the things."
* * * * *
There was a dense silence. Hotstuff shuffled out of the dimness and
took up his place unsteadily at Marc's side.
"Okay, you crazy cats!" he hollered. "Which one of you pinched Mrs.
Pillsworth's rocks?"
"Was she wearin' them at the time?" a female voice inquired.
"No, she wasn't," Marc said. "What has that got to do with it?"
"Plenty," the voice said. "If she was wearin' them there might have
been a hell of a lot more pinched than just her jewelry." The speaker
sighed with understanding. "Sometimes a girl likes to be pinched just
for herself alone."
"You're gonna get slugged just for yourself alone if you don't shut
up," Hotstuff snapped. He paused significantly. "Ain't no one gonna
sing?" He turned back to Marc. "Was the stuff insured?"
"Yes," Marc said, "but it's not as simple as that." Resignedly, he
launched into the story of his domestic problems. "So, you see," he
concluded imploringly, "I have to have the original jewels back or I
might lose my wife."
"And she's out two-timin' you with this Mario creep?" a voice said
indignantly. "Disgustin'!"
"You gotta take your rod and blast the guy," another voice said hotly.
"Defendin' your home, you could get off scot free."
"Hey!" Hotstuff broke in suddenly, "I got a great idea!" He grinned at
his unseen audience with triumph. "Here we are, enjoyin' a healthful,
restful day in the country, all at Mr. Pillsworth's expense. Well, now,
don't it seem like we owe him some kind of token of thanks?"
"Yeah!" Floss said happily. "Like an ash tray made like a toilet seat!"
"Naw, Floss, nothin' like that," Hotstuff frowned. "What I mean is
something real useful that he needs."
"Yeah?" a voice asked eagerly. "Like what?"
"Well, now I was thinkin'," Hotstuff said, "what Pillsworth, here,
needs most is to have this Mario removed outa the way. Naturally, he
can't go knock the guy off himself; he just ain't the type. So, what I
got the idea for, is why don't we do the job for him? Kind of like a
thank-you present because we're havin' such a nice time!"
"Hey!" a voice growled enthusiastically, "that's a solid idea. It's got
a lot of sentiment, too. Like one good turn deserves another."
There was a general murmur of assent.
"After all," the blond-sounding voice said soddenly, "what are friends
for, except to go around and help out one another?" There was the
sound of loud snuffling. "It kind of gets you when you stop and think
about it. Who's got a rod that ain't hot?"
"Now, wait a minute!" Marc yelled. "You can't do that! It's murder!"
"But we gotta make up for the jewels, don't we?" Hotstuff said. "We
gotta be honest with you, don't we?"
Already, the murderous drunks had begun to swarm out of the dimness.
The blue-jawed Moose appeared brandishing a wicked looking .38.
"We'll all take shots at him," he chuckled, "and say it was a huntin'
accident. That way, they won't be able to pin it on no one in
particular."
"Now, listen!" Marc rasped desperately. "I can't permit you to do this!"
"Oh, it's really nothin'," Hotstuff said modestly. He motioned to his
followers. "Come on, friends, to the woods!"
"You mustn't do this!" Marc cried.
"What a guy!" Moose growled admiringly. "You gotta practically fight
him to even do him a little favor."
* * * * *
The band swarmed past Marc and up the steps. "We'll spread out and
force him into the open!" Hotstuff yelled.
"Stop!" Marc hollered. "Don't do it! I don't want you to!"
But the last of the assassins reached the top of the steps and
disappeared out the door. Marc turned hopelessly to Toffee.
"I should have stayed in jail!" he said. "I can just see the newspapers
when all this is over. Julie will divorce me for certain!"
"Well, don't just stand there wringing your hands," Toffee said. "Let's
go out and warn them. We'll have to hide this Mario character until
they've cooled down and gone away."
"I suppose so," Marc said. He turned and, with Toffee's guidance,
started up the steps. "At least we know where to look. Maybe we can
beat them to it."
They hurried up the stairs and out the back door. Marc turned briefly
back to Busby.
"You stay here," he said. "If Mrs. Pillsworth and Mario return warn
them to stay out of sight."
"Yes, sir," Busby said. "And I think I'll stay out of sight myself."
Marc and Toffee started out.
"They're probably down along the stream somewhere," Marc said. "Let's
hurry."
It was when they had reached the end of the lawns and were starting
into the brush that Marc stumbled and lost his glasses. After looking
about them then, hurriedly, he gave them up.
"I'll just have to do without them," he said.
"This is hardly the time to indulge your Puritan sensitivities," Toffee
agreed. "Come on!"
They forged ahead over rocks and through bushes until they came to the
edge of the stream. There they stopped, scanning the banks for as far
as they could see, but there was no one.
"You go in that direction," Toffee said quickly, "And I'll go upstream.
If I find them I'll whistle."
Marc nodded agreement and struck out, shoving his way through a thick
tangle of foliage. He moved along carefully toward a clearing that
he remembered to be ahead. Finally, starting through the last leafy
barrier, he caught his coat on a branch. He turned back to loosen it,
at the same time backing out into the opening, pulling against the hold
of the branch. The gun in his hand, however, made the maneuver awkward.
As the coat finally came loose, he fell backwards, landing on the grass.
He was just starting to boost himself up, when he heard the scream
behind him. It was a shrill scream and filled with horror. There was
an ensuing moment of silence, then the sound of swiftly padding feet,
scurrying in all directions. Marc turned and looked.
At first glance he was deeply startled, having forgotten momentarily
the condition of his eyes. A large collection of humanity, glistening
pinkly in the afternoon sunlight, were disappearing frenziedly into the
surrounding greenery. As their unclad backsides vanished behind cover,
Marc noticed that they had left behind them a number of picnic baskets,
thermos jugs and blankets.
He sat for a moment, getting back his breath, then, on brief
reflection, it came to him that these picnickers, whoever they
were, had behaved with singular strangeness. Why should they run so
desperately for cover just because he had fallen into the clearing?
He had only begun to ponder this curious equation when he realized
that perhaps his falling there really had nothing to do with it at
all. Perhaps something else, something much more formidable than a
mere intruder, had panicked them. Visions of man-consuming cobras and
slavering tigers flashed through his mind. Whatever it was that had
so upset these people, he wasn't going to hang around to welcome it
single-handedly. Leaping to his feet, he also ran for cover.
* * * * *
He crashed through the scratchy frontier of brush and came to an
abrupt stop. Crouching before him, her back fortunately turned, was
a plumpish, dark-haired woman, hiding her face in her hands. Marc
crouched quickly down beside her and for a moment there was a tense
silence. It was as though they waited for a bomb to drop. As the
moments passed, however, and nothing occurred, Marc cleared his throat.
The woman flinched nervously.
"Shh!" she hissed. "Be quiet!"
"What for?" Marc asked. "What happened?"
"Didn't you see?" the woman asked.
"I must have missed it," Marc said.
"Well, just be quiet," the woman said again, and once more the silence
returned.
Finally, out of sheer curiosity, Marc was forced to reopen the
conversation.
"This seems to be my day for crouching down with women," he said,
trying a social tone.
"Is it?" the woman said. "I suppose there's a reason why?"
"I don't know," Marc said, feeling that this exchange was not destined
to make a great deal of sense. "But I'm beginning to be just a little
stiff from it."
"From what?" the woman asked absently.
"From crouching down with women," Marc said, wishing he hadn't started
the discussion in the first place.
"Do you mean you get stiffer from crouching down with women than with
men?" the woman asked.
"Well, I don't know about that," Marc said. "I've never crouched
down with any men. Do you suppose it would matter if I stood up and
stretched a bit?"
"For heaven's sake!" the woman gasped. "Do you want to be seen?"
"Why shouldn't I be seen?" Marc asked.
"You know very well," the woman said, "the way you are."
"The way I am?"
"Certainly," the woman said. "You know how people get about that sort
of thing."
"Oh?" Marc said, completely lost. "Say, how am I, anyway?"
"How should I know how you are?" the woman said primly. "I don't allow
myself to think about those things."
"But you were just talking about it," Marc said, "and about how people
get about it."
"Your mind should be above it all," the woman said. "If you're asking
for compliments, you've come to the wrong party."
"I persistently get the feeling," Marc said, "that we're talking about
two different things."
"Weren't you at the last meeting when the citizen's committee showed up
and started chasing us around?"
"Why no," Marc said interestedly, "I guess I missed that one."
"The way people act," the woman said peevishly, "you'd think we nudists
aren't decent or something."
"_Nudists!_" Marc yelped. "Then, you really haven't any clothes on
after all!"
"Of course I haven't," the woman said self-righteously. "And you...."
Suddenly a quiver of realization coursed through her plump body and,
removing her hands from her eyes, she looked around at Marc with a
glance of horror. Her lips parted and she screamed.
"You're dressed!" she cried. "You're the man with the gun! Get away
from me. Don't come near me!"
"I wouldn't think of it!" Marc said, leaping to his feet. "Good
heavens, don't turn around!"
"Don't worry," the woman said fervently, "I don't think I could even if
I wanted to! I'm just going to sit here and yell." And just to prove
it, apparently, she screamed again. "He's here!" she shrieked. "He's
here, with all his clothes on!" Her tone implied a nasty accusation.
"Good grief!" Marc said. "You don't have to tell everybody, do you?"
* * * * *
Now that the alarm was out, the landscape came madly to life. Nudes of
all sizes and descriptions, clutching bits of greenery to themselves
where it was most needed, began leaping about through the brush like
fish in a net.
Swiftly it developed into a full-blown stampede. Marc goggled with
disbelief as tanned figures rushed across the clearing and flashed out
of sight along the banks of the stream.
"Well, I'll be darned!" Marc breathed and glanced down at the leavings
of the picnic. He shrugged and started on, hoping fervently that he
wouldn't overtake them again. With his eyes behaving so strangely
everything became so fraught with complexities. When, for instance, was
a nude not a nude?
* * * * *
Meanwhile, in another clearing just a bit farther along, Julie, her
blonde hair glinting golden in the sunshine, sat in a leafy bower with
her wide yellow skirts spread artfully about her long, aristocratic
legs. The hypnotic whisper of the stream was in her ears and the spell
of the first day of spring was in her blue eyes. From beneath drowsily
lowered lids, she watched Mario as he arranged his canvas and paints
and then, looking up, came toward her.
"The neck of the blouse, Madonna mia," he said, "it needs to be just a
trifle lower so as to display more of the--uh--shoulder." He reached
out a slender hand. "May I?"
Julie looked up, and for a moment her eyes met his. She glanced quickly
away, wondering what in the world was coming over her; she had never
felt this odd melting sensation before. Inwardly, she gave herself
a little shake, as a reminder that she was not a predatory creature
of impulse, no matter how much she felt like one. Then Mario's hand
touched her shoulder and she shivered. For just that one instant it
was as though Marc had never existed; the spell of the spring was too
strong.
"Mario!" she breathed.
"Madonna!" Mario whispered fervently, dropping to her side. "You are
exquisite! You are like a rare jewel in the sunlight!" And his arm
moved practicedly toward her shoulder.
Their eyes met, and for a moment the tableau of romantic danger held,
suspended in time, it seemed. Then it shattered as the greenery
suddenly parted around them and a host of naked figures, desperately
clutching bunches of leaves to themselves, flooded into the clearing.
Julie looked up frightenedly and screamed.
"Good heavens!" she cried.
The undraped stampeders stopped short. There was an interval of stunned
silence, then the leafy interlopers, seized with a fit of modesty,
hastily huddled together and crouched down.
"My God!" a small round-eyed man gasped. "We're surrounded. Everybody's
wearing clothes today."
"Everywhere you look," said a tousled-looking blond, "there's
concealment!"
The silence returned, more awkwardly this time. The nudists stared
worriedly at Julie and Mario and they, too stunned for words, stared
back. Julie, from sheer nervousness, finally spoke.
"You--you haven't any clothes on!" she observed rather foolishly.
"We are aware of that, madam," a bald-pated gentleman said miserably.
"And we're growing more aware of it every minute. You don't have to
tell us."
"Don't you even care?" Julie asked shakenly. "Don't you _want_ to have
any on?"
"No, we don't," the first man said defiantly. "We feel that for the
sake of our health--and morals, too--we shouldn't have."
"It may be wonderful for your health," Julie said doubtfully, "but I
can't think it would do much for your morals."
"That's because you don't understand," a woman snapped. "You're not a
right-thinker."
"Well, it hardly matters now whether I understand or not," Julie said.
"Are you going to go on like that indefinitely?"
"Not wearing clothes?" the man asked.
"No," Julie said. "Crouching there, I mean, staring around. You are
making me terribly uncomfortable."
"If we stood up," a skinny man said, "we'd make you a lot more
uncomfortable."
"Yes," Julie agreed quickly. "I suppose you would. Still, we can't just
all sit here like this, can we?"
"I don't know about you, lady," the skinny man said, "But I'd rather
not."
"Then, what will we do?" Julie said. "If we close our eyes will you
promise to go away--very quietly."
"But where will we go?" the man asked. "The woods are alive with
non-nudists today. We hardly know which way to turn."
"You should have thought of that before you took your clothes off,"
Julie said edgily.
* * * * *
At the far end of the clearing there was a dry parting of the bushes
and Marc ambled into range. His gaze went no farther than the nearest
nudist and, despite the gun, he put his hands over his eyes.
"Marc!" Julie cried.
At the sound of Julie's voice Marc's face drained of all color. The
worst had happened, just as he had suspected. Under Mario's degrading
influence, Julie had not only gone astray, she had even joined the
nudists.
"Julie!" he cried forlornly. "How could you do a thing like this?"
"A thing like what?" Julie asked, getting to her feet. "What are you
talking about?"
"Running around--like that!" Marc said.
"I'm not running around," Julie said, inching her neckline up guiltily.
"Why are you holding your hands over your eyes like that? And what are
you doing with that gun?"
"I can't bear to look," Marc said. "I may shoot myself."
"What!" Julie said, then smiled. "Oh, it's all this bare skin that
upsets you, eh?"
Marc winced anew. "Doesn't it bother you?" he asked.
"You'll never know how much," Julie said, "but they say it's good for
the health and the morals."
"Morals!" Marc said. "I'm surprised you even know the word any longer.
I think I'd better leave."
"Well, if I can face all this, surely you can, too," Julie said. "You
still haven't explained what you're doing with that gun."
The skinny nude gentleman stirred anxiously. "Are you people going to
go on chatting all day?" he asked plaintively. "My leaves are beginning
to wilt."
"Your leaves," Julie said tartly, "are no concern of ours."
"If they droop just a little bit farther they'll be everybody's
concern," the man said wanly.
"Yes, they certainly will," Marc shuddered. He turned in Julie's
direction. "I hope your leaves are holding up all right."
"I don't have any leaves," Julie said. "Why should I have? Why are you
acting so strange?"
Marc started forward. As he did so, he caught his toe on a projecting
root and stumbled. Lurching forward, he threw out his hand blindly and
inadvertently pulled the trigger of the gun. There was a deafening
report and a bullet sailed into the air. Julie, clutching at Mario's
arm screamed at the top of her lungs.
"He's trying to kill us!" she yelled. "Run, Mario, run!"
Mario hardly needed the invitation; even before it was completed, he
had begun to put his feet into motion. Dragging Julie after him, he
crashed into the brush, and the two of them disappeared from sight.
"Julie!" Marc said brokenly. He opened his eyes and looked in the
direction of their departure. He glanced back at the nudists. "I hope
you're satisfied!"
"We're not, mister," the skinny man wailed. "We can't hold onto these
leaves forever. What will we do then?"
"I wouldn't be surprised at anything," Marc said nastily, "not from a
gang like you."
Like a belated echo in the distance, there was the sound of a loud
report from the direction in which Julie and Mario had departed.
"Good Lord!" Marc said, leaping forward. "I forgot!" He started toward
the bushes just in time to collide with Toffee who darted suddenly into
the open.
"They're after them!" Toffee cried. "They heard your shot and closed
in!" There was the sound of two more shots. Marc started forward, but
Toffee held him back.
"Don't go out there!" she cried. "They're in a mood to shoot anything
that moves!"
"But if they kill Mario, Julie will swear I did it!" Marc said. "I've
got to stop them!"
* * * * *
Suddenly the air rattled with gunfire, this time closer at hand. In
the quiet that followed there was the sound of swiftly approaching
footsteps. An instant later, Moose crashed into the clearing and
jounced to a stop against Marc's chest.
"Get outa the way, you civilian!" the thug yelled blindly. "The joint
is swarmin' with bulls!"
Marc had only barely digested this frenzied bulletin when Floss,
Hotstuff, the blousy blonde and the other assorted criminals hurtled
drunkenly through the opening.
"Cops everywhere!" Hotstuff wailed. He fixed Marc with a cold eye. "Who
tipped 'em off, huh?"
"I didn't," Marc said. "Where are they?"
"Fannin' out!" Floss whined. "Closin' in!"
"Both at the same time?" Toffee asked curiously.
"Well, I suppose it's better than murder," Marc said hopelessly.
During this exchange, the fugitives had collected themselves enough to
be aware of the nudists, who, rising, were clutching their greenery to
them with trembling fright.
"Holy gee!" Floss said. "Will you look at them! What's goin' on here,
an open air smoker?"
"We do it for our health," the plump woman said defensively.
"That's a new angle," Floss said interestedly.
"The police!" the skinny man moaned, unaware of Floss' roving eye.
"They'll arrest us!"
"Boy," Floss said evilly, "what a place for a pair of prunin' shears!"
"Floss!" Hotstuff said severely. "This is no time for fun. The cops
will be swarmin' all over us in a minute!"
"Are we just going to stand here and let them arrest us?" Toffee said.
"We're surrounded," Moose said. "We'll have to shoot our way out."
"No!" Marc yelled. "Absolutely no more shooting!"
"We nudists," the skinny man announced quaveringly, "refuse to have any
part in all this."
"You shut up!" Moose snarled. The sound of a wailing siren approached
from the distance. "Good God, they're on wheels now! They've got us
out-pointed."
There was a general nervous shuffling as the assembled law-offenders
moved forward to view their oncoming fate. The movement was suddenly
arrested, however, as a roaring sound, accompanied by the snap and
crunch of despoiled underbrush, echoed near at hand.
"Holy smoke!" Marc cried, "they're sending in tanks!"
"Everybody grab something!" Floss said hysterically. "A lady must
defend herself to the end!"
"And then what?" Toffee inquired bitterly.
Already, the trees and bushes at the end of the clearing were starting
to thrash about with frenzied agitation. A tree crashed to earth and,
plowing over it, in a veering rush, came the yellow sight-seeing bus.
The driver, markedly foggy of eye, leaned his head out the window.
"The cops!" he yelled. "They're after me! They've been chasing me to
hell and gone all over the place!" With a great grinding of brakes, the
bus jolted to a stop. "I gotta get outa here!" He peered down at Marc.
"Which way do I go, mister?"
"Hey, wait!" Toffee said. "We've all got to get out of here!" She ran
around to the door of the bus. "Open up!"
There was a crush of humanity as nudists and thugs alike struggled to
climb into the palpitating bus.
"Snap into it!" the driver barked. "They're comin' in droves, those
cops, and they're all sore as hell!"
* * * * *
Marc and Toffee stumbled to the rear of the bus and dropped into
adjoining seats.
"At least we've got a running start," Toffee said breathlessly.
"Toward what, though?" Marc asked dismally. "The law thinks I'm an
undesirable and my wife thinks I'm a homicidal maniac. Have I thanked
you sufficiently for your wonderful help in this affair?"
"At least I tried," Toffee said. "You might show a little gratitude for
that."
But Marc wasn't listening. He was gaping at the others as they climbed
aboard and fell into their seats up ahead.
"My gosh!" he breathed.
"What is it?" Toffee asked.
"In all this excitement--and with all those nudists around--I didn't
notice."
"Notice what?"
"The elixir is wearing off. Now, everybody's in their underwear! Except
the nudists, of course."
"Well, at least," Toffee sighed, "you can keep your eyes open now."
"I'm not so sure," Marc said. "You should see Hotstuff's
underwear--begonias on a field of purple."
"No!" Toffee said delightedly. "I suppose even he has his poetic side."
The conversation stopped short as the bus leaped ahead, throwing the
passengers back in their seats.
"We'll try to circle around them!" the driver called out. "Hang on!"
There was a crash as the bus lunged back into the foliage. Branches
lashed frenetically at the windows and skittered back into the
distance. There was a communal scream as a large oak loomed before the
windshield, but the driver, pulling frantically at the wheel, managed
to send the bus swerving around it. Presently, the leaping, bucking
vehicle fought its way clear of the wilds and emerged onto the green
expanse of the lawns.
It all happened too quickly for any of the participants to have a very
clear view of exactly what happened. One thing, though, was woefully
evident; the driver had gotten mixed up in his directions. As they
quitted the undergrowth, they suddenly found themselves in a head-on
rush toward the charging ranks of the law. All at once the landscape
was fairly littered with scrambling, dissembling cops. A siren shrieked
with mechanical outrage.
"Give it the gas!" the passengers yelled. "Give it hell!"
The driver reacted automatically and pressed his foot down on the gas
with everything he had. The bus shot ahead, wildly out of control,
and headed into a zig-zag course toward the house. In the path there
suddenly loomed a pair of distracted figures who, at the sound of the
churning bus, looked back and instantly froze in their tracks.
"Julie!" Marc screamed, leaping from his seat and fighting his way to a
position beside the driver. "Julie! Run!"
Outside, Julie merely covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Lord!" she
wailed. "Now he's after us with a bus!"
At the last second Marc grabbed the wheel from the driver and yanked at
it furiously. The bus careened to one side as Julie and Mario leaped or
fainted to the grass, out of the way. The bus roared on, while in the
background the siren hurled its piercing tone to the sky. Somewhere in
the distance a voice barked hoarsely.
"Fire!" it bellowed. "Get 'em in the tires! That bus is packed with
lunatics!"
There was an instantaneous volley of gunfire and suddenly the bus
skittered to one side, teetered precariously on two wheels, then
righted itself and plunged dead-on into the substantial trunk of a
weeping willow. There was a thunderous crash, a rising chorus of
terrified voices and then silence.
By fighting her way through the mass of struggling bodies in the aisle,
Toffee managed to reach Marc's prone figure. She dropped down beside
him and drew his head gently into her lap.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
Marc opened his eyes and looked at her mistily. "I think so," he said.
"I feel so drowsy, though." Then suddenly he frowned.
"What is it?" Toffee asked quickly.
"Julie...." Marc said.
"Julie? What about her?"
"She wasn't with the nudists after all," Marc murmured. "I mean she
wasn't one of them."
"Well, what's so bad about that?"
Marc sighed unhappily. "She's wearing pink lace underwear!" he said.
"And she's never worn it before." With that, as though the thought were
too much for him, he closed his eyes and went limp in her arms.
Toffee, like a drifting, though shapely, cloud of smoke, faded rapidly
into thin air.
"Jeez!" breathed a cop who had reached the door of the bus just in
time to witness this phenomenon. "This gang is even creepier than we
thought!"
* * * * *
Judge Frennish plainly boggled at the sight that greeted his
astonished eyes as he ascended the bench.
The defendants had split themselves into definite factions. At one
side of the court the nudists had huddled together in a tight little
protective unit, while the thugs and their dolls had disdainfully
withdrawn to the other side. Marc, still in a state of slumber, had
been casually deposited in a chair, mid-distant between the two groups.
Briefly, the judge studied these separate crime camps and turned
a disillusioned gaze toward Sergeant Feeney who had reluctantly
accompanied him to the bench.
"Good grief, Feeney," he said, "do you mean to say you picked up this
gang all in one place?"
"All in one place," Sergeant Feeney nodded wearily.
"Good Lord!"
"Definitely, your honor," Sergeant Feeney agreed. "The ones without any
clothes claim they were havin' a picnic."
"I'll just bet they were," the judge said. "Though I shouldn't think
they'd care to be so frank about it." He sighed tremulously. "And the
others? I see many familiar and loathsome faces there."
"They explained that they were botany students out for a field day.
They're still quite drunk, your honor."
"Isn't that Hotstuff Harold there in the middle?"
"Yes, your honor," Sergeant Feeney said thinly, "he insists he's the
head of the class."
"Quite a haul," the judge said. "I only wish they'd haul them somewhere
else. What about that tall fellow there who seems to be asleep? Is he
the one who was turned in earlier on the morals charge?"
"Yes, your honor. There's nothin' rightly wrong with him, accordin' to
the doctor. Either he's shammin' or he's been takin' dope."
"A nasty business, Feeney," the judge commented sourly. He glanced
around the room as though hoping to find some unexpected avenue of
escape, then shrugged. "I suppose I might as well plunge in." Picking
up the gavel, he banged it heavily on the bench. The defendants and the
spectators looked up apprehensively.
"The court will come to order!" the judge announced, a severe look
coming into his dark eyes. "It had darned well better, anyway." He
fixed the nudists with a steely glance. "Is there a spokesman for this
shameless group over here?"
The skinny man edged forward, clutching his badly drooping leaves. He
flushed embarrassedly.
"I suppose I am, your honor," he said weakly.
The judge eyed him without pleasure. "Why are you crouched down like
that? Got a bellyache?"
"No, sir," the skinny man said. "It's just that I can't stand up--the
way my leaves are. It wouldn't look right."
"It doesn't look right now," the judge said tersely. "It looks
perfectly dreadful."
The skinny man flushed a still deeper shade of red and agitated his
leaves. "I'm sorry, your honor."
"It's too late to be sorry," the judge said. "Now, suppose you just
tell me what you people were doing, running around indecently exposed."
"Well, your honor," the skinny man said hopefully, "we were having a
picnic."
* * * * *
The judge blanched a mottled grey. "So I've heard," he said. "There's
no need to be defiant about it, you know."
"It was all very nice and orderly," the man offered, "until Mr.
Pillsworth showed up."
"And then it got disorderly?"
"Everything got completely out of hand."
The judge's gaze swiveled toward Marc with gloomy speculation. "This
fellow Pillsworth must exert a powerful influence everywhere he goes,"
he said. He turned back to the nudist.
"Just how out of hand did everything get, would you say?"
"I don't know exactly," the skinny man said. "Everyone was leaping
about and running. It got pretty hard to follow. I don't think there
were any broken bones, though."
"Broken bones!" the judge wheezed. He closed his eyes, as though to
blot out a vision too awful for observation. When he opened them again,
they were fixed on Hotstuff Harold.
"And how did you and your disreputable friends get mixed up in this?"
he asked malevolently.
"We weren't mixed up in it," Hotstuff Harold said innocently. "We
didn't know anything about these nudists until close to the end. We
were very shocked at them."
"I dare say," the judge said dryly. "And may I ask, since you were out
merely sniffing the flowers, how you all happened to be armed with
guns?"
"Well," Hotstuff said vaguely, "we botanists can't be too careful, you
know. There might be snakes."
"There _are_ snakes," the judge said evenly, "and this courtroom is
fairly crawling with them. Don't tell me that you were shooting up the
countryside just to be on the safe side. Don't tell me that!"
"No, sir," Hotstuff said sullenly. "I was goin' to, but I won't."
Floss stepped forward, her hair in wild disarray. "Look, your honor,"
she said, "I guess we might as well come clean. We was only out doin' a
little job for Pillsworth."
"What!" the judge said. "You mean to say this Pillsworth commissioned
you to do murder for him?"
"Well, not exactly murder," Floss said ingenuously. "We was just
arrangin' a little accident--outa gratitude."
"This Pillsworth is a veritable fiend!" the judge said hollowly. "He's
even managed to corrupt the underworld!" He glanced around the room.
"Where's this bus thief I've heard about?"
The disconsolate driver shuffled forward. "That's me, I guess," he said.