"Oh, my word!" the judge said, lifting haunted eyes from the report.
"Do you mean this Pillsworth fellow actually did all that to a statue?
Before witnesses? It fairly makes my hair stand on end."
"He did that and more," the prosecuting attorney said. "Pillsworth is
no ordinary man."
"Either that," the judge said, "or that statue is no ordinary statue.
Where is this fellow? I can hardly wait to get a look at him."
"No, Your Honor," the attorney said. "I didn't mean that. Actually,
nothing happened to the statue."
"Put up a good fight, did she? Good for her."
"What I mean to say," the attorney went on patiently, "is that the
statue is perfectly all right."
"Stout girl," the judge nodded. "I give that statue real credit. There
aren't many women, stone or otherwise, who could go through a siege
like that and come out on the right side of things. That statue has got
guts. If she were here now it would give me great pleasure to shake
that statue's hand."
The attorney cleared his throat dryly. "Can't we drop the statue, Your
Honor?" he suggested.
"After everything else she's been through!" the judge exclaimed. He
narrowed his eyes indignantly on the attorney. "Really, sir, do you
think that's the human thing to do?"
"I don't mean drop her literally," the attorney protested. "I mean
couldn't we just sort of lay her aside for a bit? What I'm getting at
is...."
"I know perfectly well what you're getting at," the judge broke in
hotly. "You can just forget it. I'm beginning to wonder if you're any
better than this Pillsworth fellow."
"That's what I wanted to tell you about," the attorney said quickly.
"Pillsworth claims he had to grab hold of the statue to keep from
floating away into space. He says he's lighter than air."
[Illustration: As Marc held desperately to the statue, Toffee took hold
of his leg and pulled....]
"My word!" the judge said, thoroughly scandalized. "Does he really? I'm
surprised he has the nerve to try to pull a thing like that in court.
And the girl? What about her? I understand she was swimming around
without any clothes on."
"Well, actually, she had on a sort of shift affair. But it looked like
she was naked when she was wet. At best, she's a wild citizen. Seems to
regard this whole affair as a sort of picnic. I understand she broke
out of her cell last night."
"Oh, dear!" the judge said. "I hope it doesn't leak out. How did she
manage it?"
"No one knows," the attorney said. "The girl won't tell. The door was
still locked and everything was in order. When they found her this
morning she was romping around in the wardrobe and had rigged herself
out in a dress from one of those burlesque strippers who were brought
in."
"A pretty taste in clothes, eh?"
The attorney nodded. "When the burlesque girl saw her in it, she told
her to keep it; said she looked so much better in it than she did
herself, she was throwing in the sponge."
"Sponge?" the judge said. "Throwing it in where? Do you mean this
stripper threw a sponge at her?"
"I was speaking figuratively," the attorney said patiently.
"I understand that," the judge said with an air of testiness. "You have
to speak figuratively when you're going on like this about strippers
and such." He laughed foolishly. "I get it; I'm not so old. But about
this sponge, was it wet or dry when the girl threw it?"
"I don't know," the attorney said desperately trying to cling to some
small thread of logic in the conversation. "It wasn't mentioned when I
heard about it."
"Well, I don't suppose it really matters," the judge said. "A sponge
doesn't constitute a deadly weapon either way."
* * * * *
Just at that moment one of the doors across the room opened and Toffee
appeared before the court. She was followed at a safe distance by an
extremely harrassed-looking police matron. The redhead was a study in
glitter and pink flesh. Three sequined butterflies garishly highlighted
the strategic portions of her anatomy without running any grave danger
of obscuring them entirely. A vaporish material dusted with spangles
provided a skirt of sorts. It was a dress that fairly begged for blue
lights, slow-rhythmed music and unrestrained whistles. Toffee presented
herself to the court with a spectacular flourish, then turned
peevishly to the matron.
"You make another grab at me with those horny talons of yours," she
warned, "and I'll flatten you down even with your arch supports."
The matron backed away, afrighted. "Then you keep your hands off those
zippers," she said. "They don't allow monkeyshines in the courtroom.
And just you wait till the judge hears about you breaking out of your
cell."
Toffee smiled enigmatically. She knew the matron would be deviled
with that mystery for the rest of her days. And even if the wretched
woman ever discovered the truth, she'd never believe it, though the
explanation was simple enough. Being a product of Marc's consciousness,
Toffee naturally could not exist when he was asleep. So, as she had
promised, when Marc had finally fallen asleep, Toffee had disappeared
from her cell to return to the valley of Marc's mind. However, when
Marc awoke in the morning, she had instantly reappeared. She had simply
chosen to rematerialize in the wardrobe rather than her cell.
To Toffee's mind there was really nothing so terribly mysterious
about that. Choosing to ignore the matron altogether, she turned her
attention to the judge. She waved a hand to the august person of the
bench and started forward.
"Here, you...!" the matron began.
Toffee swung around menacingly. "Stand your ground, Bertha," she said.
"You may wind up wearing those false teeth of yours as a necklace." She
turned back to the judge and smiled. "Well, here we are," she greeted
airily, "wild-eyed and bushy-tailed!"
The judge made an indignant choking sound. "Now, look here...!" he said.
"I am looking there," Toffee said. "And it's a great disappointment to
me."
"Young lady!" the judge roared. "Do you want to be charged with
contempt of court?"
"Maybe I'd better warn you, judge," Toffee said coolly. "Don't bully
me; I may forget myself and pull a zipper. That would crab your act
something awful. Besides, if you charged me for all the contempt I've
got for this court there wouldn't be enough money to pay the bill."
"Well!" the judge snorted. "Of all the...!"
"You're turning purple, son," Toffee observed mildly. "It's not half
becoming, either."
The court audience became tensely hushed as the judge reared back in
his seat and opened his mouth. But the eruption failed to come.
Just at that moment the door at the far end of the room opened and
Marc, accompanied by a guard, stepped into view. His progress to a
position before the bench was not marked with any noticeable tendency
toward levitation. Toffee, the judge, the court spectators regarded
him with undisguised interest. Marc directed his gaze self-consciously
toward his toes.
* * * * *
Only that morning Marc had made a remarkable discovery: that food
tempered his buoyancy and made it possible for him to remain secure to
the floor without clutching to anything for anchorage. Whether this was
a permanent condition or not, he didn't know, but still it had been a
relief to know that he would be able to make his way before the court
without appearing on the ceiling.
However, though mightily relieved, Marc was not as elated at this
development as he might have been; there were other things to plague
him. Julie's message that she was going to Reno, for instance. And
the court's probable decision; they were bound to conclude that he
was either a criminal or insane or both before they were through with
him. He felt that he might just as well drift off into eternity and
have it over with as spend the rest of his life locked up, separated
from Julie. He raised his head and glanced apprehensively at the court
audience.
Julie wasn't there. But he hadn't really expected that she would be.
However, a number of people involved in the affair at the Wynant were
in attendance, including the manager and the clerk. Also, there were
a pair of the most evil-looking male twins Marc had ever set eyes on.
Heavily bearded, wearing thick-lensed glasses, they looked to him like
nothing so much as a pair of those spies you used to see in movies.
Marc shuddered and turned back to the judge, which was no improvement
over the unattractive twins. The judge lifted his gavel.
"The court is now in session!" he thundered.
"And high time, too!" Toffee sang out in reproving agreement.
The judge leaned on the gavel and brought it down solidly on his own
hand.
"Damnation!" he bellowed.
"Such low talk for such high places," Toffee commented dryly, turning
to Marc.
Marc glanced down at her brief costume and a look of pain assailed his
already troubled features.
"Be quiet," he said, almost pleadingly.
"Yes!" the judge said, nursing his hand. "You be quiet!" Then he
turned and gazed malevolently at the gathering in general. "The air
of insanity which has crept into this court will dissipate itself
instantly or I'll clear the hall. I'll clear out the whole kit and
kaboodle of you, even the defendants." He turned back to Toffee. "I may
clear out the defendants anyway."
The court settled into a state of heavy quiet, and though the air of
madness which the judge had spoken of with such great passion had
abated, there was the feeling that it was only holding itself in
abeyance, that it might reassert itself at any moment with a vengeance.
The judge cleared his throat and settled his glasses on his nose.
"Your Honor ..." the prosecution began.
"Shut up!" the judge snapped peevishly. "I want no lengthy speeches
from you. This case is plain enough without any highfalutin' verbage
from any legal eagles."
The judge elaborated, going on at some length about the degree and
quality of the silence he wished from all concerned. No one noticed
that the door to the courtroom had quietly opened, permitted the
passage of a quantity of what appeared to be merely fresh air, then
gently closed again.
* * * * *
It had been a cruel night for George; the ways of earthly civilization
had dealt with him without temperance or humanity. The poor ghost,
having eavesdropped on Julie's telephone conversation, had begun to
have a horrible suspicion that Marc Pillsworth was still alive and
that he, George, was on earth under false pretenses. George had been
distressed at this; here was a set of circumstances that the High
Council wouldn't even begin to approve.
Gathering that the mortal in question was in the hands of the police,
George had finally ... and with all the best intentions in the
world ... decided to check this appalling piece of information for
himself on the bare hope that there might have been some mistake.
Placing himself, rather invisibly of course, in the hands of the rapid
transit system, George had received the ride of a lifetime. He had
covered the length and breadth of the city several times over without
ever arriving at his destination. It was all too much for George's
powers of comprehension. He had been shoved, stepped on, pushed and
sat on by humans almost beyond the limits of his endurance. Now,
bruised and beaten, he had finally arrived at the place he sought. He
gazed on the courtroom without enthusiasm, sighted Marc and drifted
disconsolately forward, his hopes withering as he moved.
"Of course," the judge was saying, "this case, on the face of things,
is so silly I blush to be trying it in this court. Actually, it belongs
in an asylum." He fixed Marc with a cold stare. "Do you still contend,
Pillsworth, that you were clinging to that statue solely for reasons of
security? In other words, do you persist in the mad delusion that you
were floating through space?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Marc said earnestly. "You see, I have been engaged
in an experiment...."
"Enough!" the judge snorted. "Don't go on about it. It's too
disgusting." With a forefinger he pressed his glasses to the bridge of
his nose. "That settles it. The only thing for you to do, Pillsworth,
is to prove your point to the court. In other words, demonstrate that
you really are ... uh ... buoyant. Briefly, either you float, here
and now, for the court or you go to the pokey and wait for a mental
examination. And let me warn you against any mechanical devices."
"But, Your Honor!" Marc protested. "Only this morning I discovered
that...."
"Float!" the judge demanded. "Go on. Float!"
An expectant quiet ensued as Marc stood miserably before the bench.
Several photographers moved quietly forward, shifting fresh bulbs into
their cameras. Toffee turned to Marc anxiously.
"Go on!" she hissed. "Show the old goat!"
Marc looked at her unhappily. "I can't!" he whispered.
During this interval, looking remarkably haunted for a ghost, George
arrived at a position between Marc and Toffee. He gazed on Marc's face
and frowned; there was no question about it, his mortal part had played
him a foul trick; Marc was still alive. George was undecided as to how
to meet the situation. His inclination was to stick around just for
revenge, but there was the warning from the Council. Then, too, there
was the possibility that Marc might tick off at any moment; after all,
living in this earth world was an extremely perilous business from
all that George had seen of it. In that case, everything would be all
right. Weighing the pros and cons of the matter. George turned to
regard Toffee for the first time. Instantly his mood brightened.
There was hardly anything that George could see about Toffee that he
didn't like, and he could see virtually everything. Particularly, he
admired her taste in clothes. Clearly, here was a girl who had a bit
of flair and imagination. However, the small piece of metal sticking
out untidily at the waist offended George's sense of perfection. That
didn't belong there, he was sure of it. As George reached out to pluck
away the offending blemish he had no idea that with the mere flick of a
finger he was about to touch off a roaring panic.
* * * * *
In the moment that followed there was a small zipping sound which
was instantly followed by a startled gasp, as Toffee, to the
electrification of all present, suddenly stood before the court bereft
of two of her most valuable butterflies and all of her skirt. There was
a bit of silence after that, followed by a sudden flash of a camera, a
sprinkling of half-hysterical applause, and one small scream.
The judge, starting from his chair to lean across the bench for a
better view of the performance, reverted to his former shade of purple.
His face bloated with rage, he was rendered incapable of anything more
coherent than a furious sputter. Amazingly, Toffee seemed to share the
judge's feelings in the matter. She whirled on Marc with eyes that
glittered.
"Of all the shabby stunts!" she stormed. "Trying to stall for time by
making a show out of me! You lousy sensationalist!"
"What...?" Marc began innocently.
But it was too late. Already Toffee had doubled her fist and wound up
for the pitch. The next thing Marc knew he had been dealt with harshly
in the vicinity of his nose. He lost his footing and sailed backwards.
Toffee watched the results of her handiwork with satisfaction. However
she was somewhat astonished at how heavy Marc had been in the felling.
The truth of the matter, though, was that she had knocked down not
one Marc Pillsworth but two. George, caught at the side of the head
by Toffee's elbow staggered backwards, tripped over a chair, and fell
sprawling on his back.
Marc landed heavily on the floor, skidded crazily out of sight under
the table, struck his head smartly against a leg and lay inert. In the
same second, the matron reached a restraining hand toward Toffee, then
started back with a cry of fright; the girl had suddenly vanished.
Simultaneously, George, in a fit of confusion and surprise, fully and
completely materialized himself.
All this happened in the flick of an eyelash.
As far as the court was concerned the incident was fairly simple:
Toffee had knocked Marc to the floor, then fled the room. All eyes
turned toward George under the misapprehension that he was Marc.
The judge beat out a deafening thunder with his gavel.
"Order!" he screamed. "Order!"
The court quieted. The matron ran forward to the bench.
"She's gone!" the harried woman cried. "She just disappeared!"
"Good!" the judge said. "And for heaven's sake don't go looking for
her. I hope I never set eyes on that girl as long as I live." He turned
to look evilly at George. "Get to your feet," he commanded.
George looked up at the judge and blanched; for a moment he was afraid
he'd been recalled to the chambers of the High Council. He got quickly
to his feet.
"All right now," the judge said with deadly steadiness. "Float!"
"Float?" George asked.
"Yes, of course, float," the judge snorted. "That's what we're all
waiting for, isn't it? Are you going to float or aren't you?"
George shrugged. There was certainly no accounting for the tastes
of these mortals. He couldn't imagine why this man was so insanely
anxious to see him float; it seemed to mean the world and all to
the poor devil. However, George supposed it would be best to humor
him. He settled himself squarely on his feet, closed his eyes, and
concentrated. Slowly he began to levitate from the courtroom floor.
When he had risen to a height of about eight feet, he stopped, opened
his eyes, and looked down. A sea of widened eyes and opened mouths
gaped up at him. An excited murmur went through the court. The judge
rose up out of his seat like a great gulping porpoise, then fell back
heavily.
"Lord love a lobster!" he gasped.
* * * * *
George gazed on these reactions with amazed satisfaction. Obviously
these mortals were pathetically easy to please; if a simple
demonstration of levitation could cause this much concern, just think
how they'd react to some of his other accomplishments! The ham bone
popped out in George's restrained soul like an internal rash.
With a small formal bow, first fore, then aft, the self-dazzled spook
sat down with a flourish, placed his hand comfortably behind his neck,
and stretched out with suspenseful deliberation. Then, dangling one
foot lazily in space, he dissolved his head.
[Illustration: George threw the courtroom into an uproar as he suddenly
dematerialized his head....]
As a low moan issued through the courtroom, one of the photographers
nearest this dreadful scene turned to another of his kind.
"You know, Harry," he said in a controlled voice, "I've been thinking.
You and me, we've been in this racket an awful long time now."
"Yeah," said Harry. "An awful long time."
"Yeah. Maybe too long. It's no kind of a life for a man with any kind
of sensitivity, you know. It's liable to take a bad effect on a guy
after a while."
"I know what you mean," Harry said thoughtfully. "You get around too
much, see too many screwy things. It might begin to give you a sort of
distorted view like."
"Sure. It could even get so bad you could get kind of unbalanced. Maybe
it would start with you seein' things that aren't real."
"Uh-huh," Harry nodded. "Maybe like guys floatin' around in the air
without they've got their heads on. Or something like that. Not that
I've ever seen no such thing, mind you."
"Of course not. Who would see a crazy thing like that unless it was
somebody goin' bugs or somethin'?" The photographer laughed falsely.
"It's funny to think a thing like that could happen to a guy."
"Yeah," Harry said. "It's a real laugh. What say we get the hell out of
here?"
"You bet! Let's run like the devil!"
Together, the men dropped their cameras to the floor, turned, and ran
as fast as they could out of the court room.
Meanwhile, a new groan of horrified amazement had gone through the
room. George, in an effort to demonstrate to his audience the very last
measure of his paralyzing talent, had introduced a new and even more
arresting wrinkle to his performance. Alternately dematerializing and
rematerializing in rapid succession, he was blinking on and off like a
neon sign.
The judge took one look at this nerve-twisting innovation and rallied
to a final effort. He reached for his gavel and brought it down feebly
on the bench.
"Dismissed!" he whizzed. "Dismissed! I dismiss everything. For the love
of Hannah, _dismissed_!"
Suddenly the court broke into pandemonium. The traffic to the doors was
disordered and chaotic as the members of the audience trampled each
other to be out of the place. In front of the bench George perceived
regretfully that he had lost his audience, dissolved himself for one
last time and sank slowly down to the floor.
Beneath the table, Marc roused himself and sat up to rub his head. As
he did so, Toffee instantly appeared beside him.
"What happened?" he asked vaguely.
"How should I know?" Toffee asked tartly. "Just when things were
getting interesting you passed out and dissolved me." She glanced from
beneath the table. "Now it's all over."
She crawled out from beneath the table and gathered the scraps of her
costume which had remained abandoned on the floor. As she quickly
zipped everything into place, she looked around.
"The judge went away without even saying goodbye," she said injuredly.