"Eh?"
"Oh my, yes. Only this time I haven't failed. You remember what
happened to the rock and Mr. Epperson down on the beach, Mr.
Pillsworth?"
Marc nodded dumbly.
"Wouldn't it be dreadful if such a thing happened to the world?
Wouldn't it be terrible if the whole world suddenly burst apart and
became nothing more than a fleeting vaporous body in the universe?"
"What's he talking about?" Toffee asked frightenedly.
"I'm talking about the button," the doctor said. "Would you believe it,
if I told you that I could achieve such a disaster simply by pressing
that button? It would all be over in less than a second."
* * * * *
A heavy silence crashed into the room and throbbed as quietly as a
battery of kettle drums in full cry, pounding on the nerves like a trip
hammer. Finally, when Marc spoke, it was only to force it back by the
sheer force of his voice.
"I ... I don't believe it," he faltered.
"Are you forgetting what happened on the beach?" the doctor asked.
"And besides, it doesn't matter whether you believe or disbelieve it.
The point is that you are going to tell the world about it. You're
going to sell the world that button for a very nice price ... it's
freedom. Either things will be done my way in this world from now on,
or there'll be no world. I'm simply giving you the biggest advertising
assignment of all time. You're a lucky man, Mr. Pillsworth. I shall
rule the world and you shall be my spokesman."
"I ... I don't believe it," Marc repeated doggedly. "You're lying."
"I've told you that you don't have to believe it," the doctor went
on triumphantly. "However, one fact remains; if I do not receive, by
radio, assurances from the governments of the world, beginning within
the next twenty-four hours, that they will hold all resources and
manpower at my disposal, pending my wishes, I shall not hesitate to
press the button. And please believe me, I have enough charged material
ready that it won't leave even so much as a memory."
"Twenty-four hours!" Marc gasped.
"Mr. Pillsworth!" the doctor exclaimed. "I know your resources! And
I've waited a long time for this! The fate of the world rests in your
hands!"
"Yes," Toffee put in derisively. "The doctor has a right to a little
fun after working so hard for so long. Don't be a kill-joy, Marc."
"But I'll be arrested for murder, the minute I show myself," Marc
protested. "And who'd believe any of this, anyway? What about that?"
"Those," the doctor said wearily, spreading his long hands before him,
"are your problems. I'm sure you'll find a solution to them."
Toffee rose gracefully from her chair and swung easily toward the
desk. "You make it all sound so easy, doctor," she said acidly. And
so startling was her movement, so distracting her lovely body in
motion, that neither Marc nor the doctor noticed that, in turning,
she had scooped the gun from the corner of the desk, where the doctor
had dropped it. But now that they did notice, another fact was also
blaringly apparent. She was pointing the gun in the wrong direction.
Grasped by the muzzle, it was aimed directly at her own smooth midriff.
"Hands up!" she announced dramatically.
"Turn it around!" Marc yelled. "You're sticking yourself up!"
"If you press that trigger," the doctor said calmly, "I'll press this
button." His hand was already moving across the desk.
Marc swung quickly out of his chair, but overlooked the fact that
one foot was still twisted nervously around a metallic leg. It was a
disastrous oversight. The tardy foot, working in stiff opposition to
his urgent forward movement, he sprawled awkwardly in mid-air, then
came down, head-first, on the gleaming floor. Coming to haphazard rest,
he rolled over, grinned foolishly, and closed his eyes in involuntary
slumber. He was out like a cat at night.
The minute Marc's eyes closed, the gun skittered chatteringly across
the floor. Toffee couldn't have held it any longer, if she'd wanted to.
She'd vanished into thin air.
Dr. Herrigg stared bewilderedly at an area which, to his scientific
mind, had no right to be vacant. A moment ago it had been occupied by a
highly disconcerting young lady with red hair. Now, it was as empty as
a rejected lover's heart. He passed a hand over his eyes, then looked
again. It was still empty.
* * * * *
Something cool and damp struck Marc across the face, and he opened his
eyes to find the doctor peering anxiously down at him, a cloth in his
hand.
"Where is the girl?" he demanded.
Marc sat up and stared at him blankly, wondering the same thing. Toffee
should be materialized, now that he was conscious again.
"I don't know. You haven't done anything to her?"
"Of course not. She was right here when you fell. She simply vanished."
"She must have sneaked out during the confusion," Marc said, thinking
that what the doctor didn't know wouldn't hurt either of them. It was
his own opinion that Toffee had materialized elsewhere and gone for
help.
"But that's impossible! This place is locked electrically."
"In her way," Marc replied smilingly, "Toffee is rather scientific
herself."
"Well, my men will catch her before she goes very far," the doctor said
a bit more calmly. "She won't be able to get away."
"Your men?"
"Oh, I have quite a staff here."
"How do you keep them? Surely they don't approve of what you're doing?"
"They were brought here just as you were. They think they're on a very
secret mission for the government, and remain as voluntary prisoners."
There was a soft, whirring sound and they both turned toward the
slit-like door opposite the one through which they had come earlier.
Swiftly, the metal panel shot upward to reveal a disheveled Toffee,
squirming in the tremendous clutches of a large, muscular young man,
whose face bore the bloody handiwork of her long, sharp fingernails.
Toffee's face bore only the marks of outrage.
"Get those clammy hands off me!" she shrieked, "or I'll scratch that
nasty face of yours right out of existence!"
"You already have, lady," the young man returned peevishly. "You've
probably ruined it forever."
"I've done you a service then!" Toffee barked. "You should be glad to
be rid of the ugly thing."
"Aw, lady," the fellow protested. "Is that any way to talk?"
"It's one way," Toffee retorted, and apparently anxious to have an end
to the matter, she silently delivered a jabbing blow to the young man's
stomach.
"Oof!" was her victim's singular comment, and he immediately released
her to clutch at the damaged section.
Toffee pivoted and strode into the room with queenly elegance.
"That," she announced with emphasis, "is no gentleman."
The doctor looked at her and smiled.
"Apparently you got the wrong door," he said. "Do you like my
laboratory?"
"It looked like a bathroom to me," Toffee snapped. "And don't rub it
in, atom brain. If I'd got out the other way, you'd be plenty washed up
by the time I got through with you. Make no mistake about that!"
"But you didn't," the doctor grinned, then turned to Marc. "Now that
the young lady has been recovered, and no harm done, I imagine you're
anxious to get to your work? We've already wasted nearly an hour."
Marc nodded, anxious to be away from the place at any cost.
"I'll have to ask you to replace your blindfolds," the doctor said
smoothly. "It's of prime importance that you do not know where this
place is located. I wouldn't like to see you leading the police back
here."
While the business with the blindfolds was being transacted, the
forgotten young man at the door seemed to recover his vagrant breath.
He straightened up and glared at Toffee.
"And you ain't no lady, either!" he proclaimed spitefully.
Toffee clawed the air blindly.
"Lead me to him!" she wailed. "Just lead me to him!"
* * * * *
Sheriff Miller looked grieved. His expression was the one of a man
who had been tried beyond endurance. His eyes, as though seeking
escape, darted to the darkened window, then back to the disordered
couple standing before him. He tried vainly to resist a feeling that
the atmosphere in the little office had gotten too heavy for the
structure's thin walls. Somewhere, somehow, something would have to
give way soon. And it seemed, to him, that his sanity stood a good
chance of being the first to go ... if it hadn't already.
"Now, let's have that again," he drawled, dragging his reluctant eyes
back to Marc and Toffee.
"We were kidnapped," Marc began.
"... by the man who's ..." Toffee continued impatiently.
The sheriff's hand moved for silence more swiftly than either of them
had supposed it could. His eyes moved beseechingly toward the ceiling.
His lips murmured a silent prayer ... or curse.
"I know! I know!" he groaned. "By the man who's goin' to blow up the
whole ding blasted world! You ain't said a word about nothin' else
since my deputies come draggin' you in here. And if I have to listen to
any more about it, I'm going to throw you two in jail and have the key
melted down for a watch fob! It is the craziest thing I ever heard of
in all my whole natural life."
"_Natural_ life?" Toffee exclaimed acidly. "He calls life with a face
like that natural! If that's nature, I'll take tabasco!"
"What's the matter with my face?" the sheriff asked belligerently.
"What isn't! Just look at that moth-eaten mustache!"
"Stop that!" Marc put in crisply. "We haven't time to haggle over the
sheriff's mustache! We've only got twenty-two hours left!"
Injured at having been brought to account by his own prisoner, the
sheriff turned vengeful eyes on Marc.
"You're in here fer murder!" he snapped.
"I've got to get to a telephone!" Marc pleaded desperately.
"If you think you're goin' to make me think you're crazy so's you can
plead insanity," the sheriff snorted, "you're ... you're ... crazy!"
"Make up your mind, Sheriff," Toffee said demurely.
"Why did you kill 'er?" the sheriff thundered suddenly, leering at Marc.
"I didn't."
"Her body was in your closet!"
"So was yours," Toffee giggled.
The sheriff shuddered and passed a moist hand over an equally moist
face, leaving both face and mustache matchingly droopy. He gazed
smoldering at Toffee for a moment, then turned his attention resolutely
to Marc.
"If you didn't kill 'er, who did?"
"Dr. Herrigg."
"... the man who's going to blow up the world," Toffee elaborated
innocently.
The sheriff's huge hand came down thunderingly on the desk.
"That rips 'er!" he screamed. "That cops the cast iron feather duster!"
He turned excitedly to one side. "George! George!"
A small, musty rustic emerged from the shadows and shuffled to the
sheriff's side. "Yep, Mort?" he queried sadly. "What's up?"
"They are!" the sheriff thundered, pointing a long, gnarled finger
dramatically at the captives. "Up fer life, I hope! Lock 'em up. Get
'em out of my sight afore I throttle the both of 'em with my own bare
hands!"
George cast baleful, faded eyes at his two charges and nodded toward
a door at the rear of the room. "Come along peaceable," he quavered.
"The man'll have to bunk in with the drunk in number one." He looked
at Toffee with a smile that was only a ghost of itself. "You can have a
cell all to yourself, miss. We've got two."
Toffee cast a hopeful glance toward the street door, but instead of
finding a possible path to freedom, it encountered only what appeared
to be a solid wall of gaping mouths and goggling eyes. The villagers,
currently looking like an assortment of strangling guppies in an
over-crowded aquarium, had turned out to see the murderers; rare things
in their quiet town. A low whistle issued from the staring group as
Toffee moved into full view.
"Sure hot out tonight, ain't it?" a rural humorist commented sweetly,
turning away.
* * * * *
Marc watched dolefully as the drunk, a dapper little man, bearing the
mark of elegance in distress ... and alcoholism in over-abundance ...
tottered uncertainly across the cell and clung eagerly to the bars.
Blinking, he peered at Toffee in the opposite cell. "My wife would kill
me," he murmured thickly. "Now I'm seein' redheaded dames!"
Across the aisle, Toffee looked up quickly, the overhead light falling
sharply across her vivid face. "Look out who you're calling a dame!"
she snapped. "You sodden little alcoholic. Why don't you become
anonymous?"
"Geez!" the fellow breathed wonderingly. "She talks! I could hear her
just as plain! She talks kinda mean, but she's got a real nice voice."
"Don't let it go to your head," Marc warned sourly. "She'll talk to
anyone. She'd even pass the time of day with Jack the Ripper if she had
the chance."
"Better than drunks," Toffee commented dryly.
"Don't you like liquor?" the little man asked worriedly.
"Not from a distance. Please breathe out the window."
Obediently, the fellow lurched toward the tiny cell window and perched
his chin on its sill. "Like this?" he asked, anxious to please.
"Much obliged," Toffee rewarded him. "That helps a little." She turned
anxiously to Marc. "How are we going to get out of here?" she asked.
"We wouldn't be in here in the first place," Marc lamented bitterly,
"if that half-witted Herrigg hadn't dropped us right into their laps."
"I guess he thought you wanted to be near the telegraph office. It's
just our luck that the jail turned up right next door." Her expression
became deeply thoughtful. "Do you think he can really do what he says?"
"How should I know? But I do think we're likely to find out. Even if
I manage to get out of here in time, no one will ever believe me. I
wouldn't believe it myself. What was down in the laboratory?"
"Oh, nothing much. The usual collection of miscellaneous wires and
wheels and tubes. There was just one thing, though. You remember that
lighting gadget in the upper room?"
Marc nodded that he remembered.
"Well, there was another of those downstairs, only larger and nearer
the floor. I walked right into one of those white beams that hold it
up."
"What happened?"
"Nothing really," Toffee went on. "The ball stopped turning. I guess
it would have fallen if I'd broken the beam entirely. When I stepped
out, it started revolving again, just as before, only in the opposite
direction. That's when that pie-faced gorilla grabbed me."
It wasn't much of a revelation; it didn't leave much room for
discussion, and at its conclusion the little cell block became
very quiet. The heavy, dewy breathing of the little drunk gave the
atmosphere a sort of sad, sighing quality. It was Toffee who finally
put an end to it.
"Oh," she said. "I forgot something."
"Huh?" Marc grunted.
"I forgot something," Toffee repeated, and immodestly she thrust a
searching finger into the upper portion of her brief costume. She
looked like a distressed woman who had falsified her figure only to
discover that certain attachments, in spite of their manufacturer's
claims, are not always trustworthy. It was a moment of breathless
suspense.
"Stop that!" Marc yelled. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I found something in the laboratory," Toffee said, her curious search
leading her into a series of writhing motions of a very suggestive
nature. "I put it away for safe keeping."
"In ... in your...?"
"Yes," Toffee answered quickly. "After all, I don't have any pockets,
you know."
"What was it?"
"Something small and white ... and cold, at first," Toffee panted,
snappily shifting hips.
"A capsule?" Marc yelled.
"What's a capsule?" Toffee gasped impatiently. "Don't bother me
with silly questions at a time like this. I know the thing is here
somewhere."
* * * * *
The drunk turned eagerly away from the window. His eyes became
brilliantly alight, and a grin of sheerest delight spread over his face.
"Turn on the blue lights!" he chortled, then followed the exclamation
with an offensively shrill whistle.
"Keep your low notions to yourself," Toffee snapped, pushing back a
mop of red hair that had fallen rakishly over one eye. "Things are bad
enough without you getting smutty about it all. I'm only looking for
something."
"Ain't nothing missing that I can see," the drunk giggled.
"Hit him Marc!" Toffee yelled. "Smack that evil-minded little ogre!"
"Can't you get along without all that squirming?" Marc pleaded.
"Where's your sense of modesty?"
"I don't know," Toffee returned. "But wherever it is, I'll bet it's
getting a darned good jolting around."
Then suddenly the performance stopped.
"It's no use," Toffee said. "I've got this thing on too tight, and the
thing's hiding where I can't get at it. I'll have to loosen things up a
bit."
"Lord love me!" gasped the evil-minded little ogre. "If she loosens up
much more, she'll be spread out like a picnic lunch."
"Slug him, Marc!"
"We'll close our eyes," Marc compromised. "I'll keep my hand over his."
"All right," Toffee agreed, "but if the dirty little devil tries to
peek, hammer him down to the floor! Cut him off at the ankles!"
With Marc's promise that the evil-minded little ogre, more recently a
nasty little devil, should be served in his prime in case of peeking,
the loosening up proceeded in good order. Turning her back, and bending
over, Toffee began to shake her shapely torso in a manner that vividly
recalled the palmier days of Gilda Grey. It was in this provocative
moment that George, the ancient keeper of the keys, stirred by the
sound of loud voices, hove onto the scene. Stopping short at the first
glimpse of the quaking Toffee, he flushed a deep crimson and turned his
faded eyes modestly away.
"You gotta stop that, lady," he whimpered. "It ain't decent, and this
is a respectable jail. The sheriff don't like that sort of thing goin'
on here."
"Go away!" Toffee yelled distractedly, clutching wildly at her dress.
"Get out of here!"
"I ain't gonna leave 'til you promise not to do that any more. It ain't
nice." He pointed to Marc and the drunk, still standing starkly still,
their eyes clamped determinedly shut. "Just look what you're doin' to
them poor boys over there, lady. You ain't gettin' nowhere with them.
Their eyes is shut. And look at the big one helpin' the little one to
keep from lookin' out."
"Yes!" Toffee exclaimed hotly. "I had to practically threaten those
'poor boys' with disfigurement to get them to do it! Now, you get out
of here before I start whooping it up all over the lot. I'll tell
people you made improper advances."
Instantly, George's face exchanged its embarrassed redness for a
terrified pallor. He knew when he was licked. He turned and fled from
the room.
"I'm goin' to call the sheriff," he threatened distantly. "He's goin'
to be awful mad when he learns what's goin' on."
Unconcernedly, Toffee continued her startling operations just where
she'd left off. Almost immediately a small, white pellet appeared at
her feet. Hastily, she readjusted her appropriated draperies and picked
it up.
"I've got it!" she called, and the distraught statues in the opposite
cell immediately came to life.
"Let's see it!" Marc yelled excitedly.
"Just a minute," Toffee replied. "Wait 'til I get it open. I want to
see what's inside."
"Don't!" Marc screamed. "It'll blow up! Throw it over here, to me."
"Oh, all right," Toffee agreed reluctantly. "Here it comes."
Like a bullet dispelled from a gun that was anxious to be rid of its
burden, the capsule shot across the aisle, and in spite of Marc's
frantic clutching gestures, cracked sharply against an unrelenting iron
bar. Then, it dropped back, into the center of the passage.
Marc turned dazedly to Toffee, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.
The tiny jail was suddenly all smoke, flame and blackness, more or
less in that order, and its surprised inmates were suffering the eerie
sensation of having the floor treacherously snatched from beneath their
very feet.
* * * * *
Elevating his nose from its uncomfortable position astride a cold, iron
bar, Marc glanced unbelieving at the devastation about him. The jail
was a shattered shambles, and well ventilated in the extreme. Here and
there, ghostly pockets of smoke were arising slowly through beams of
moonlight. Somewhere behind him, there was the sound of an iron door
being flung aside, and sitting up, he looked around.
"Damn!" Toffee said with elegant profanity. "My dress is a mess."
"The jail hasn't been improved much, either," Marc observed. "You hurt?"
"Of course not!" Toffee said, obviously surprised that anyone should
ever think of her as anything but indestructible. "I'm still intact."
A dreadful moaning sounded from deep under a pile of debris, and Toffee
turned, stepped over the door that was hanging undecidedly by a single
bent hinge, and leaned forward in a listening attitude.
"What is it?" Marc asked. "It sounds like a lost soul."
"It is," Toffee said. "It's your drunken cell mate. He's giving voice."
"I wish he wouldn't be so damned generous with it. He's fairly
lavishing voice."
"Must be down pretty deep," Toffee mused. "We can't leave him there."
"Why not?"
"I don't know for sure," Toffee replied uncertainly. "But I'm pretty
certain it isn't just the thing to do." She started in the general
direction of the noise. "Take heart!" she called. "We're coming!"
"Don't bother!" the voice called back weakly. "It's not very nice down
here. You wouldn't like it at all. Just pass down a bottle and go away."
When the last armful of bars had finally been cast melodiously aside,
and the little man freed, he regarded Marc levelly, without thanks.
"You didn't have to hit me," he said reproachfully. "I didn't peek
much."
"We blew up!" Toffee explained proudly. She waved an arm significantly
at a sizable hole in the wall. The fact that the ceiling was almost
entirely gone seemed to escape her notice. "Let's go!"
The drunk, an amiable soul, even if a lost one, accepted the
explanation without question and smiled agreeably.
"Okay," he said. "Let's take my car and go somewhere. There's some
liquor left in it I think." He turned to Marc apologetically. "No
offense, old man?"
"None at all," Marc replied absently.
The fellow extended his hand formally and said, "I'm Harold Jenks.
Harold J. Jenks, the plumber."
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Jenks," Marc said impatiently, anxious to be
going. "My name is Dracula. This is my girl friend, Mad Agnes."
"Please to meet _you_, Mr. Dracula," Harold said with careful
politeness.
"Heaven help me!" Marc exclaimed desperately. "Let's get out of here!"
And like three specters, freshly risen from the grave, they filed
silently out into the cool quietness of the night. Toffee looked back
sadly.
"It wasn't such a bad little jail," she said with becoming sentiment.
"No, it wasn't," Harold agreed thickly. "I've been in a lot worse."
* * * * *
Marc at the wheel, the delivery truck sped down the silvery, moonlit
highway, heralding to a slumbering countryside that the services of
Harold J. Jenks could be obtained by the very simple operation of
calling 23-J. This lie was blatantly blazoned on the side of the
vehicle in impressive gilt letters. As for Harold J. Jenks, himself,
far from standing ready to rush to the aid of housewives in moist
distress, he was, at the moment, behind those very letters in the
company of Toffee and an assortment of suspicious looking bottles, and
caroling at the top of his lungs. The two of them, joined together in
absolute discord, were engaged in a frightful recital of bawdy ballads,
each new selection seeming to rival its forerunner for sheer obscenity.
Marc, long since giving up any hope of restraining this wild party,
tried merely not to listen to it. And things might have gone on in this
disquieting fashion all night if the truck hadn't unexpectedly coughed,
sputtered, then lavished its last gasp on an asthmatic halt.
"What's the matter?" Toffee asked, dropping out of the current vocal
massacre long enough to peer owlishly over the back of the seat. "Why
stop?"
"We're out of gas," Marc replied. And it was a curse.
"Where are we?" Harold muttered weakly from the darker reaches of the
merchandise compartment. "Is there any liquor nearby?"
Marc thrust his head out of the window, then drew it slowly back.
"We're opposite the beach house," he replied disgustedly, "right where
we started."
"Is there any liquor there?" Harold asked. "We're running low."
"Don't I know it!" Marc growled peevishly. "They don't run any lower
than you two. At least you could have told me we needed gas. The
sheriff will be catching up with us any minute now, and he'll probably
string us up this time. He might forgive a little murder, but blowing
up his jail is a serious matter."
Harold lapsed unconcernedly into discordant melody once more, but this
time he was not joined by Toffee.
"We'd better get out of here," she said. "Let's hide in the house."
"We can't go there. It's full of cops."
"Well, at least we can hide in the woods."
"We'll have to," Marc nodded. "Drag that answer to a distiller's prayer
out of there and let's go. I think those lights back there on the bend
belong to the sheriff's car."
* * * * *
When they were safely in the woods, and Harold had been persuaded that
his future would be more secure without melodic profanity ... even a
rendition of "The Old Pine Tree," especially suited to the occasion ...
Marc turned his attention to the road. The sheriff's car was already
beside the delivery truck.
"What are they doing?" Toffee hissed.
"Searching the truck."
"Won't do 'em any good," Harold chuckled softly. "There isn't any more
liquor in it."
"They're leaving now," Marc called back. "They're headed for the house.
I guess they think we're up there."
"Good," said Toffee. "That gives us more time, anyway."
"More time for what?" Marc asked, turning toward her and slumping
dejectedly against a tree. "What can we do out here in these woods?"
"I don't know," Toffee said reflectively. "But I feel something in the
back of your subconscious that's trying to break through. If I just
concentrate a minute, I may get it. It has something to do with these
woods, I think. Try to make your mind a blank. That'll help a lot in
establishing a contact. I could knock you out," she suggested, "and
return there."
"I'll just make my mind a blank," Marc answered hastily.
And for a time a heavy silence fell over the trio.
"Are these pine trees?" Toffee asked finally, breaking the quiet.
"Good grief!" Marc groaned. "I concentrate myself almost into a coma
to make my mind a blank for you, and all you do is wonder about the
scenery."
"No, no," Toffee said, fluttering a hand delicately. "That's what I got
from your subconscious; a memory of the scent of pines ... if that's
what they are. You smelled them when you were blindfolded ... the first
time."
"I don't remember it."
"Of course you don't. You were too busy thinking about other things
with your conscious mind. But your subconscious recorded it, and it's
still there. It was after Dr. Herrigg stopped the car and we all got
out."
"But we walked for half an hour after that."
"I know. But at least we know where we started from. The memory was
very strong when we came into these woods. We must have been just about
here. The atmosphere is identical. There was also the sound of the sea.
We walked away from it. Where would you be if you walked half an hour
straight into these woods?"
"At a swamp clearing. But there isn't anything there."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. It's part of my property."
"There's something else," Toffee said slowly. "We heard the ocean
again, just before we arrived at Herrigg's laboratory. So we couldn't
have walked back into the woods. We must have gone somewhere else."
"But we traveled straight ahead," Marc objected. "We didn't turn."
"Are you sure this isn't a peninsula? We might have walked across it."
"No," Marc said firmly. "We couldn't have done that. The cliff juts out
into the ocean, but it wouldn't take more than a few minutes to cross
it."
"I know what happened!" Toffee cried. "We _did_ turn! We never
_stopped_ turning. We walked in a circle through these very woods.
Even people who aren't blindfolded often walk in circles when they
think they're going straight. At least they do in forests. Herrigg was
purposely throwing us off the track!"
"I think you are right!" Marc exclaimed enthusiastically. "Maybe we'll
stop Herrigg yet!" Then the excitement suddenly died from his voice.
"But if we traveled in a circle," he said, "we should be at Herrigg's
place now. There's nothing near here but the beach house."
"But we were closer to the ocean than this," Toffee argued. "We were
right next to it."
"The beach?"
"I don't think so," Toffee reflected. "We went downward, but not on a
wooden stairway. It must have been on the other side of the cliff."
"But we couldn't have gone down there. It's a sheer drop."
"But we did," Toffee insisted. "We were inside or under that cliff. I'm
dead sure of it. At least we can't lose anything by looking."
"Nothing but our lives," Marc commented dryly. "And as things stand,
that's next to nothing." He crossed to Harold, who was currently
drowsing, and grasped him by the shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Let's
go."
Harold opened one doggy eye and gazed up hopefully. "We going to get
some grog?" he asked foggily.
* * * * *
Marc stopped and looked back over his shoulder. From where the three
of them were standing in the sloping tunnel, he could not see the
entrance, but the faint, luminous glow of reflected moonlight marked
its probable location. Also, it gave the passage an eerie, under-water
appearance.
"We've come quite a distance," he whispered. "We must be almost level
with the ocean by now. I wondered how Herrigg ever found this place. It
looked like an ordinary wash-out from the highway."
Toffee tugged at his sleeve. "He probably built it that way himself,"
she hissed. "Let's keep going."
"Reminds me of a downstairs saloon in Omaha," Harold put in with a
misguided attempt at sociability. "You go down this little passage,
and...."
There was a sudden, soft slapping sound, and Harold became strangely
mute.
"We'll hear about your disreputable meanderings some other time,"
Toffee said menacingly.
And, for a time, they traveled on in silence.
Then, as they rounded a bend in the tunnel, Toffee, who had
self-appointedly taken the lead, suddenly darted back, and forced Marc
and Harold back against the rough, rocky wall.
"Take it easy," Harold complained. "You trying to split my head open?"
"I couldn't stand the fumes," Toffee retorted. "I think he saw me."
"Who?" hissed Marc. "Who saw you?"
"There's an open space down there," Toffee whispered. "And there's a
guard standing in it. I saw him silhouetted against the ocean. He may
have been looking right at me."
Suddenly the little party froze as a voice echoed through the tunnel.
"Geez, Mac!" it said. "Did you see that, up in the passage, just now?"
"Nope," came the voice of Mac. "Didn't see a thing."
"I did," the voice went on wonderingly. "I could have sworn I saw a
beautiful redheaded angel. She was walking straight for me, just as
pretty as you please. She looked kinda half-naked."
"Oh, is that all it was?" Mac returned disappointedly. "I see things
like that ever once in awhile. They come and go, those angels. You've
just been down here too long. You'll get over it. They go away after a
time."
"I don't want to get over it," the voice said positively. "Not when I'm
seeing dames like that!"
"Dames!" Toffee breathed hotly. "I'll show that blockhead who's a dame!"
"Hold on!" Marc rasped, placing a restraining hand on her arm. "If
they think you're an apparition, let's not disillusion them. Get out
there in that patch of moonlight and try to look ethereal ... if it's
possible ... while Harold and I sneak up on them from the shadows." He
swung about and mistrustingly confronted the weaving Harold. "Grab a
rock," he directed. "We're going to tuck them in for the night."
"Going to play a trick, eh?" Harold winked happily, grabbing an
undersized boulder. "I'm just crazy about tricks." And staggering under
his burden of liquor and rock, he started after Marc, who was already
moving cautiously along the shadowed wall.
* * * * *
Slowly, rhythmically, Toffee moved into the moonlight, her arms swaying
gracefully over her head. In the diffused, silver spotlight, she looked
more like a lovely other-world figure than any hallucination would ever
dare.
"Yipes!" a voice, Mac's, breathed worshipfully. "Look, Walt! Now I'm
seeing it. This is the best one yet."
"Yeah," whispered Walt, apparently overcome. "She's too beautiful to be
true. I wish she were real."
The angel was strangely responsive to flattery. It renewed its efforts.
"Wow!" Walt moaned happily. "It's the first time I ever had a vision
that did a strip tease! This is better than a show!"
Instantly, as though to punctuate the remark, there were two almost
simultaneous thuds, and Toffee's enthusiastic audience, looking like
bobby soxers at a Frank Sinatra matinee, tumbled blissfully to the
ground.
"Stop that!" Marc rasped, stepping over one of the slumbering guards,
"Can't you do anything without taking off your clothes?"
"Yes," Toffee snickered wickedly. "But it isn't much fun. Did you have
to knock them out so soon? I was only getting started."
"Never mind," Marc growled. "We've got to concentrate on getting to
Herrigg. The entrance must be near here. Do you see a panel anywhere?"
"It's probably disguised," Toffee offered. "When that ape grabbed me,
he just rubbed his hand over the wall to open the door. We might try
rubbing this wall and see what happens. It may be an invisible beam
that has to be broken at close range."
"Anything's worth a try," Marc answered, and accordingly, advanced to
the wall and began running his hands swiftly in both directions.
For a time the little party clawed silently at the wall like a trio
of demented sand crabs. It was doubtful that Harold really knew the
purpose of this activity, but he joined in with great good will.
Finally, their industry came to an end as Marc spoke:
"I think I've got it," he whispered. "There's a smooth spot over here."
Even as he spoke, a sudden flash of bright light fell over them as
a slit appeared in the side of the cliff, to reveal the familiar
dome-like room. Marc stole back for another look at the guards, and
finding them still unconscious, returned swiftly to the door.
"Is Herrigg there?" he asked, approaching Toffee.
"I don't see him," Toffee answered. "I think the room's empty."
They crept forward. Toffee was right; the room was deserted. Removing
his jacket, Marc moved into the passage again, and by hanging the
garment on a jagged rock, managed to cover the smooth surface that
opened the door.
"We don't want to be trapped in here," he explained, returning inside.
Then he nodded to Toffee. "Keep an eye on the guards."
"Okay," she agreed. "What are you going to do?"
"Look for Herrigg," Marc replied, "and try to get the jump on him."
He didn't have to look far, for almost instantly there was a soft,
whirring sound that announced the opening of the laboratory door. Marc
dashed swiftly toward it and stood to one side. Toffee crossed to the
open doorway and dissolved into its shadows. She motioned frantically
to Harold, still in the center of the room, but in answer, he only
blinked and swayed undecidedly from side to side, obviously blinded by
the bright light.
The door slid open and Dr. Herrigg stepped into the room. Whatever he
had expected to find, it is certain that an alcoholic plumber was not
among those items, for instantly, at the sight of Harold, he stopped
short, stunned. Indeed, so acute was his surprise that he didn't notice
Marc, almost next to him. The gun seemed to appear magically in the
doctor's hand as he advanced slowly toward the befogged Harold. Harold,
for his part, gazed uncertainly at the shocked scientist and greeted
him with mistaken enthusiasm.
"Got a shot, Doc?" he asked hopefully.
* * * * *
It was at this precise moment that Marc sprang after the doctor.
Leaping lightly forward, he grasped Herrigg's upper arms firmly and
pulled them sharply behind the startled man. There was a quick barking
sound, and a bullet whined thinly over Harold's head, then ricocheted
from the solid, circular wall. As the gun clattered to the floor,
Harold followed its example, and dropped to his knees, looking much
like a terrified, repentant sinner at a revival.
"Cripes, Doc!" he muttered feverishly. "You got it all wrong. All I
want is a drink!"
"Grab that gun!" Marc panted, holding the furiously struggling doctor.
"Cover him!"
Toffee, like an Olympic runner in the last stretch, darted swiftly from
the shadows and scooped the weapon from the floor. This time she held
it correctly.
"Stand back!" she yelled blood thirstily, slipping into what she
believed to be the spirit of the occasion. "I'll blow his ugly head
off!"
The doctor, unexpectedly confronted by this chilling display of
feminine willingness to mayhem, became instantly docile. "Don't shoot!"
he pleaded.
Marc released him and moved toward Toffee. He took the gun from her and
held it levelly on Herrigg. "Let's go, Herrigg," he said. "Let's join
the sheriff."
"You can't do this!" the doctor protested frantically. "You can't!"
"No?" Marc asked, nodding toward the door. "Just step right this way."
There was a general movement toward the outer passage, but it was
suddenly arrested like an abrupt foot-fall in the dark that had reached
for a stairway too soon. The party, quarry and hunters alike, suddenly
froze, as a wild baying echoed weirdly through the outer tunnel.
"Monsters!" Toffee screamed with sincerest terror.
And in the next moment it seemed that she was right. Two sets of
fiendish, glowing eyes appeared in the doorway, and below them, in
appropriate places, were two wide, slavering mouths. This paralyzing
spectacle was presently explained, though made no more lovely, as the
eyes and mouths, advancing, proved to be the formidable property of two
giant bloodhounds. They were straining against a couple of taut chain
leashes at whose ends was a single, mammoth hand. It was the hand of
Sheriff Miller. He surveyed the transfixed party with triumphant eyes.
"Here they are boys!" he called out loudly. "Come and get 'em!"
The call was greeted by the additional, and no more reassuring
appearance of three deputies, all of uniform and unbelievable
proportions. One of them carried a gun of distant, but nonetheless
dangerous, vintage.
"Which one we after, Mort?" one of them asked in a voice that sounded
as though it was being dragged through a gravel pit.
The sheriff pointed to Marc. "That tall, murderous buzzard," he
drawled.
Dr. Herrigg, seeing his deliverance at hand, glanced eagerly toward the
desk, the button on its corner. Marc, realizing that he had lost his
advantage, started forward.
"There's your murderer!" he cried, pointing a trembling finger at the
doctor, and praying that the sheriff would believe him. He still had
his gun, and intended using it if Herrigg made a move. The doctor
seemed to sense this and remained tentatively where he was.
"I don't know what he's talking about," he said suavely. "This man is
obviously suffering from a mental disorder."
"Don't believe him!" Marc yelled. "Ask him about his laboratory."
The sheriff looked baffled. He rubbed his free hand slowly over the
back of his neck. It seemed an hour before the act had been completed,
and he said, "Grab 'em both boys. Hold 'em quiet 'til we find out what
this is all about."
The "boys" did as they were told with a little more efficiency, it
seemed, than was absolutely necessary.
"And now," the sheriff said unhurriedly, "I might's well tell you two,
if either of you make a move, we'll just have to fix you for good."
* * * * *
In disagreement with these new developments, Toffee started
determinedly forward, but suddenly stopped short as the bloodhounds
turned toward her and snarled. She'd seen hungry glances directed at
her legs before, but never any quite so terrifyingly hungry as these.
The sheriff regarded her lazily.
"I'd sure hate to see a pretty girl like you get all chewed up and spit
out," he said with genuine sadness. "But if you make another move, I'm
afraid I just won't be able to hold the hounds no longer. They ain't
had a lot to eat lately."
Toffee glanced nervously at the great, hulking beasts, and didn't make
another move. The sheriff directed his attention to Marc's captor.
"Keep a sharp eye on that 'un, Fred," he said. "He's pretty desperate."
Meantime, Harold, forgotten and ignored in the background, was
beginning to feel a bit left out of things. He started vaguely forward.
"I'm pretty desperate too," he said jarringly.
Surprised, everyone turned in unison to look at the woozy little fellow.
"I'm Hypo Hal," Harold went on theatrically, delighted by such
unanimous attention and reluctant to lose it. "I think I'll make a
confession or two."
He swaggered importantly across the room to the desk, and sitting on
its edge, glanced back to check the setting. "What's this?" he asked
absently, jabbing a finger toward the button on the corner.
"Don't!" screamed Marc. And with a sudden motion of his shoulders, he
lurched free of the deputy's heavy grasp.
"Get 'im, Fred!" the sheriff bellowed.
In the furious moment that followed, Marc was briefly aware of just two
things. The first was a Gargantuan fist, moving swiftly into his face;
the second ... and most alarming ... was Harold's finger, pressing
firmly down on the white button. Both made contact in the same dreadful
instant.
There was a sudden, terrifying burst of white, white light, then
complete, roaring darkness.
* * * * *
Marc felt the floor go fluid under his feet. Then the swirling tide
caught him up, and he was spiraling downward, into the deep blackness
of a gigantic whirlpool. Nearer and nearer the pointed, thrashing
center he moved, but he did not struggle against it. Somehow, he was
suddenly too weary to care. He relaxed and let himself be borne along
in the racing, circling current.
The journey ended just as it reached its twisting, turning climax.
Deposited lightly on a soft, velvety surface, Marc lay perfectly still
for a moment, savoring a strange feeling of quiet contentment. Slowly,
he opened his eyes and gazed out at the muted greenness of the quiet
little valley. He ran an eager hand over the grass. It was as soft and
fine as rabbit's fur. With a contented sigh, he rolled over. Then he
sat up abruptly.
The pert, vivid face that was lowered to his, was familiar. Also, it
was irritated in expression. Dangerously so.
"What's the big idea?" Toffee demanded hotly.
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean! Just listen to him! You know very well what I mean.
Shoving me back into your subconscious just when things really get
exciting!"
Marc glanced questioningly around.
"We're in the valley of your obnoxious mind," Toffee explained
ungraciously. "Now I'll have to go back to work, putting away that
stupid miscellaneous information. And what trash it is! It's what I get
for taking the job in an inferior mind. I should have held out for a
decent intellect."
"I'm sorry," Marc murmured, too cowed to argue.
The anger immediately faded from Toffee's puckish features. She fell to
her knees beside him.
"I'm sorry I said that, Marc," she said with unaccustomed gentleness.
"I didn't mean it. I wouldn't be anyone else's subconscious
manifestation for anything in the world. I swear it!"
"World!" The word struck a responsive chord in Marc's memory. "I've got
to get back!" he cried, jumping to his feet.
"Not until you kiss me goodbye," Toffee insisted, rising after him.
Cool lips and whirling dizziness often went hand in hand, but never as
when the lips involved were Toffee's. Suddenly, the valley had begun to
spin, and Marc felt himself being lifted upward. There was a dreadful
rush of wind, and Toffee was torn from his embrace. A moment later, as
through the roar of a tumultuous ocean, her voice reached him faintly.
"Don't forget!" she was calling. "Don't forget that I'm always waiting
here, in the back of your mind. I'm always here, Marc!"
Marc attempted a reply, but the screaming wind forced the words back
into his throat. He tried not to notice that the light was growing dim;
that a heavy blackness was drawing close around him, everywhere.
* * * * *
Marc opened his eyes, and cautiously felt his jaw. It hurt. Taking
this in stride, he directed his attention to his surroundings.
He was propped up against the passage wall in a more-or-less,
back-of-the-neck, sitting position. From the opening at the end, he
could see that the half-light of early morning was reaching in to waste
a delicate, silvery outline on an immense pile of rocky wreckage. There
was a scraping sound behind him, and he turned.
"You finally wake up?" the sheriff drawled, moving toward him. "Might's
well tell you right now, you ain't hurt none, so's you won't worry."
Marc started to his feet.
"You don't have to run from me no more," the sheriff said. "You're in
the clear. Herrigg told us all about the murder; how he shot the woman
and put 'er in your house. We ain't after you no more."
Marc relaxed.
"Where is everyone?" he asked. "What happened?"
"They've all went," the sheriff said uneasily. "Everyone 'cept you and
me ... and one other."
"One other?"
"Yeah," the sheriff went on hesitantly. "The ... the girl. She didn't
get out when the blast went off, I guess. We looked fer 'er, but didn't
have no luck. I'm sorry to be the one to tell it to you. She was such
a pretty little thing. But I guess she's happier where she is, if it
comforts you to think so."
"Yes. I guess so," Marc replied, smiling wryly. His eyes became
reflective. "What about the doctor?"
"Well, I ain't so sure about him. He acted all right while we was
talkin' about the murder, but soon's we brought up about this place
down here and the rig he had in 'er, it seems like he just went plumb
outa his head. He kept mumblin' something about somebody breakin' some
sort of beam and reversin' a mechanism. Kept yellin' that it caused the
earth to get itself all uncharged, whatever that means. And he called
that poor little girl names 'til you just wouldn't believe it." The
sheriff paused and gazed intently at Marc. "You got any idea what he
was goin' on about?"
Marc considered the question for a long moment. "No, I haven't," he
said finally. "I haven't any idea at all."
"You was ravin' about him blowin' up the world, last night."
"I guess I was just excited," Marc replied evasively.
"That's what I thought at the time."
Marc got slowly to his feet, and tried his legs. They were a little
stiff but still serving their purpose.
"What about the laboratory?" he asked.
"Blew to kingdom come," the sheriff replied. "Ain't nothin' left of
'er. Guess we'll never know what was goin' on in 'er. We got the men
out of 'er all right, but they didn't know much about what they was
here for."
Marc nodded and started slowly up the passage. He was anxious to be
away from the place.
"I think I'd like to get back to the house," he said, "if you don't
mind."
"Don't mind at all," the sheriff answered amiably, following after him.
"As a matter of fact, I feel a little foolish about chasin' you around
like I did. But after you locked me up and blasted my jail house, I
guess it wasn't my fault I thought you was a desperado."
When they reached the top of the cliff and stepped out onto the
highway, Marc had to close his eyes a moment against the bright morning
sun. He shook his head. At first there was a sharp pain, but when it
had passed he felt better. He opened his eyes again, started to turn to
the sheriff, then did a quick double-take toward the beach house. His
eyes grew wide with disbelief.
A blue convertible was standing pertly in the drive.
* * * * *
Without a word of explanation, Marc ran eagerly across the highway and
toward the house, leaving the sheriff to his own reflections on the
daftness of city folk.
"Julie! Julie!" he cried, reaching the path. And in the next instant he
nearly stumbled as he saw his wife, cool, blonde and radiant as ever,
move gracefully through the front door and smile down at him from the
tiny terrace. Then, somehow, she was in his arms.
"When did you get here?" Marc asked when he could.
"Just fifteen minutes ago," Julie said cheerfully. "I drove all night
to get here. I had no idea you'd be at the beach so early. I thought
I'd have to drag you out of bed." She sighed contentedly. "I just
couldn't stand another day without you. I just couldn't face it."
"What about the separate vacations?"
Julie's eyes became wide and innocent. "What are those?" she asked.
"All over it?"
She nodded, flushed just a little.
Through their conversation, Marc had been vaguely aware of a man's
voice within the house. It seemed excited.
"Who's that?" he asked.
"Oh, that!" Julie laughed. "It's the radio!" She looked suddenly
excited, as though having just remembered something important. "You
should just hear what's going on! It's absolutely fantastic!"
"Going on?"
"Yes. It's the strangest thing. Early this morning there was some sort
of disturbance all through the earth's surface. In some places, it was
so severe, it knocked down whole buildings. I really don't understand
it very well, but at first they thought it was just an earthquake, but
scientists proved somehow that it couldn't have been. Now, they've
decided that it must have been some sort of weird bombardment from
another planet ... Mars or the moon, or one of those places. Russia
even claims to be holding Orson Welles responsible.
"Anyway, the most amazing things have been happening ever since!
Already, they've formed a World Army in case of further attacks. And
everyone's talking about a United World. They're really sincere about
it, too. The world has really become united in just the last few hours.
It's odd how swiftly these things can be accomplished when they really
get down to it. They've settled matters that no one ever thought they'd
agree on. It's almost unbelievable. It seems we just had to have some
sort of outside threat to pull us all together."
"Are you sure about all that?" Marc asked.
"Oh, yes!" Julie nodded positively. "Some places got a real jolting."
She drew closer to him. "I'm so glad you weren't in any of them," she
went on softly. "I'm so thankful you were safe here, where nothing ever
happens ... where you could have a nice, quiet vacation."
Marc's mouth flew widely open, then snapped shut. Grinning, he slipped
an arm about Julie's waist and pulled her gently toward the house.
"So am I," he said quietly.