could have tempered your blow a little, at least." He frowned as Toffee
suddenly began to giggle. "What's so funny?"
"I was thinking of the desk sergeant, down at headquarters. When I
materialized, I miscalculated a bit, and faded in right on top of his
desk. He nearly had me locked up without even listening to what I had
to say. I don't know when he looked more mixed up, then or later, when
he got a load of Miss Quirtt in those curlers."
"Now that I've got the account," Marc sighed, "I wonder if it was all
worth it."
"Of course it was," Toffee said. "I thought it was loads of fun!"
If Marc's eyes had really held the power that their expression
suggested, the ceiling would certainly have been down around Toffee's
flaming head without further delay. "Let's get a cup of coffee," he
suggested helplessly. "My head's chiming like Big Ben at midnight."
"All right," Toffee agreed, reaching for the elevator button.
"No! Not that!" Marc yelled. "The way that young fiend in there
operates that thing, I'd be lucky to get downstairs with the top of my
head still on. Let's take the stairs."
As together, they started down the carpeted stairway, Marc became
pensive. Even if the matter of the brief case had been settled,
his trouble with Julie was still as bad as it had been the day
before ... probably worse, for all he knew. Then too, there was the
problem of Toffee. Matters certainly wouldn't improve with her around.
His troubled conjecture came to an abrupt end at the sound of Toffee's
anxious voice.
"Look out!" she cried. "Look out for that tear in the carpet!"
"What did you...." Whatever Marc was going to say, was lost for good,
as the toe of his shoe slipped under the torn carpet, for in the next
instant he was flying, head first, down the length of the stairs, steps
flashing past his face like box cars on a fast freight. Down and down
he fell, on and on, and then, looking away from the stairs for a brief
moment, he could see that he was heading into a dense, black fog, that
obscured the bottom of the stairway.
As he drew close to this fog, it seemed to reach toward him and swallow
him up, and then he found that he was falling through a great, unknown
region, that was devoid of all light. He wondered where the floor had
gone.
* * * * *
When finally he came to rest, Marc couldn't calculate how long he
had been falling; it seemed an endless period. Wonderingly, he sat
up, and looked around him for some bit of light, some reassuring bit
of brightness that would tell him he hadn't lost his sight. Even as
he searched, however, the fog began to lift, becoming lighter and
lighter, until there was nothing left of it except a soft blue mist.
Immediately, his surroundings were familiar this time. The valley was
just as comforting and lovely as he had remembered it.
"It hardly seems fair!" came Toffee's petulant voice, and turning, Marc
discovered her standing just behind him.
"What hardly seems fair?" he asked, rising to his feet.
"That I only got to materialize for a single night this time. The way
you bounce me in and out of your subconscious is a screaming crime. I
suppose I'll have to sit around here for another eternity, just waiting
for you to get into another scrape that you can't get yourself out of."
"That's right," Marc said, grinning at her affectionately. "Every time
I find myself in a tight spot, I just say to myself, 'Well, Marc, old
boy, it's time to drop in and pick up Toffee. Now, there's a girl that
can really fix things up!'" He stopped speaking and smiled down at her
wryly.
"I'll bet you do," she pouted. "You just use me. Men are all selfish
dogs."
"And don't you love them!" said Marc.
Suddenly Toffee grinned. "I guess I do," she laughed. "I suppose I'm
just sore because it always comes to an end so soon. It'll all be over
in a minute now. Kiss me goodbye?"
"Naturally," said Marc, and took her tenderly into his arms.
After a long moment, he released her, and looked down to find that she
was smiling up at him.
"And remember," she said. "Think of something off-color once in a
while, so I'll have something to work on. Besides, it'll be good for
you."
"I will," Marc laughed. "I'll think of you. That is, I'll think of you
when Julie...." Suddenly his smile faded into an expression of deep
concern. "Julie! She's still going to divorce me! You're walking out on
me, this time, before everything's settled."
"No, I'm not," Toffee said. "Everything will be all right."
"I believe you want me to be divorced!"
"Nonsense!" Toffee replied seriously. "You two love each other, and I
wouldn't have anything happen to that for the world. Julie just needed
something to jar her out of her jealousy, and I think she's had it.
When you get...."
Toffee's voice trailed off into the distance, and Marc looked down
to find that his arms were empty. She had vanished into the mist, it
seemed.
"Toffee! Toffee!" he called, but there was no answer, and, all of
a sudden, he felt dreadfully alone. His sense of loss was deep and
painful. Then the voice broke through the stillness.
"Run! Run!" it boomed, just as before, and also as before, it seemed
to come from everywhere and nowhere. "Run! Run!" it repeated, more
urgently this time.
Without questioning the reason, Marc began to run frantically, dodging
this way and that, to avoid ... he didn't know what. Then, with horror,
he realized that, in his confusion, he had run in the wrong direction,
for the black fog was directly in front of him, reaching toward him.
Marc turned, but too late. Already, it was shutting out the soft light
of the valley.
"Run! Run!" the voice continued weirdly.
* * * * *
"In the _runner_, there was a tear, lady," a strange voice was saying,
"and he musta caught his toe in it. Anyway, we found him at the foot of
the stairs. That's all I know about it."
"Well, thank you very much for bringing him," Julie's voice answered.
"I'm sure he'll be very grateful to you when he wakes up."
There followed the sound of retreating footsteps and a door closing.
Marc kept his eyes closed, and listened, until he heard Julie
returning. Slowly, he opened his eyes and was glad to find that he was
propped up in a chair in his own living room.
"Well!" Julie exclaimed annoyedly, seeing that his eyes were open. "So
you decided to wake up after all, did you? The men that just dragged
you in here said that you'd fallen down a flight of stairs. What a
laugh that is! Dead drunk, and out cold would be more like it!"
"But I _did_ fall down," Marc protested feebly.
"It's a wonder they didn't come hauling that vile little redhead in
with you!" Julie said icily. "Where did she collapse?"
"But you don't understand about her," Marc said desperately.
"Hah!" snorted Julie, and the laugh that followed the inelegant
exclamation was frozen solid around the edges.
"But Julie," Marc pleaded wretchedly. "I...."
"There's a gentleman waiting to see you, ma'am," Marie, the maid,
interrupted. "His name is Mr. Dembert."
"Send him in here," Julie said, a grim smile forming on her lips.
"If it's someone to see you," Marc said apologetically, starting to
rise, "I'll just go to my room."
"Oh, no!" Julie cried. "This ought to be of great interest to you. I
really wouldn't want you to miss it."
"Very well," he said apprehensively, sinking back into the chair.
In a moment, Marie appeared again in the doorway. "Mr. Dembert, ma'am,"
she announced, and swiftly disappeared.
Marc's eyes moved listlessly to the doorway, and then, suddenly froze
on the man that stood there. It was the ferret-faced little fellow from
the Loma Club and the cemetery. Marc flinched at the memory of the
clicking sounds, and the man's mysterious behavior. Then, he was aware
that Julie was watching him.
"I want you to know Mr. Dembert, Marc," she said smoothly. "He's from
the Regal Detective Agency, and he had the pleasure of following you
all last evening ... if you can call it a pleasure. From what he told
me over the telephone this morning, it must have been some night. He
tells me that he even had to save you from a thug once--for the divorce
courts, of course."
"A private detective?" Marc asked bewilderedly.
"I knew you'd be interested," Julie said with amusement, and then
turned to the odd little man who had remained in the doorway. "Come in,
come in," she called graciously. "I hope you brought the pictures?"
"Yes, I did," the fellow squeaked. "I picked them up only a moment
ago and rushed them right over, without taking time to look at them
myself." He moved with a mouse-like quickness across the room, and
deposited an envelope in Julie's eager hand. "They're all there ... the
night club, the cemetery, the drug store, and the apartment house. You
can see the address plainly on that last one, I think. I was right in
front when I took it."
"Thank you," Julie said, turning to smile viciously at Marc. "Mr.
Dembert photographed you and that redheaded trollop, dear, everywhere
you went last night. The results ought to be mighty interesting to the
judge."
* * * * *
Marc winced, as he saw Julie open the envelope and draw out the
pictures. He closed his eyes tight. He couldn't bear to see what was
going to happen when Julie saw them. There would never, on earth, be
a way to explain them. It seemed that the room remained quiet for an
eternity until Julie's voice unexpectedly cut through the stillness
like a knife.
"Get out!" she screamed. "Get out of this house, and don't you ever try
to set foot in it again! If you do, I'll have you thrown out! You ...
you ... you dirty, lying, double-dealing cheat!"
Marc, sincerely wishing that he had done so earlier, rose slowly to his
feet and moved in the direction of the door, without even bothering to
open his eyes. Then, thinking that Julie must be behind him by now, he
opened them and suddenly stopped short. Mr. Dembert, more mouse-like
than ever, was scurrying toward the door in a fit of terror. Quickly,
he skidded around the corner, and was out of sight. A split second
later, the slam of the front door announced his final departure.
"But, what ..." Marc stammered, turning to Julie.
As if he hadn't had enough surprises, he was suddenly presented with
one more, that was even more confounding than any of the others.
Julie's expression, as she came toward him, was one of absolute
contriteness.
"Oh, Marc!" she cried. "Can you ever forgive me? I might have known
you weren't out with that woman. The minute I got outside your office,
last night, I knew I'd made a fool of myself, but I had to be sure.
That's why I hired the detective. And when I thought you'd gone out
with that redhead...." A flame of anger flickered briefly in her
eyes. "And to think I let that little rat take me in with his phoney
reports!" Again, she turned pleadingly to Marc. "Please say you'll
forgive me?"
Marc stared at her, aghast, for a moment, wondering if he'd finally
lost his mind, then his gaze darted to the scattered pile of
photographs. Quickly he crossed over and picked them up, looked at
them, and then, dropped them disdainfully to the floor.
"I'll think it over," he said severely, turning to Julie. "I don't know
if I'll forgive you or not. You behaved very badly, I think. I'm going
to my room to think about it, and I'll let you know my decision in
exactly half an hour."
With that, he turned and strode majestically out of the room. Reaching
the hallway, out of Julie's sight, he suddenly stopped and the grin
that broke across his face, teetered dangerously on the edge of hearty
laughter.
"I might have known, all along, that Toffee wouldn't photograph," he
murmured. Then, he shook his head wonderingly and continued to his room.
It would be nice, he thought, just having lunch ... in his own home ...
with his own wife.