"Sure," the thug said excitedly. "Only now he's all cut up--loose head
and arms and...!"
"Shut up," the congressman snapped.
"They might still be alive," the cop said. "We've got to do something
about it."
"Indeed we do," the congressman said. "Perhaps we can assist them."
"Come on," the cop said. "You can give a hand."
* * * * *
Dutifully the three turned to the sedan. They turned and then stopped
with a harmonized gasp, the cop taking the bass. In the moment of
their turning there had been a sudden movement in the car and the
door had swung partially open. In the opening there appeared a leg of
provocative shapeliness.
"A leg!" the thug shuddered. "I told you!"
"A dame's leg," the cop breathed. "And just think what the rest of her
must have been like with a leg like that! Just imagine...!" He sucked
in his breath as the leg began to show unexpected signs of life. It
quivered, turned and was quickly joined by a mate of equal perfection.
It was only a moment before Toffee appeared in total, quite unmarked.
Her mood, however, was hostile. Quitting the ruined car she turned back
to the door and thrust her head inside.
"Of all the beastly, rotten, evil-minded, stinking things to do to a
girl!" she snapped. "Come out of there you slimy-souled son of Satan
and fight like a man. I'll teach you to make foul passes at a girl when
she is stuck under a clutch. I'll show you...!"
"Good gosh!" the cop said. "Who's she talking to?"
"She must be hysterical," the congressman said, thoroughly shaken.
"Probably got a crack on the head and isn't accountable for what she's
saying."
"That's certainly no way to talk to the dead," the cop said.
"It's no way to talk to the living," the thug said. "If she hauled off
at me like that I'd rather be dead."
"The poor child's obviously insane," the congressman said firmly.
"There's no question about it."
Meanwhile Toffee was still at it. "Come out of there, you hulking
lout," she grated, "before I come in there and drag you out by your
ears!"
"Poor little thing," the cop said sadly. "She really believes Mr.
Pillsworth can come out of that car. She refuses to believe he's dead."
By now Toffee had stepped forward and yanked the door all the way
open. As the three in the background stared in varying degrees of
apprehension, a thin figure in a brief linen gown crawled out on its
hands and knees. The congressman swayed slightly as though about to
faint.
"You look more natural down on all fours, you beast," Toffee rasped.
"I ought to kick you right in the slats. Get up and try to face me if
you've the nerve!"
* * * * *
Apparently the shock of the accident had given George's ectoplasm a
further jolt for now he was completely materialized. He looked up at
Toffee ruefully and got to his feet.
"I was only trying to get you loose," he said.
"The way you were pawing me was enough to get any girl loose," Toffee
said. "Just don't try it again."
"Gawd a'mighty!" the thug whispered. "Pillsworth!"
"Pillsworth?" the cop said. "But that's the same guy who was pinching
the other dame in the coupe. My gosh! how he gets around!"
Just then the other policeman, who had retreated to the background,
arrived on the scene with Marc and the blonde in custody.
"Hey," he said, "I caught this creep on the creep. He was trying to
sneak out."
The cop looked quickly at Marc, then back to George. "It's the same
guy!" he said. "Which one of you birds is Pillsworth?"
Marc and George went smoothly into their routine of pointing to each
other in unison.
"He is!" they said.
The cop turned to Toffee. "Do you know which is which?" he asked.
"Sure," Toffee said and nodded at George. "He's Pillsworth."
"She's crazy," George retorted hotly. "She's as crazy as bedbugs in a
bathtub."
"That's right," the thug put in. "She's a looney if there ever was one."
Marc moved urgently to gain the cop's attention. "You've got to arrest
that man," he said, pointing at the congressman. "He's a subversive and
a murderer."
* * * * *
The congressman whirled about. "You must be insane, sir!" he rasped in
frantic denial.
"_You_ must be," Marc said. "You must have been ripe for the hatch
years ago."
"You're a fine one to talk," the blonde put in nastily. "Officer, this
man is off his rocker like a busted hobby horse. He's done nothing but
pinch me ever since we met."
Toffee levelled her gaze at Marc. "What were you doing pinching that
tomato?" she demanded. "Just what were you getting at?"
"Oh, don't be crazy," Marc said distractedly.
"Oh, so I'm crazy, am I?" Toffee said, doubling her fists.
"You sure are, sister," the thug put in. "You're the most hopped up
dame I ever saw." He turned to the cop. "She ought to be locked up."
"Oh, yeah?" Toffee said. "At least I didn't put anyone in a busted car
and send them off to get killed. Officer, I want you to arrest that
killer."
"Look, officer," Marc insisted, "you've got to take this man into
custody. He's a menace to the whole country."
"If you take anyone in, officer," the blonde put in harshly, "make it
this skinny bimbo. Pinch him like he pinched me."
The congressman moved in aggressively toward Marc. "You're making
slanderous accusations!" he blustered. "You should be committed to an
institution!"
"You're crazy!" Marc raged.
"_You're_ crazy!" the blonde screeched.
"_You're_ crazy!" Toffee hollered at the blonde.
"_You're_ crazy!" the thug insisted moodily.
The cop turned dizzily to his companion and held out a palsied hand.
"Hurry!" he pleaded, "call the wagon, and let's take the whole bunch of
them in. In another minute _I'm_ going to be crazy!"
* * * * *
The morning sun poured through the high windows of the courtroom,
wasting its brightness on a scene of sullen dementia. Judge Carper's
heavy face had achieved a shade of dyspeptic vermillion in record time
this morning. Even the flies clung to the walls in muted terror as his
gavel banged on the substantial wood of the bench and set the room
atremble.
"Silence!" the judge roared. "Silence, damnit! And if one more
defendant makes just one more crack about the sanity of any other
defendant I'll lock the whole crew of you up and melt the key down for
a watch fob." He ran his shaking hand over his forehead. "Besides, so
far I don't even know which ones of you are the defendants and which
are the complainants." He turned to the policeman. "Do you know?"
"I'm not sure," the cop admitted uneasily. "I think they're all both."
"Both what?" the judge asked confusedly.
"Both defendants and complainants. As far as I can tell everybody's mad
as hell at everybody else. It sort of goes around in a circle."
"And I'm burned up at the lot of them," the judge said malignantly.
"Who are those two over there without any clothes on?"
"I think they lost their clothes in the crash," the cop said vaguely.
"The guy is really two guys, so it's hard to tell."
"What?"
"There are really two guys like that," the cop said. "Dressed alike."
The judge peered across at Marc with deep speculation. "I only see one
of him," he said dryly.
"The other one disappeared," the cop said, casting down his eyes.
"He--well, sort of evaporated."
"Evaporated? What are you talking about?"
"It's a fact, your honor. It happened on the way in. The only way I can
explain it is that one minute he was there and the next he just sort of
melted away."
"Rooney," the judge said, "have you lost your wits?"
"It wouldn't surprise me, judge," the cop sighed. "Everyone else has.
Why not me?"
"There's only one man there, Rooney," the judge said harshly. "And
judging by those skinny legs of his, maybe not even that."
"Yes, sir."
"Are you bucking for another vacation, Rooney, is that it?"
"Well, your honor, I do feel tired. It seemed to come over me all of a
sudden, after I ran into all those people."
"All right, we'll see what can be done. In the meantime let's have
no more of this falderol about one man being two, only one of them
evaporated."
* * * * *
"Yes, your honor," Rooney said, greatly saddened. "There's only one
man. I guess I was mistaken."
"Or drunk," the judge murmured sourly and turned his gaze to the
assortment before him. "Now what happened with this gang?"
"They were all in a wreck that involved three cars. The young lady in
the underskirt was driving the first one. She claims that the dark man
with the scar tried to murder her by forcing her to drive a car with a
broken steering gear."
"What does he say?"
"He says the young lady is mentally unstable and of low character. It
seems that he and the congressman observed her in the car for some time
before the crash. They say that her behavior was most erratic, that she
wailed and shrieked and at one point tried to abandon the car in full
motion."
"How else can you abandon a car?" the judge said sharply. "You have to
be in full motion."
"I mean the car was in full motion."
"I see. Where was this gentleman and the congressman while they were
doing all this observing?"
"They were in the second car. The congressman was driving. The dark man
is his body-guard. He was cleaning his gun at the time and that's how
he happened to shoot the third car, although the young lady insists he
was trying to shoot her."
"I think I've lost the thread," the judge said foggily. "Who was in the
third car?"
"The man with the skinny legs who says he isn't Pillsworth, and a
blonde woman."
"He says he isn't Pillsworth and a blonde woman?" the judge asked, his
eyes loosening in their sockets. "Why should he say a thing like that?"
"No, no," the cop said earnestly, "he just says he isn't Pillsworth."
"Then he admits to being a blonde woman?" the judge gasped. "He must be
mad!"
"No," the cop said, "he doesn't admit anything about being a blonde
woman."
"Then he denies being a blonde woman," the judge said with relief. "I
wish you'd give me this story straight. Who accused him of being a
blonde woman in the first place?"
"No one," the cop said, almost tearfully. "He was only accused of being
Pillsworth."
"Pillsworth? You mean the fellow the hospital's looking for? Who said
he was Pillsworth?"
A look of doom came into the cop's eyes. "The--the other one, your
honor," he said.
"The other what?" the judge glowered. "Stop being evasive and answer my
questions."
* * * * *
Rooney swallowed fatefully. "The other Pillsworth," he answered. "He
accused Pillsworth of being Pillsworth--that is unless he's Pillsworth
himself. Only he melted away so I guess we'll never really know. The
blonde woman insists she can't identify him."
There was a dreadful silence as the judge tapped the palm of his hand
with the gavel. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling then levelled it
slowly on Rooney.
"So we're back to the blonde woman again, are we?"
"I'm afraid so," Rooney admitted weakly. "That's her over there,
looking mad."
"I had hoped we were through with the blonde woman," the judge said
acidly. "I thought we'd washed the blonde woman up."
"No, your honor, I'm afraid not."
"This isn't the same blonde woman that Pillsworth denies being, is it?"
"No, sir."
"Does she deny that she's Pillsworth, is that it?"
"No, sir," Rooney sighed hopelessly. "She's just a blonde woman. She
refuses to give her name because her husband's a butcher."
"Is she a defendant or a complainant?"
"A complainant," the cop said. "She said that Pillsworth stole her car
and pinched her. That is if he's Pillsworth, and he denies it."
"Don't you mean he pinched her car?"
"No, sir. He stole her car, but he pinched her--on the thigh."
"My word!" the judge said.
The cop nodded. "She wants to sue someone, only since there were two
of them she doesn't know which one did the pinching. She can't be sure
whether it was this Pillsworth or the other one--if you follow my
meaning."
The judge paled. "Are you being deliberately cryptic, Rooney, or is it
simply that you can't see your way clear to be clear, if I make myself
clear."
"I'm afraid I don't follow you, your honor."
"Just a taste of your own medicine, Rooney," the judge said vengefully.
"How do you like it?" He turned his gaze moodily on the blonde. "About
this blonde...?"
"Yes, your honor?"
"She gets everything all snarled up. Every time she enters the picture
it ceases to make sense. Do you suppose this would all clear up if I
just had her thrown out of court?"
"I don't think so. With or without her, things are snarled up just the
same. I've never seen so much snarling in all my life; these people
just don't seem to like each other."
"What about this fellow who denies he's Pillsworth?" the judge asked.
"Is he the only pure defendant in the bunch?"
"Oh, no, your honor. He's the biggest complainant of the lot. And he's
far from pure. He's accusing the congressman of being the head of a
gang of subversives who are planning to kill the entire population with
bacteria."
* * * * *
The judge leaned across the bench, plainly scandalized. "The
congressman!" he gasped. "Why Congressman Entwerp was a classmate of
mine!"
"Yes, your honor. And he's threatened suit against this fellow for
slander."
"Good," the judge said. "Have this Pillsworth or whoever he is brought
before the bench. Obviously, he's a low criminal type. It sticks out
all over him."
The cop nodded and turned in Marc's direction. "You," he said. "The
judge will hear you."
Across the room, however, Marc gave no sign of hearing. Instead, he was
gazing intently at the vacant chair next to his own. On his face was an
expression of anxious annoyance.
"Now, look, George," he said, "You owe it to humanity to show yourself
and help get this mess cleared up. Why not be a good loser for a
change?"
The empty chair shifted, just perceptibly, with an air of complacency.
"Maybe they'll hang you," George replied hopefully from thin air.
"Don't be silly," Marc said. "There's no reason why they should. Come
on, now, be a good fellow and help get this over with."
"Oh, I'm going to help get it over with," George said pleasantly. "When
I'm through, they'll lower the boom on you so hard you'll be the first
man in history to be buried in an envelope."
Just then Toffee leaned forward and touched Marc's arm. "The judge
wants to speak to you," she said. "Come on, let's go."