Meanwhile, the doctors had also caught sight of Marc.
"There he is!" the first doctor said. "We'd better close in on him
fast."
"It's amazing," the second doctor mused. "The man must be living
sheerly on the energy of hysteria. He should have been dead hours ago."
He turned to the third doctor. "Do you have the chloroform ready?"
The doctor nodded and exhibited a can and a large sponge. "Wait till
the Medical Association hears about this," he said excitedly. "They'll
never believe it!"
Thus armed, the men in white pressed forward close in the wake of Julie.
Marc retreated in confusion toward the bench. "They're all after me!"
he cried. "I can't stand much more of this. If just one more character
tries to kill me...!"
* * * * *
The doors of the court swung open and a tall, grim-lipped man barged
into the room and down the aisle. He was carrying a large meat axe.
Across the room the blonde leaped joyously from her chair.
"Darling!" she yelled and ran to meet him. They came together in a
tight clinch just inside the gate. "How did you find me, honey?"
"Bureau of Missing Persons," the man said cryptically. "Where is he?"
"Who, sweet?"
"This creep who kidnapped you. Point him out."
The blonde glanced around. "That's him," she said, pointing, "the one
with all those people following him."
The man observed Marc's retreating figure with a professional eye. "Not
much meat on him," he judged, "especially around the shank." He shoved
the blonde aside. "This'll only take a second."
"Mother in heaven!" Toffee cried, "the whole population is out to get
you." She pulled Marc out of reach of Julie's bag as it made a broad
swipe at his head. "Come on, let's join the judge!"
Together, they raced around the bench and started to mount to the chair.
"Get away!" the judge screamed, taking in the ranks of Marc's
attackers. "Don't come up here!"
"Sorry," Toffee said, leaping lightly up beside him and snatching up
the gavel. "This is total war!"
Marc gaining the bench, turned his attention to Julie. "Please, dear!"
he cried. "There's nothing to be sore about!"
"Oh, isn't there?" Julie gritted. "What about that naked little trull
you're with?" She hefted the bag anew.
"Let me at him!" the enraged butcher bellowed from the flank. "I'll get
him if I have to hack that bench away around him!"
In answer, Toffee brandished the gavel in a wide gesture of defiance
which terminated solidly on the side of the judge's nose.
"Ouch!" the judge roared, grabbing his face with both hands. "Clear the
court!"
"Hell!" the butcher yelled. "I'm going to smear the court with that
lousy kidnapper!"
The siege of the bench raged, and it will always be a sterling
testimony to Julie's physical prowess that as she scaled the bench, the
lethal handbag never once ceased to twirl over her head; if it happened
to strike the judge more often than anyone else it was only because
her aim was deflected by her overwrought emotions. To Marc and Toffee,
however, the real menace lay in the butcher and his cleaver. Only by
the most adroit maneuverings with the gavel was Toffee able to delay
his murderous progress with a few strategic licks on the shins.
* * * * *
The doctors, on the other hand, gave themselves over more to calculated
strategy. While two of them tried to close in on Marc from the sides,
the chloroformist, can and sponge held ready, crept up from the rear.
They might have succeeded in this maneuver except for Toffee. The
redhead, seeing that time and speed were of the essence, abandoned her
attack on the butcher and sailed forward, the gavel raised in one hand,
the gadget in the other. Her plan was to dispatch the flankers with
a single action, then sweep on to overcome the third doctor with all
dispatch. The strategy, however, was too hastily conceived to be really
successful.
Marc in an effort to avoid Julie's bag, leaped forward at just the
wrong moment. Throwing himself toward Toffee, he received the full
impact of both the gavel and the gadget, one to the ear. He reeled to
one side, stumbled and sprawled to the floor, shaking his head.
"Oh, no!" he wailed, looking back reproachfully at Toffee. "Not you
too!"
But Toffee didn't answer; she was far too surprised and pleased at the
sudden results of this little accident. In banging Marc over the head
with the gadget, she had inadvertently sprung the switch and introduced
George, completely restored to the last molecule, into the very center
of the proceedings. She only regretted she hadn't thought of it sooner
as she saw the attackers, in the confusion, turn on George in force.
"Stay down," she hissed and dropped down lightly beside Marc. "While
George is standing in for you, let's get out of this."
Marc rose to his knees, took in the new development and nodded. "This
way," he said, indicating a door behind the bench. "I saw the judge
crawling out this way a minute ago."
Together they scuttled on their hands and knees to the door. Marc edged
it open, let Toffee through, then followed after. Safe, they turned
back to see how the battle was developing around the bench.
George appeared to be finding himself at rather a rude disadvantage.
And it is entirely conceivable that the besieged spook might well
have been confused in that his last conscious moment had been the one
of promised amour just before Toffee hypnotized him. Now, suddenly
restored to awareness, instead of a fawning redhead, he found himself
confronted by what appeared to be a select group of the worst fiends of
hell.
George's gaze grew more and more terrified as he took in the swinging
handbag, the slashing meat axe and the intense, determined faces of the
doctors. With a single shriek of despair, as the meat axe made a swipe
at his ear, he staggered backwards and vanished into thin air.
"Poor George," Toffee giggled. "I've got a feeling he checked out for
good just then. He looked like a ghost who's just remembered a previous
engagement."
* * * * *
Marc got up, closed the door and flicked the latch. He stopped, glanced
around at the room. It was some sort of inner chamber, resplendent of
leather and polished wood, a place of durability and hard surfaces,
lighted by a large brass lamp standing on an enormous oak desk. At the
far end of the room a door stood ajar, opening onto a hallway which
pointed the direction of the judge's recent escape. Marc crossed to it
and closed and locked it.
"Well," Toffee said, perching herself lightly on the corner of the
desk. "This is more like it. Private."
Marc turned wearily from the door. "Just leave me alone," he sighed.
"Just let me sit down somewhere and relax. This is the first time in
almost twenty-four hours that I haven't had someone at my heels trying
to kill me."
"Poor Marc," Toffee said. "You do need a rest."
Marc started across the room toward a large leather-covered chair. He
was nearly there when he caught his foot in the lamp cord and fell.
Even as he struck the floor he was aware of the crazy see-saw flashes
of light traveling up and down the wall. It wasn't until he rolled
over, however, that he saw the lamp teetering precariously on the edge
of the desk just above his head. He started to cry out, but before he
could force the sound to his lips the lamp slipped beyond the edge and
plunged downward. It seemed to explode in his face....
* * * * *
It grew out of the darkness, a place of familiar beauty. The light
came slowly like the first faint tracings of dawn, etching the gentle
slopes, the intricate, clustered outline of the forest.
Marc looked around at Toffee who was sitting beside him on the rise of
the knoll. In the glowing half-light she was beautiful beyond words.
"I ought to break your thick skull," she said. "Will you never learn to
pick up those huge feet of yours?"
"Huh?" Marc said.
"Tripping over that damned cord just when we'd gotten away from them
all. Big-footed oaf."
"Oh, golly, that's right," Marc said. "We're back in the valley."
"You're darned tootin' we're back in the valley," Toffee said
fretfully. "And that means it's all over. No high-life, no
snaky-dressed, and no...."
"There wouldn't have been any of that anyway," Marc put in hastily.
"It's just as well."
"Don't be too sure," Toffee said with a sidelong glance. "All I needed
was a few more minutes and...."
"What happened to your gadget?" Marc asked, changing the subject.
Toffee picked up the instrument from the grass beside her and shook it.
It made a loose rattling sound.
"I broke it when I hit you over the head with it." She tossed it away
from her and it rolled down the slope and out of view. "It's served
its purpose." She turned to Marc. "That is if you'll just stop making
people want to kill you."
"I feel all dented and scratched," Marc said. "But I guess I'm all
right."
"You'd feel more dented and scratched if I'd gotten ahold of you,"
Toffee said. "For instance...."
Suddenly she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him. For a
moment Marc felt that he must have gotten mixed up with a metal clamp.
"Gee whiz!" he said as she released him.
"That's just the beginning," Toffee said. "I like to ease into these
things. After that...." She stopped as the light of the valley began to
dwindle. "Oh, damn!"
Marc looked around at the valley in the rapidly diminishing light.
A small pang of regret flickered deep inside him. He felt himself
drifting off into the growing darkness.
"Goodbye, Toffee," he whispered. "Goodbye."
He felt the light caress of her hand on his cheek.
"So long, you lovely old reprobate," Toffee said. "Don't you dare
forget me...."
And then the darkness was complete and Toffee and the valley were gone
in a swirling haze.
* * * * *
Marc stirred and there was a small thud beside him. He opened his eyes
and looked around; the thud had been the lamp rolling off his chest. He
forced himself to sit up.
There was just enough light from a small skylight above to see that
Toffee was no longer there. He hadn't really expected that she would
be. He shook his head briefly to clear it. The memory of Julie and the
others in the courtroom came to him.
He had to get out of there. He had to get home. He could wait there and
explain things to Julie--somehow--when she returned. He got to his feet
and gazed bleakly down the long, unshapely stretch of his own bare legs.
It wouldn't do to go wandering around on the streets like that.
Remembering that he had noticed a closet when he'd first entered the
room, he made his way to it now and opened the door.
The only thing in the closet was the judge's discarded black robe. Marc
regarded it for a moment but nonetheless took it off the hanger. It was
much better than nothing. He slipped the robe on and crossed to the
door leading into the hallway.
He unlocked the door and opened it. The hallway was deserted. It led
toward the back of the building and outside. Marc quitted the room and
quickly traced the hall to a set of outdoor steps leading down to a
parking area. He started forward, then drew back as a figure appeared
from around the far corner and made for one of the cars. Then suddenly
he stopped as he realized that the figure was Julie and she was on her
way to their blue convertible.
"Julie...?" he called.
Julie, whirling about, caught sight of him and screamed at the top of
her lungs. Having expressed herself thusly she leaped for the car, tore
the door open and threw herself inside. Then, slamming the door and
snapping the catch, she started fumbling feverishly in her bag for the
keys.
Marc hastened down the steps and across the lot. He banged on the car
door.
"Julie!" he cried. "Listen to me! I can explain about the girl. She was
only helping me trap the congressman. She's gone now. Julie, are you
listening?"
Julie paused in her frenzied gropings and looked out at him. She
lowered the window just a crack with an unnerved hand.
"Beat it, you--you apparition!" she quavered. "I can't see you, I
really _can't_! So it's no good your pretending you're there. You're
not, and I know it. Go away!"
"Apparition?" Marc said. "I'm no apparition. Julie, it's me--Marc!"
Julie's gaze steadied a trifle. "You're sure?" she asked. "You're
really there?"
"Of course I am. Let me in the car, please, dear."
* * * * *
She hesitated, but in the end she opened the door, reached out gingerly
and touched him. Then, with a smile of reassurance, she slid over to
make room for him beside her.
"Oh, Marc!" she cried. "I'm so glad it's you. I thought I saw you just
sort of fade away in there and ... I guess I've been out of my mind
with worry."
Marc reached out an arm and drew her close to him. "It's all right,
dear," he said. "It's all over now."
"But the doctors said you had to be operated on. They said you were
dying."
"Oh, that," Marc said hedging. "Well--that was just a gag, a trick to
make the congressman expose himself. Where are the doctors now?"
"Asleep," Julie said.
"Asleep?"
"Yes. It seems that one of them got excited and spilled a big can of
chloroform on all three of them. They looked very relaxed when I left."
"Probably needed the rest," Marc said. "They seemed quite energetic."
He patted her shoulder. "So do we. Shall we go home?"
Julie nodded. Marc started the car.
"Marc...?"
"Yes, dear?"
"About that girl, the one with red hair. That was very silly of me,
wasn't it?"
"Silly?" Marc asked.
"The way I got it into my head that there was something between you
two. That was silly, wasn't it?"
"Very silly," Marc said. "I don't know how you ever thought of such a
thing." He turned and smiled at her. "But I forgive you."
Julie moved closer. "Thank you, dear," she murmured. "You're very kind
and understanding. Besides, if I'd just stopped to think about it I'd
have realized she wasn't the kind you'd ever give a second thought."
Marc backed up the car and headed out of the lot. "Of course not,
dear," he said. A smile played at the corner of his lips as he gazed
off into the distance. "Never a second thought...."
* * * * *
_George approached through the mists, his ectoplasm disheveled and
drooping. As he moved toward the sentry station it was all too apparent
that here was a shade in low spirits._
_"George Pillsworth, spiritual part of the mortal Marc Pillsworth
reporting in from leave," he announced listlessly._
_The sentry, a gross spectre of the lower sort, jutted his head out of
the opening. "Hot dawg!" he said. "Wait'll the Council gets a load of
you!"_
_George looked up wearily. "What do you mean by that?" he asked._
_"Just after you took off, word came through that Pillsworth was as
hail and hearty as health biscuits. They've been waiting up for you
ever since. Boy, are you in for a welcome!_"
_George shrugged and sighed heavily. "Back to the Moaning Chorus, I
suppose?" he said._
_"You know it, brother," the sentry nodded, and leaning forward he
swung the gates open in a wide gesture. "Pass on, George Pillsworth,
spiritual part of the mortal Marc Pillsworth. Come and get it, kid."_
_George drifted disconsolately through the gates and toward the Council
Chambers which loomed large and formidable through the swirling mists
ahead. Slowly, softly he began to hum to himself, a tune of great
melancholy and gentle discord. He paused, hummed the tune again._
_"Not bad," he mused, "not bad at all. With a little arranging it might
go over big."_
_Humming the tune again, he resumed toward the chambers. He shrugged,
dusted his ectoplasm and smoothed it down._
_Now that he stopped to think about it he was sort of relieved to be
back. Certainly the Moaning Chorus couldn't be any more exhausting
than what he'd just gone through on Earth. And, coming right down to
it, those humans down there were beginning to get a little spooky
lately...._