The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  “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 then sharply behind the startled man. There was a quick barking sound, and a bullet whined thinly over Harold’s head, then ricochetted 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, repentent 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 levely on Herrigg. “Let’s go, Herrigg,” he said. “Let’s join the sheriff.”

  “You can’t do this!” the do
ctor 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 footfall 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 loose 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 born 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 tumulluous 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, backof-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.