The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  This last comment provoked a brief bristling disturbance in the ranks of the complainants, most noticeable in the vicinity of the waitresses. Marc glanced toward them and quickly averted his eyes.

  “Do you have a statement to make?” the Justice boomed. “Can you deny these charges?”

  “Of course he can,” Toffee said blandly. “He’s as innocent as a newborn emu.”

  Toffee’s careless choice of similes shocked the Justice to the extent that he forgot his resolve to ignore her. “Emu?” he asked disapprovingly. “Don’t you mean a newborn babe?”

  “If I’d meant babe, I’d have said babe,” Toffee replied tartly. “Why should a babe be any more innocent than an emu?”

  “I don’t know,” the Justice replied, thoroughly mixed up. I don’t even know what an emu is. A babe just seemed more appropriate, that’s all.”

  “Just as I thought!” Toffee snapped triumphantly. “You’re not fit to sit on the bench. You’re prejudiced. Practically babe-crazed, too.”

  FOR one fearful second the gavel poised itself in mid-air, then it descended slowly, tremblingly to its stand, making only a faint clattering sound. The Justice’s eyes roved aimlessly around the courtroom for a moment, then darted to Marc.

  “Why do you let her go on like that?” he asked. “She’s not making things any better for you, you know. Why don’t you stop her?”

  “Could you?” Marc asked hopefully.

  The Justice cleared his throat and scowled. “That’s neither here nor there,” he said gruffly. “You were about to answer to the charges. The court wishes to know if you consider yourself guilty or not guilty.”

  “Will it make any difference?” Marc asked recklessly.

  “Primarily,” the Justice went on, “The court wishes an answer to the charge of robbery. The court knows that the money was returned in a highly informal manner, but finds no reason for leniency in this circumstance. I advise you to consider your answer carefully. The consequences will be very serious when ... if ... you are proven guilty, let me assure you. Now, answer the court with a simple statement of guilty or not guilty. It will not be necessary to elaborate.”

  “Not guilty,” Marc said desperately. “I didn’t do any of those things. It . . . it was someone else.”

  “Someone else?” the Justice laughed nastily. “Let me tell you, Mr. Pillsworth, these infantile attempts at evasion will not avail you . . .”

  “He is too guilty!” a voice suddenly rang out from the direction of the complainants. “He’s as guilty as original sin!”

  “He is not!” Toffee yelled back. She jerked back as the matron held out a restraining hand. “Get your claws off me, you lumpy old trull!”

  The gavel danced a thunderous jig against its stand. “That’s enough of these emotional outbursts!” the Justice hollered distractedly. “Any further demonstration, and the courtroom will be cleared.” He turned a reproving eye on the matron. “Please keep the prisoner quiet,” he said. “If need be, stuff a fist down her garrulous throat.”

  The matron nodded with a splendid show of willingness to duty. Clearly, from now on, she was only waiting her chance.

  Once again the Justice turned doggedly toward Marc. “I advise you not to persist in this foolish assertion that someone other than yourself performed this list of crimes. The court is fairly jammed to the rafters with witnesses who will testify to the contrary. Can you still make such a claim in the face of all that?”

  “I can,” Marc said gravely. “And I do. It was someone else.”

  The Justice frowned impatiently. “I suppose,” he said, “you are prepared to give the court a full description, if not the actual name, of this mysterious villain?”

  “It was George,” Toffee put in quickly.

  “You shut up,” the Justice said rudely, forgetting his poise.

  Toffee cast the matron a murderous glance that quickly forestalled any action from that quarter. Then she turned back to the Justice. “I’m here to see that Marc gets a fair trial,” she said primly.

  The Justice chose to deal with Marc. “Perhaps you could tell the court what the young lady is talking about? Perhaps you can identify this George person that she alludes to?”

  “Why, yes,” Marc said quietly. “The young lady is right. It was George who did it all. He’s a . . . a . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

  “He’s lying!” The bank president was suddenly on his feet. “I saw him with my own two eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but that money followed him right out the door of my bank. I’ll never forget it.”

  THE banker’s cry was the spark that touched off the bonfire. Suddenly, the witnesses and complainants were on their feet in a body, crying out against Marc. Some screamed their willingness to swear in any court in the land, and promptly proved their overwhelming ability to do so in phraseology that was strikingly unlegal. Through the hubbub, the Justice’s gavel made riveting gun noises to no avail. The court had suddenly become an echoing cavern filled with a multitude of voices, all crying out for retribution. The scene was one of such hysteria that no one noticed the courtroom door sliding stealthily open and closed again, apparently of its own free will.

  Before the enraged Justice, Marc began to sway slightly, all but leaning against the bench for support. He passed an unsteady hand over a forehead that was throbbing dreadfully. This was unquestionably the end. His doom was being swiftly sealed by a master craftsman called Fate, and there was nothing he could do to save himself. Worst of all, he was being taken away from Julie just at the time when she needed him most. He wondered feverishly why they didn’t just lynch him and get it over with.

  Even through the calamitous events of the previous day he had managed to bolster his spirits with the notion that everything would somehow clear itself up when the time came, but now he realized that he had only indulged in wishful thinking. Now, he just wanted to have done with it all. Compared to this yowling courtroom, a nice quiet cell seemed a haven of unblemished love-liness. He glanced behind him and shuddered. He seemed to be surrounded by a wall of accusing, pointing fingers.

  Then he blinked and turned about. There appeared to be a curious divergence in the direction of the pointing fingers. Most of them, it was perfectly true, were pointing at him, but a few indicated a region far to the right. And even as he watched, others began to waiver from him and move uncertainly away. Then, a great collective gasp scraped through the room, and was followed by a charged silence. Marc stepped forward and immediately echoed the gasp. George, fully materialized and smiling, was leaning nonchalantly against the right hand wall.

  Casually smoking a cigarette, at the sight of Marc, the spirit plucked the smouldering cylinder from his lips and tossed it to the courtroom floor.

  Marc’s eyes promptly sought the face of the Justice. It was a grave mistake. The Justice’s face, never a thing of beauty, was now an item of extreme repugnance. More than a human face, it looked like an ugly, mottled sponge that had been squeezed dry. The Justice’s lips, a fierce blue color, were working at odds with each other in an attempt to say something that was probably better left unsaid.

  One of the waitresses broke the spell with a shrill, hysterical giggle.

  “Oh, my God!” she jabbered. “Now there’s two of them!”

  This accurate statement of matters seemed to steady the Justice’s nerves somewhat. “How . . . how did you get in here, may I ask?” he demanded.

  George boosted himself away from the wall and sauntered indolently toward the bar. “None of your fat-necked henchmen dragged me in,” he said.

  The Justice’s gavel wavered uncertainly a moment, then remained at rest. The Justice regarded it dolefully. Somehow, in the last few minutes it had lost some of its appeal.

  “As someone seems to have remarked,” the Justice observed sadly, “we now have two of them.” He sighed deeply. “Will someone volunteer to tell the court which is which?”

  “It’s a trick!” the bank president ye
lled. “We have the one that was arrested in front of my bank.” He pointed to Marc. “That’s the one we want!”

  THE crowd seemed inclined to agree. Marc, so far, had provided them with a splendid target for their injured feelings, and they were loath to give him up . . . even for a replacement that was like him in every detail. Besides, this newcomer seemed the type that would fight back.

  “But,” the Justice put in wearily, “there appears to be a margin of doubt in this whole business ... a mighty wide margin, too. The court must be fair. A positive identification must be established.” He pinched the ridge of his nose for a moment, then glanced up hopefully. “Can anyone here point to either of these men and state positively that he is the miscreant?”

  “I can!”

  All eyes turned to one of the waitresses as she started forward. It was the young lady who had suffered the water cure at the hands of Toffee. She placed herself stolidly before the bar, sneered briefly at Toffee, then pointed to Marc.

  “That’s the one,” she said positively. “That silly map of his is stenciled on my memory for the rest of my life. I saw it in a nightmare last night. There’s something funny about his eyes, too. No mistake, your Honor. That’s the bird that did the mischief.”

  “You lie in your nasty bucked teeth!” Toffee rasped.

  The girl whirled on Toffee, her body tense with anger. “You keep your phony two-bits worth outa this, or I’ll tell his Honor what you did. I’ll never be right again because of you!”

  At this his Honor seemed to pick up his ears. Here was a note of intrigue worthy of his personal attention.

  “What did she do?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  The girl beckoned with a stained finger and the Justice obligingly leaned down over the bench. Lip-to-ear, the waitress whispered at length, and as the narrative progressed the Justice’s mouth formed a scandalized O.

  “All the way down?” he asked when she had finished.

  The girl nodded vigorously. “And it made me feel all . . .”

  The Justice suddenly seemed to remember that he was presiding over a court rather than a ladies’ tea. His features fixed themselves into an expression of severity. “I’m not sure you should divulge confidences of such a personal nature, young lady,” he said, straightening up. “However, I can see your complaint.”

  “Anyone can see her complaint,” Toffee commented dryly. “I guess she was just born that way.”

  “Silence!” the Justice snapped. “And besides, this sort of thing doesn’t really get us anywhere.” He turned to the waitress. “You’re certain this is the man, are you? No doubt in your mind whatsoever?”

  “None.”

  “She’s lying!” Toffee cried. “How can she be sure? They’re just alike.”

  “Sure,” George put in. “How can she be when I’m not so sure which of us is which. Maybe I am really he, for all I know.”

  “Eh?” The Justice’s eyebrows seemed about to leave his face. “How’s that?”

  “I propose a test for the witness,” George continued. “If you want a positive identification from her, why don’t you let the two of us go out of the room for a moment, then return. If she can successfully pick out this gentleman over here, then we’ll have to accept her testimony.”

  A look of deep confusion passed over the Justice’s face. He turned to the waitress. “Is that a good idea?” he asked. “I’m so mixed up, I can’t tell.”

  “Sure,” the girl said. “Let ’em go. I’ll pick out the right mug the minute they step through the door.”

  NEVERTHELESS, something about the arrangement seemed to bother the Justice as Marc and George quickly removed themselves from the room. The minute the door closed after them, it struck him.

  “Oh, my Lord!” he murmured. “Now we may never know which is which if that new one decides to double cross me. We may not even be able to tell which one was arrested outside the bank last night.” He looked worriedly at the waitress. “The court’s integrity is resting on you, my dear,” he said.

  “The court’s integrity,” Toffee put in, “is in one hell of a spot, in that case.”

  The corridor door swung open and Marc and George smilingly reappeared. Side by side, they presented themselves before the girl.

  “Go ahead,” the Justice urged. “Pick out the right man. Don’t be nervous.”

  “Sure, your Honor.” The girl winked broadly at her sisters-in-arms on the sidelines. “It’s a cinch.” She turned to the two men standing before her. Her hand went promptly toward the one on the right, and she looked back at the Justice. “That’s the one, your . . . Suddenly her voice faltered and trailed away into silence. She turned back to the men and her eyes darted crazily back and forth, from face to face.

  “Oh, murder!” she murmured miserably. “They are both alike! They both even have that dirty-minded look in their eyes.” For a moment she gazed up at the Justice entreatingly, and slowly began to tremble under his venomous glare. Then, all in a rush, she turned and fled to her companions from the diner. Collapsing into their outstretched arms, she began to sob loudly.

  Once more a bleak stillness gripped the courtroom. Everyone seemed to hold his breath, as though afraid not to. The only moving things in the room were the Justice’s eyes, which appeared to have gone dangerously out of control. Then, after a long moment, black robed shoulders were lifted to accommodate a tremendous sigh. The gavel darted into the air and came down against the stand with a blow that split it neatly in two.

  “The case is dismissed!” the justice roared. “And this damned court is adjourned!” And hurling the gavel to the floor, he lifted his robes about his ample waist and stalked ceremoniously out of the room.

  Through a stunned silence, Toffee rushed gleefully to Marc and George. Reaching them, she stopped and gazed bewilderedly from one to the other, rather duplicating the performance of the remorseful waitress. Then she threw her arms around the one on the left.

  “You can’t fool me, Marc,” she sighed happily.

  Immediately, arms closed around Toffee’s waist and drew her closer. She drew back.

  “Let me go, George!” she cried. “You’re taking advantage of my mistake.”

  George released her. “How did you know?” he asked disappointedly.

  “Don’t be silly,” Toffee laughed. “If Marc ever showed that much cooperation, I’d drop dead . . . of sheer joy. I’d . . .”

  “Holy smoke!” George broke in unexpectedly. He was looking fixedly at the clock on the opposite wall.

  “What’s wrong?” Marc asked.

  “It’s only five minutes to twelve,” George replied uneasily. “My thirty-six hours are all but over. The High Council will be recalling me any minute now.”

  Meanwhile, the spectators had joined together in a general exodus. With a definite feeling of having been cheated, they were moving toward the doorway in a sullen, grumbling tangle. Some, however, were struggling toward Marc and his companions. These were reporters.

  “Oh, Judas!” Marc cried. “If you fade out right here, where they can see you, we’re cooked. Let’s make a run for it!”

  TOGETHER, the threesome made for the only available avenue of escape . . . the door to the Justice’s chambers. Reaching it, they slammed it after them and turned the lock. A second later the reporters also reached it and began to pound against it. The fugitives turned to inspect their surroundings. Apparently, the Justice had already gone in search of greener, more soothing pastures, for the walnut-paneled room was deserted. They exchanged congratulatory glances and joined together in a sigh of relief.

  Toffee turned to the throbbing door. “Go way!” she yelled. “We’re closed for alterations!”

  George’s eyes, though, were on the desk clock. Now, it was only three minutes to twelve. “Tell me,” the spirit said hopefully, turning to Marc, “did I really help you out there in the courtroom?”

  “You were sensational, old man,” Marc said, feeling a sudden warmth for the ghost. “Couldn
’t possibly have seen it through without you.”

  “You aren’t just saying that to be nice, are you? The Council will have ways of knowing your true feelings.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, George.”

  George extended his hand, and grinned as Marc accepted it. “It’s been fine knowing you,” he said. Then he turned away. “You know,” he continued foolishly, “I feel real sentimental.”

  Toffee crossed to the ghost and silently took his head in her hands. “This time it’s no mistake, George,” she said softly. And pulling his face level with her own, she kissed him well and soundly, full on the mouth.

  “What a time to be leaving,” George said regretfully when it was over.

  And even as he said it, he began to fade.

  “Goodbye, George, old boy,” Marc said. “We won’t soon forget you.”

  “No,” Toffee seconded. “Not in a million years.”

  George was grinning as his face dissolved into thin air. The word “goodbye” whispered through the room, and for a moment seemed to coil warmly around Marc and Toffee, engulfing them in a tide of friendliness. Then it was gone.

  “You know,” Toffee said thoughtfully, “he really wasn’t such a bad sort. I hope he makes out well with that High Council of his. They sounded awfully heavyhanded.”

  “If my feelings in the matter count for anything,” Marc said, “he’s a cinch.”

  During this tender passage the drumming had continued, unnoticed, on the door. But now that George had been seen off in proper style, the insistent reporters resumed their former place of pressing immediacy on the agenda.

  “We’ve got to get out of here before they break that door in,” Marc said.

  “There’s a side door,” Toffee observed. “The Justice must have gone out that way.”

  “Good night!” Marc cried. “And the darned thing has been unlocked all this time. The reporters might have walked in on us at any minute. Well, let’s get out before they do.”