The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  “Here, here,” Chadwick broke in. “This bickering has got to stop. Really. There’s business to be taken care of.”

  Agatha nodded and turned her attention to Mr. Culpepper. “Shall we torture it out of him?” she asked.

  “I think so,” Chadwick said. “That’s why I’ve brought the pliers ... to pull his fingernails, you know. I thought it might cheer you up, old girl. Remember when we used that method on the Marquis?”

  Forgetting her gun, Agatha clasped her hands together. “Oh, what a triumph!” she exclaimed. “The Marquis was simply enthralled. He said it was the most exquisite torture he’d ever experienced.”

  “Is everybody nuts in Europe?” Toffee asked. “Or just your particular crowd?”

  No one answered her.

  “What a shame,” Chadwick said, “to waste such divine methods on a commoner.” He removed a pair of silver, leather-encased pliers from his jacket pocket and held them out proudly. He turned to Mr. Culpepper. A look of injury spread over his handsome features.

  The little scientist, far from shivering with delighted horror over his impending torture, had closed his eyes and was leaning back against the wall in an attitude of deep meditation. At his side, Marc was staring eagerly at the thoughtful face. The two seemed completely oblivious to all else except themselves.

  A FLAME of anger flickered in Chadwick’s eyes. “Oh, really!” he exclaimed. “If that’s the way it’s going to be, I’ve half a mind not to pull his nails at all. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  Agatha moved quickly to his side. “Now, don’t lose your temper, love,” she said. “You must force yourself. So much depends on it.”

  “Oh, very well,” Chadwick said sullenly. He strode to Mr. Culpepper’s side and stamped his foot. “Peasant!” he sneered.

  Marc looked up, startled, and quickly put a finger to his lips. “Shhh!” he said. “Culpepper’s working on an antidote. If you disturb him he may not get it finished. He works everything out in his head, you know.”

  “Well!” Chadwick exploded. “Of all the . . .!” He reached down and shook the scientist’s shoulder. “Wake up!” he commanded.

  Mr. Culpepper opened his eyes and gazed up at Chadwick, but it was apparent that he didn’t really see him. His eyes were glazed and introspective. His mouth fell open to complete an expression of sheerest idiocy.

  “My word!” Agatha breathed. “What’s happened to him?”

  “I don’t know,” Chadwick said decisively, “but I do know what’s going to happen to him.” He grasped Mr. Culpepper’s hand and separated the little finger from the others. “Let’s see him work this out in his mind.”

  Now that he was getting down to business, Chadwick seemed to experience a lift in spirit. “I think this will snap him out of it.” He said it like a doctor about to administer the shock treatment to a mental patient. He hummed softly to himself.

  “Oh, Mona!” Toffee moaned. “Just look at him! Happy as a hophead with a new poppy patch!”

  She glanced at Mr. Culpepper but the little man had closed his eyes again, completely unaware that fate had singled him out for the main attraction at a sadistic fun fest. At his side, his eyes riveted on the advancing pliers, Marc was rigid in a state of white-faced paralysis.

  Toffee darted from her place just as the pliers closed over Mr. Culpepper’s nail. “Stop that!” she cried. She ran to Mr. Culpepper and shook him. “Wake up!” she pleaded. “Tell them the silly formula and let them have it!”

  Mr. Culpepper’s mouth snapped shut, but other than that, there was no reaction. She shook him again, but with no further result. Her eyes darted to his outstretched hand, and she gasped. Chadwick was beginning to pull.

  Toffee sucked in a deep breath. “I . . . I’ll tell!” she faltered. “I know the formula. I’ll give it to you.”

  The pliers came apart and Mr. Culpepper’s small, veined hand fell limply to the little man’s side. Toffee found herself instantly and confusingly confronted by Chadwick and Agatha.

  “You know the formula?” Agatha said. “You’d best not be lying.”

  “Why. . . I . . .” Toffee stammered.

  “Speak up!” Chadwick snapped.

  “I know all about it,” Toffee said. The words came in a rush. “I was his human subject. He experimented on me in his laboratory. You’d never guess that I’m really twenty years old, would you?”

  The two looked at her suspiciously. “She’s lying,” Agatha said. “She couldn’t be twenty.”

  “Oh, yes,” Toffee insisted, warming up to the lie. “Mr. Culpepper lured me into his laboratory with a stick of candy when I was only eight years old. I haven’t aged a day since.”

  “Might be right at that,” Chadwick mused. “After all, you’ll have to admit that her language is rather advanced for just a child . . . in an appalling sort of way.”

  “Can you prove what you say?” Agatha asked.

  TOFFEE hesitated, “Well,” she said presently, “in a way, I can. There’s another thing about Fixage that you don’t know.”

  “Yes?” Chadwick and Agatha chorused. “What’s that?”

  Toffee beckoned them closer and whispered, “It causes you to be immortal.”

  “Oh, no,” Agatha said. “That’s going too far.”

  “I’ll prove it,” Toffee said. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to loan me a gun for a moment?”

  “Certainly not,” Chadwick said. “These pistols came from the home of a duke. The fellow would never forgive us if we loaned them.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Toffee said. She shrugged. “In that case . . .” She started toward the door.

  Marc, having come to life again when Mr. Culpepper’s finger was delivered from the hand of Chadwick, suddenly ran to Toffee’s side. Together they moved through the doorway, and Chadwick and Agatha followed. Mr. Culpepper, for his part, continued to slumber contentedly in his corner.

  Outside on the landing, Toffee went with business-like directness to the outer railing and started to climb over it.

  “Good heavens, child,” Agatha said. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to jump,” Toffee said. “You’ll agree, won’t you, that such a fall would kill most people?”

  “Oh, but you mustn’t!” Agatha cried, shocked. “You’ll make a mess on the floor!”

  “You’ll see,” Toffee said. She wriggled her plump little body to the top of the railing and peered into the well of darkness beneath her.

  “Stop her!” Agatha cried. “Fetch her back, Chad! She may splatter the auto and ruin the finish!”

  Chadwick reached out toward Toffee, but just as his hand went to her, there was a terrible splintering sound, and the railing began to crumble. Then the railing gave way entirely and Toffee’s small figure pitched forward, plunged into the darkness below.

  On the landing the three tensed, then started a bit as a dull thump echoed up to them from below.

  “Oh, gracious!” Agatha wailed. “I just know she struck the auto!”

  “What do you suppose ever made her do it?” Chadwick mused. He shrugged. “Just suicidal, I guess, by nature.”

  “You’ll wash the car,” Agatha said adamantly. “I won’t do it.”

  Beside them, Marc had turned away from the railing and was peering anxiously down the darkened stairway. A smile suddenly lighted his face as the ancient boards sent up their accustomed cry.

  “Heavens!” Agatha said. “Whatever could it be?”

  “I haven’t the faintest . . .” Chadwick said. “One thing, it surely couldn’t be the child.”

  BUT it was the child. Emerging from the darkness, Toffee raced up the stairs, smiling and completely unmarked. For a brief instant her eyes flicked in Marc’s direction and her lips silently formed the word “thanks.”

  Marc understood. It was only through his concentration that she had survived. As long as he was aware of her and “wished” her into being, she was indestructible. Her life could be threatened only when h
is was.

  “Lord,” Chadwick breathed. “The little waif’s all right!”

  “Chad!” Agatha cried, turning to him. “Do you realize what this means?

  We . . . we . . . I almost can’t say it, it’s so wonderful . . . we can be immortal! All we have to do is get the formula. No one will be able to kill us! We can go where we choose, take what we like, and no one can ever stop us. Perhaps we could organize a whole band of immortals and . . .”

  “Certainly!” Chadwick cried, catching her enthusiasm. “We could rule the world if we chose! Who would there be to stop us? We’d he indestructible!”

  They turned to Toffee in unison.

  “What’s the formula?” Chadwick asked, beginning to look a little feverish. “Tell us what it is.”

  For a moment Toffee was pensive, then a touch of craftiness came into her childish face. “I’ll do better than that,” she said. “I’ll take you to a whole bottle of the pills, all made up and ready to take.”

  “Wonderful!” Agatha cried.

  Mr. Culpepper was suddenly recalled to them by a sudden, triumphant cry that issued from the inner reaches of the abandoned office. In a body they turned back and crowded through the door.

  “Fancy that!” the little man was shouting. “Just fancy that!” A smile of amazement was on his sharp-featured face.

  “Have you got it?” Marc asked, running to his side.

  “I certainly have,” Mr. Culpepper said happily. “It was a very difficult experiment, but I got it. And will you be surprised!”

  “What has he got?” Chadwick asked.

  “Perhaps it would be better not to ask,” Agatha said. “From the way he’s been behaving it might be anything.”

  Chadwick nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Besides, we’ve other fish to fry now. Let’s be on our way.” He started to the door. “I’ll get the car started and you bring them down.”

  When he had gone, Agatha stepped over to the doorway and motioned with her gun. “Come, come,” she said brightly. “Time to be leaving, everyone.”

  Toffee promptly took to the stairs, but Marc and Mr. Culpepper seemed to hesitate, too absorbed in a whispered conversation to take much note of anything else.

  “You could have knocked me over with a noodle,” Mr. Culpepper was saying, “I simply couldn’t believe it at first.”

  “Well, what is it?” Marc asked impatiently. “For Pete’s sake, tell me!”

  The little man leaned closer to Marc’s ear. “Common spirits!” he hissed importantly. “Whiskey!”

  “No!” Marc was incredulous. “You must have made some mist . . .!”

  “Here, here,” Agatha said, making impatient motions with her gun. “No loitering. I’m really not going to speak to you again.”

  “That’s a break,” Marc said.

  He and Mr. Culpepper started forward and as they passed the inverted crate in the center of the room Marc dropped momentarily behind. When he emerged a moment later a rather singular bulge had appeared in the region of his shirt front, and he was clutching his stomach.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Agatha asked wearily.

  “Bellyache,” Marc announced flatly, struggling past her. “You make me sick at my stomach.”

  Agatha’s expression became pained. “Vile little boy,” she murmured.

  IT WAS dark when the delivery truck nosed out of the alley and headed back toward the city. Having locked the doors to the rear compartment from the outside, Agatha had taken her place beside Chadwick in the front, her pistol draped elegantly over her shoulder. She had been keeping a sharp eye trained toward the compartment, but it was too dark back there for her to see much. Her charges, however, seemed disinclined toward revolt. In fact, as the trip wore on, they appeared to become positively hilarious about the whole thing. Soft tittering occasionally issued from the darkness, sometimes interlaced with boisterous guffaws. Agatha wondered about this but didn’t discover the reason for it until the truck reached its destination and pulled to a stop in the parking lot behind Marc’s office building. When she unlocked the doors and reopened them, Marc, Toffee and Mr. Culpepper peered out at her owlishly, swaying together in silent harmony.

  “Good ol’ Aggie,” Marc giggled, dropping his appropriated bottle shatteringly at the woman’s feet. “Long may she rave.”

  “Well, I’ll be!” Agatha murmured. “They’re drunk as skunks, the lot of them.”

  “Eh?” Chadwick inquired, moving to her side. “Who’s drunk?”

  “The tykes,” Agatha said, “and the old man. They’re lubricated, you might say, like a lawn mower in May.”

  Chadwick peered inside, gazed unbelievingly at the swaying trio. He wagged a finger. “Shame,” he said. He reached inside and lifted Toffee out.

  Made forgetful of her transformation by her recent libations, Toffee twined her arms around Chadwick’s neck.

  “Hello, handsome,” she cooed throatily.

  “Put her down,” Agatha snapped. “There’s something not quite right about that child, I don’t like the funny way she’s looking at you. I won’t stand for it.”

  Apparently Chadwick, too, had noticed something a bit unusual about the infant in his arms, but was not entirely displeased. He smiled confusedly. “She’s only a youngster,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” Agatha retorted. “Youngster or not, no female is going to look at you like that and get away with it. Why, even at twenty I hadn’t a gleam in my eye like that.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, my dear,” Chadwick said. “I remember a night when you were only eighteen . . .”

  “Enough!” Agatha commanded with agitation. “There’s something improper about that child and you’re to put her down this instant. I shudder to think what she’ll be like when she grows up. If she ever does, that is.”

  At this juncture Mr. Culpepper hopped out of the truck, teetered precariously on one foot for a moment, and sprawled out on the ground. Propping his head up on one elbow, he gazed up at Agatha, a new boldness in his eye. He winked debonairly.

  “Hi, yuh, toots,” he gurgled.

  Agatha appeared to have bitten into a sour apple. “Ugh!” she said. “How depraved!”

  Except for occasional dim lights on the stair landings the office building was completely dark. The labored progress of the strange party wending its way to the fourth floor was accompanied by a fruity assortment of stumblings, curses and giggles. When they finally arrived at the offices of the Pillsworth Advertising Agency, Marc handed his keys to Mr. Culpepper under the false impression that the little man could better negotiate the keyhole. To the befogged scientist, however, the lock was a writhing, squirming thing that constantly and with utter perverseness, avoided his grasp. The struggle became a very personal thing with the little man. He threw himself against the door with all his might.

  “Won’t hold still, eh?” he challenged. “Well, we’ll see about that!”

  With a snort of disgust, Agatha took the keys from the little man, shoved him aside, and opened the door. With a curt nod she directed the others inside.

  THE journey through the outer office was accomplished without mishap, though Mr. Culpepper, running afoul of a swivel chair, had to be restrained from attacking the whirling piece of furniture bodily. Marc and Toffee took him in charge and guided him gently into Marc’s private office, where Agatha and Chadwick had preceded them and turned on the lights.

  Agatha turned on Toffee threateningly. “Well, we’re here,” she said. “Where are the pills?”

  Toffee nodded toward the desk. “Over there,” she said. “The green bottle.”

  At the sight of the bottle both Agatha and Chadwick seemed to lose a good deal of their dignified reserve; they fairly trampled each other in a rush for the desk. Reaching the bottle, they grappled openly across the desk for its possession. Marc and Toffee dropped Mr. Culpepper to the lounge and stood by for developments.

  “Give it here!” Agatha shrilled. “Let me have it, do you hea
r!”

  “I’ll let you have it right enough,” Chadwick grunted back at her. “I’ll let you have it right in the eye with my fist.”

  “Louse!” Agatha yelled. “I’m going to be head of this organization. I have the brains anyway,”

  “Since when?” Chadwick jeered. “If it weren’t for me you’d still be carrying grog behind a bar.”

  “Yes,” Agatha said evilly, trying to twist the bottle out of his hand, “and you, sponge that you are, would be soaking it up as fast as I could carry it. Give me that bottle, you old rummy.”

  “Take your grasping claws off it,” Chadwick said levelly, “before I lose my temper. I’ll see that the pills are handled properly.”

  “Properly for whom?” Agatha rasped. “You’d hog them all for yourself, that’s what you’d do!”

  Both of them stood their ground. The struggle was apparently one to the finish; obviously whichever of them emerged the victor would be in control of the other forever after. Deep within them primitive instincts had been set to work to choose the chieftain ... or chieftainess, as the case might be ... of their proposed “organization.” As the contest left the field of invective and entered onto the more taxing one of physical, brute force, they both seemed to forget their captives. Dropping their guns to the floor, first Agatha, then Chadwick, they shoved their free hands in each other’s faces and began to push. At this, Marc and Toffee, with a little cry of triumph, acted as a team in swooping away from the lounge and retrieving the guns from the floor.

  Looking somewhat like an infant Annie Oakley, Toffee stepped back, aimed her pistol in the general direction of the battling Harpers and shouted, “Stick ’em up!”

  But the Harpers had other things on their minds. Chadwick had just let out an enraged bellow as Agatha’s even, white teeth had bitten into one of his fingers.

  Toffee looked helplessly at Marc. “What’ll we do?” she asked.

  Marc was already doing it. Aiming at the ceiling, he brought a shower of plaster thunderously down over the scene of the battle. The Harpers instantly became transfixed, a frozen study of hand-to-hand combat. Leaning over the table, their faces almost together, they stared fixedly at each other through a screen of fingers. They had the look of people suddenly remembering something very important.