George decided on an arm and a hand to begin with; they seemed a rather utilitarian item to have in the event that you wanted to go around picking things up. He gave his thoughts over to that appendage.
The process worked with surprising facility. In the very next moment an arm, neatly tapering off to a hand, promptly appeared, balanced on the elbow, on the basement floor. George looked at it and felt a thrill of pride at the accomplishment; it didn’t matter that the thing was rather starkly at loose ends with itself.
Glowing with the success of his first venture, George decided on a head as the subject of his next efforts. Without a moment’s hesitation, but several feet above the arm, a head appeared in thin air, bearing a duplicate face to the one of Marc Pillsworth. It was wonderfully lifelike. It turned, looked down at the arm, and frowned.
Now George wasn’t so sure; somehow things didn’t seem to be shaping up quite as he’d expected. He shrugged. Probably matters would be improved when everything was more connected together. He thought for a moment and remembered the matter of legs.
A moment later a leg and accompanying foot popped into being, but oddly it appeared in a position near the head, a bit to one side with the foot leading off rakishly toward the ceiling.
The head turned and regarded this phenomenon with worried interest. Definitely, things weren’t balancing out at all well. But what was there to do but to go on with it now that it had gotten this far? And then the head smiled; George had remembered. There should be two arms and two legs in place of just one. In the grisly moment that followed, the arm on the floor was joined by a mate, as was the leg hovering in the air by the head.
The head peered with unwarranted pride from between the floating legs and smiled on its accomplishments. Now George felt he was really getting somewhere. There remained only the torso to be materialized. George thought about this and wished it into being.
THE PICTURE that followed was lurching madness. Somehow a body had appeared, balanced upside down on its elbows, in the very center of the basement floor. And if that wasn’t enough, the head had apparently been severed and placed, for the sake of pure frightfulness, between the knees.
George, now that the body was complete, recognized the error at once. With a blush, he dissolved the head from between the knees and concentrated it down towards the shoulders. The scene instantly became more sane. Now there was a complete and perfectly formed man standing on his elbows in the center of the basement. For a moment he remained rigidly upright, then he wavered and fell flat on his back.
George gazed elatedly down his long length for a moment, then laughed and sat up. Of course! Now everything was just as it should be. He didn’t know how he had come to be clothed, and he had no idea that he was wearing an exact duplicate of the suit Marc was wearing, but he considered himself to be a rather natty specimen. All in all, George couldn’t have been more pleased. He got to his feet, saluted his new existence with a rather expertly executed jig step, and looked about...
After a casual search of the basement, just to make sure that the corpse of Marc Pillsworth was no longer kicking around anywhere, George directed his attention to the wine bins. If he noticed the floating debris on the ceiling he didn’t know that it constituted a condition that was in any way unnatural, He selected a bottle from one of the shelves, opened it, and took a swallow.
Immediately, he was overcome with a feeling of enormous disappointment; this couldn’t possibly be that whiskey stuff that mortals seemed to miss so much in the upper world. Whiskey, according to report, could cause a poor man to be rich, a peasant to be king. Certainly this drab liquid was far too pallid for that kind of magic. George replaced the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced around at the stairs across from the bins and went over to investigate.
He stopped at the foot of the steps and listened. Distantly, there were voices above—and, therefore, mortals. George decided that now was as good as any other time to plunge into things; perhaps he could pick up a few pointers. He started up the steps, then stopped thoughtfully.
Perhaps it would be better not to burst in upon these mortals in a state of complete materialization; it might be just a bit too much for them. Maybe it would be better to break the news of his arrival gradually, let them just suspect for awhile and give himself time to grow on them. That was the ticket; he was sure that even the High Council couldn’t find anything wrong with that idea.
George held one foot out before him and dissolved it. Then taking the next step, he repeated the process with the other foot.
Causing himself to disappear a bit at a time he rose slowly toward the world of the mortals...
“THERE’S no use hiding in your handkerchief,” May Springer said. “The sooner you talk to your lawyer, the sooner you’ll stop crying.”
Julie looked up uncertainly. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But I don’t know. Oh, I don’t know anything!”
“What you need,” Jewel said emphatically, “is a drink to give you courage. We all do.” She turned to May. “Run out to the bar, pet, and bring us a bottle. This damned tea isn’t doing any of us any good.”
May, accustomed to acting on Jewel’s command, followed instructtions. She left the room in the direction of the study and in a moment was back with a bottle and three glasses.
“That’s the stuff,” Jewel said heartily. “Clear, out those tea things and put ’er down, I’ll pour.”
With everything arranged to her satisfaction, Jewel filled the glasses with a quick and lavish hand. She handed brimming glasses to May and Julie, then raised her own glass to propose a toast.
“To divorce!” she boomed. “And the damnation of husbands!”
Julie raised her glass, but only halfheartedly. Then without even tasting the drink, she placed it on the table in front of her.
“There’s nothing like whiskey to open the mind and the pores so that the poison can get out,” Jewel announced loudly. “It’s wonderful stuff.”
It was just at this moment that the invisible George drifted expectantly into the room. He stopped short and pricked up his ears. Whiskey! The very thing he was looking for, and here were mortals fairly wallowing in the stuff. He observed the ladies with an eye mainly to the glasses in their hands. Then he noticed Julie’s glass, languishing on the table. It was a circumstance that plainly wanted mending. George drifted quickly forward.
For a moment George only stood regarding the drink covetously. Then he turned to observe the ladies. Since this was to be his first manifestation before an audience he felt he should make the most of the materials at hand. Considering the ladies in turn, he decided that he disliked Jewel Drummer the most. He waited carefully until that turret-faced matron was looking in his direction, then lifted the glass with a broad flourish. Even to George the effect of the drink suddenly flying from the table and into the air seemed rather arresting.
To Jewel the effect was downright terrifying. Her glass raised to her lips, she suddenly started, misdirected her aim and poured the entire drink into her yawning bodice. With horrified reflex she jolted out of her chair and hurled the glass from her. As the glass crashed against the opposite wall, George tossed off his drink and replaced the glass on the table.
In unison, Julie and May turned puzzled eyes on the palpitating Jewel.
“The glass!” Jewel blurted in tones of terror. “The glass!” Then suddenly she gulped and sat down again as the bottle, like the glass, leaped lightly from the table, upended itself over the glass, filled it, then replaced itself.
“The bottle!” Jewel boomed.
“She wants the bottle,” May told Julie. “God, what a thirst that woman’s got! Did you see her knock off that drink? And now she’s yelling for the bottle. She’s fairly lusting for the stuff. Give her the bottle, dear, before she starts breaking the furniture.”
Julie quickly snatched up the bottle from the table and held it out to Jewel.
“Here, dear,” she said, “take it.”
Jewel pressed herself frightenedly against the back of her seat.
“Take it easy!” she screamed. “Don’t bring it near me!”
“She fights the stuff all the time,” May told Julie confidentially. “Of course I’ve never really been sure before, but I’ve suspected all along.”
“I must cling to my reason,” Jewel babbled desperately to herself. “I mustn’t give way!”
“What’s that, dear?” May asked soothingly.
“Maybe we should pretend nothing’s happened,” Julie suggested anxiously. “You know, just go on talking and pay no attention to her.”
“It might help,” May agreed.
FOR A MOMENT the two ladies engaged in frenzied and meaningless conversation, cautiously watching Jewel from the corners of their eyes. Jewel, her eyes riveted with terrible fascination on the table, seemed to have gone into a trance.
In the meantime, George, for his part, was suffering the pangs of disappointment. To all intents and purposes, except for a certain feeling of inner warmth, he was feeling much the same as always. The liquor had failed to perform the miracle he had expected. But perhaps that was only because he hadn’t had enough. Once more he reached out toward the glass and lifted it from the table.
With a final bellow of madness Jewel heaved her bulk from the chair and bolted from the room.
“God in heaven!” she roared from the hallway. “Let me out of here!”
May rose unhurriedly. “I guess the struggle was too much for her,” she said mildly. “You just stay where you are, dear. I’ll take her home. Poor Jewel. She’ll need someone to talk to, to confide in, and I’m her best friend.” Then in an undertone: “I’ve always thought she belonged in an institution anyway. I’ll call you later.”
When they had gone, Julie relinquished her spirit to the quiet atmosphere of the room. She had worried and cried, she felt, until she hadn’t any emotion left in her. Now she only felt numb. Then she started slightly as a muffled gurgling sound briefly broke the quiet. She glanced around quickly, but there was nothing. Then the doorbell rang. She turned her attention toward the hallway as Marie passed through to answer the door. After a moment the maid returned to the living room.
“There are a couple of gentlemen,” she reported. “They say they’re from the government and must see you.”
Julie was pensive for a moment; she couldn’t imagine why anyone from the government should want an interview with her. She shrugged.
“All right, Marie,” she said. Then she glanced at the bottle and the glasses on the table; not quite the proper fittings for a chat with the government. “I’ll see them in the study.”
She rose and started from the room. Then suddenly she heard a small scraping noise and turned back quickly. For a moment she stood still, staring at the table. Could the bottle actually have been moving just as she turned around? But of course that was silly.
Just nerves, she told herself, and continued into the hallway.
After introductions, Julie led the men to the study, gave them seats and took a place opposite them. She would have known they were from the government even if she hadn’t been told; with that careful, unrevealing look, they only needed an official stamp of certification on their foreheads.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.
“Well, we’re not, exactly sure,” one of the men said. “However, we have reason to believe you can.” He cleared his throat. “To get directly to the point, we are interested in an explosion which we believe took place on these premises last night.”
“Oh, dear!” Julie said. “Have the neighbors complained?”
“No, Mrs. Pillsworth, nothing like that. You see, we have mechanical means of knowing about explosions. There is a device in existence which records the precise time, location, magnitude and nature of even the slightest explosion anywhere on the Earth’s surface. One was recorded here last night. The nature, however, was undetermined and that’s why we decided to investigate.”
Julie nodded. She told them of Marc’s basement laboratory and his experiments to make heavy substances lighter than air. She explained about the explosion.
“The experiment was a complete failure, I guess,” she concluded.
“I see,” the man said. “Would you mind, though, if we took a look around in the basement anyway?”
“No, I don’t mind,” Julie said. “But judging from what I saw down there last night you won’t find anything but a lot of rubble.”
“Of course,” the man said. “But we can’t take a chance on a possible new type of explosive. It might be of military interest. Just in case, Mrs. Pillsworth, do you know where your husband kept his notes on the experiment?”
Julie thought for a moment. “In a little black book, I believe,” she said. “He just left it lying around loose down there.”
The man nodded and got up. “We’ll have the maid show us where it is,” he said. “Thank you very much.”
WHEN THEY were gone, Julie leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She was so weary, just from talking to people. Then she sat up quickly. She could have sworn she’d heard something out in the hall, a furtive noise, as though someone had cautiously let himself in the front door. She got up and went to the doorway of the study.
“Marc!” she called, then suddenly froze where she was.
Never had she seen two uglier customers than the ones that were now cowering before her in the shadows of the hallway. Two very dark little men with gross black beards, thick-lensed glasses and derby hats. They seemed to be exact and very dreadful duplicates of each other, as though the same awful mistake had happened—twice. Their eyes shifted nervously before Julie’s horrified gaze. They looked precisely like a pair of spies.
“Who are you two?” Julie asked uneasily. “What are you doing here?”
The two shifted uncomfortably, glanced at each other. Finally the one closest to Julie spoke.
“I’m Gerald Blemish,” he said, and nodded toward the other. “This is my twin brother, Cecil. Of course those names are entirely fictitious, but we haven’t used our real ones for so long we’ve forgotten them. Then, on the other hand, maybe those are our real names only we just don’t know it. We came with the men from the government.”
“Oh,” Julie said, relieved. “You’re with the government too.”
“Oh, no,” Gerald Blemish said. “Heavens no. We just followed them in. We’re spies.”
“Spies?” Julie said incredulously. “Oh, dear! With government men right in tine house?”
“Oh, we followed them everywhere,” the brother called Cecil said. “We find things out faster that way!”
“I can see where you would,” Julie said. “Haven’t they ever caught you?”
“Oh, yes. They catch us all the time. That’s one reason they like to have us around; we’re handy in case they want to arrest someone and don’t know who to arrest.” He glanced at his brother and sniggered noisily. “They think we’re harmless.”
“We’ve been arrested in so many shake-ups,” Gerald offered, “we’re known as the Double Malts to some people. We photograph very well in the newsreels. You know, being taken into custody with our hats over our faces. That’s why we wear hats, just for pictures.”
“Oh, yes,” Cecil put in. “As a matter of fact, we used to be in the movies professionally. We played spies exclusively. Because we look so awful. In fact that’s how we got started as spies. After seeing us as spies on the screen all the time, everyone got to believe we really were spies. No one would come near us.”
Gerald nodded. “When we went to call on anyone, people refused to answer the door.”
“It sort of depressed us at first,” Cecil said. “And then, on top of that, the movies stopped using us. The vogue in spies turned to beautiful women. They said we were old hat. That put us out of work. But there wasn’t anything else we knew how to do. No one would believe we weren’t spies so we just had to go on being them.”
The brothers glanced quickly at each other, then lowered their eyes to the floor. “That’s just the trouble,” Gerald said in saddened tones. “We don’t work for anyone. We’re unsponsored. No country will hire us because we look so much like spies. Other spies refuse to be seen with us.”
“I don’t wonder,” Julie said. “With faces like yours. I wouldn’t want to be seen with you, and I’m not even a spy.”
THE DREADFUL brothers looked up with unexpected happiness. They smiled on Julie crookedly from the corners of their mouths.
“Oh, I’m so glad you said that,” Cecil said. “We were afraid we were beginning to lose our looks. Do you think we’re really vile? You’re not just saying that?”
“I think you’re perfectly horrible,” Julie said with a feeling of delusion. “And I mean every word of it.”
“You’re wonderful to say that,” Cecil drooled unattractively. He reached inside his coat and drew out a soiled piece of paper. “Would you like the secret to the atom bomb? I know it’s kind of old stuff, but maybe you’d get a kick out of just having it to show your friends. We’ve had it for years now, only no one would take it from us; they wouldn’t believe it was real. Take it as a token of our appreciation,”
Julie backed sharply away. “No, thank you.”
“We’ve stolen all kinds of plans and formulas and things,” Cecil said. “Even secret recipes. But everyone acts like you do; they won’t let us give them a thing. Our room is filled with secret papers. We could overthrow any government in the world just like that, if someone would just take us seriously.”
“That’s too bad,” Julie said.
“The trouble is we’ve got no reputation; we’ve never done anything terrible enough to get a break.”
“Yeah,” Gerald slurred. “That’s the trouble. But we’ll make it yet. We’ll do something perfectly monstrous one of these days and then we’ll be in. We’ve got ambition and talent.”
The Complete Adventures of Toffee Page 40
