“Bombs away!” George’s voice sang out jubilantly from the region of the urn. “Fire one!”
“Oh, Lord!” Marc moaned fervently. He struggled desperately to reach one of the tables so that he might take shelter under it.
And then, just as the urn plunged downward, three shots thundered deafeningly through the room. Marc was suddenly caught in a rain of sand and shattered pottery.
At the table, the Blemishes jumped to their feet and threw their hands above their heads.
“We surrender!” they yelped in unison.
Then Cecil turned around, saw Toffee, the gun in her hand. He reached out and took it from her.
“You’re not supposed to have that,” he said woundedly. “What kind of prisoner are you, anyway?”
“Sorry,” Toffee said. “It was an emergency.”
Then she ran to Marc, followed by the Blemishes, and began to scrape some of the debris from his head and shoulders. No sooner had she arrived, however, than another crisis loomed on the horizon. The door of the dining room flew open and the manager of the Wynant, accompanied by two of the city’s finest, ran inside.
“Arrest them all!” the manager screamed shrilly. “Arrest everybody!”
“Get down!” Toffee said quickly and dragged Marc with her to cover beneath the nearest table. The Blemishes followed swiftly after.
In the deathly stillness that ensued, the manager and the two policeman advanced menacingly into the room, Then suddenly they stopped as a jangling sound broke the quiet. It was as though a handful of silver had been dropped to the floor somewhere across the room. It was obvious, however, that there was no one in that direction.
“Okay, Bill,” one of the policemen said. “Let’s round ’em up!”
In the activity that followed no one noticed the kitchen doors swing open, quietly and slowly, to permit the curious passage of four crawling figures.
“I don’t know,” Toffee said, crawling over the feet of an astonished chef. “I don’t know where everyone gets the idea this hotel is so elegant. I’ve been here only twice and it’s been raided both times.”
CHAPTER X
MARC AND Toffee, on their feet now and making strides as rapidly as possible, emerged from the alley behind the Wynant and hurried along the sidewalk, bound in the direction of the green convertible. At a distance, the Blemishes scurried along after them with grim determination.
Turning the corner at the end of the block, they arrived at the front of the hotel which was now the location of considerable activity. Toffee paused to watch the dining guests being escorted by the police from the hotel to several official conveyances which had arrived under the canopy.
“Come on,” Marc said. “Get in the car before they see you.”
Toffee nodded and followed the suggestion. Marc crossed around the car and slid quickly under the wheel.
“There still may be time to catch Julie,” he said anxiously.
Toffee favored him with a sullen stare. “I almost hope there isn’t,” she said. “For her sake. If she didn’t have grounds for divorce before, she’s certainly got them now—the way you were dallying around with that French trull...”
“I wasn’t dallying,” Marc said. “I was only trying to get something to eat. Lord knows you were willing to sit there and let me starve to death.”
He switched on the ignition and started the motor.
The car was just pulling out from the curb when the Blemishes arrived in a grim dog trot and placed restraining hands on the edge of the door. Together they regarded Toffee and Marc with baleful hurt. And produced their revolvers. Marc braked the car to a stop.
“Golly,” Toffee said, turning to Marc. “I forgot all about them.”
“What do they want?” Marc asked.
“You remember,” Toffee said. “They captured us up on the roof. They think we’re their prisoners.” She turned back to the pouting brothers. “Look, boys,” she smiled like a patient parent with a pair of fanciful and rather dreadful children, “we just haven’t got time to be your prisoners right now. We’d love to, really but we’ve got to leave. Why don’t you call Marc up on the telephone some time and...”
The brothers shook their heads in doleful coordination.
“Now, why be difficult? We’d be just crazy to have you capture us some other time, but right now... It’s not that you’re not perfectly sinister and all that... Now put those guns away and go spy on someone else for a while.”
“No,” said Cecil. “Huh-uh.”
“Huh-uh,” Gerald echoed.
Marc leaned forward impatiently. “Look here,” he said firmly. “I don’t have time for any more of this nonsense. I’ve got to get home. Now either you get off this car or you don’t, but I’m leaving.”
For a moment the brothers looked at each other in sad consultation. Then, as though having reached a decision by telepathy, they simultaneously quitted the side of the car and stood back a pace. Marc threw the car into gear and prepared to leave. However, just as he was pressing down on the accelerator the whole street suddenly boomed with the sound of gunfire. The car jarred forward, then settled into a lop-sided stop. The Blemishes grinned happily on their handiwork; they had air-conditioned both tires on the right side.
ATTRACTED by the sound, one of the officers in front of the Wynant started forward, but Cecil waved him back.
“Just a blowout!” he called. He pointed to the crippled car. “We’ll see that he gets fixed up.”
The officer nodded and went back to his chores with the Wynant guests.
“Why, you little...!” Marc grated.
“Holy smoke!” Toffee broke in, staring steadily at the two brothers. “Those kids are using real bullets and everything!”
“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” Cecil said mildly. “We’re just as mean as we can be.”
“You certainly are,” Toffee agreed. “You’re just about the most awful little grubs I’ve ever run into.”
“Sugary phrases aren’t going to get you anywhere,” Gerald said virtuously. “Now get out of that car and come with us.”
Marc and Toffee stared at each other with silent bewilderment; they were completely nonplussed. Slowly they got out of the car and presented themselves on the sidewalk.
“Now, just a minute, boys...” Marc said.
“Shut up,” Gerald snarled. “Our car is right behind you. Get in the backseat and sit quietly.”
Toffee turned and looked at the black sedan. “I wish that thing didn’t look so much like a hearse,” she said unhappily.
“It’s going to look more like a hearse if you don’t shut up and do what we say,” Cecil said.
With that clammy piece of news, Marc and Toffee advanced to the forbidding vehicle in question and deposited themselves stiffly in the back seat. Cecil and his gun joined them in the back, while Gerald climbed into the front and started the engine.
“It’s so embarrassing,” Toffee said disconsolately as they pulled away from the curb. “That’s what hurts; being shoved around like this by a pair of subnormal pygmies.”
“Where are you taking us?” Marc asked. “What do you want with us?”
“None of your business,” Cecil answered promptly. “And what do you care?”
“Oh, go on, Cecil,” Gerald said from the front, guiding the cumbersome automobile through traffic. “Tell them. They’re going to find out anyway.”
“We never told in the movies,” Cecil said sullenly. “It spoils the suspense. We always said none of your business and what do you care. You’re just sore because I said your line.”
“Go on,” Gerald said. “Tell them.”
“Oh, all right,” Cecil said. He directed his attention as well as his gun toward his waiting captives. “I think you’re familiar with our profession?”
“Profession,” Toffee murmured. “That’s a laugh.”
Cecil ignored it. “Then you should be able to guess that our real interest is in you, Mr. Pillswort
h, and your formula. That’s what we want.”
“I haven’t got the formula,” Marc lied. “I turned all my papers over to the government.”
“That’s a lie,” Cecil said flatly. “We’re in the complete confidence of the government, and we know you still have the formula yourself. You shouldn’t be so dishonest, Mr. Pillsworth; it makes a bad impression.”
“Please forgive me,” Marc said with heavy irony. “And what if I do have the formula? I don’t have it with me.”
“You can recreate it,” Cecil said with confidence. “Just so long as we get it first, before anyone else does. That’s the important thing. If you don’t recreate it, we’ll kill you. Quite dead, you may be sure. We can always find your papers. Really, the only reason we’ve taken you into custody, so to speak, is to keep the formula from the government. Otherwise, you’re actually not important to us at all.”
“What do you want with the formula?” Marc asked. “What in the world would you do with it?”
“Electrify the world,” Cecil said with an unexpected intensity. “This is just the sort of thing we’ve always been waiting for. Your formula will give us a chance to do something really big. Everyone will be talking about it.”
“About what?” Marc asked apprehensively.
“The bomb, of course,” Gerald said from the front. “We’re going to make a bomb from your formula, like those government men talked about.”
“What for?” Marc said. “What good would it be to you?”
“What good?” Cecil said. “Are you serious? We’re going to make our reputation with it. Everyone will be after us to come spy for them when we’ve finished with the bomb. Won’t they, Gerald?”
“Everyone,” Gerald agreed. “With the possible exception of the United States. Personally, I even anticipate a few offers to make a comeback in the movies.”
A LOOK of eager anticipation had washed unbecomingly over Cecil’s awful face. “We’re going to make this mammoth bomb, you see,” he said, “and we’re going to float away this whole entire city. Just like that!”
“What!” Marc started. “You mean you’re actually going to...!”
Cecil nodded dreamily. “They won’t be able to overlook us then,” he said. “People will stop being so friendly and treat us with proper respect for a change. We’ll just make the city disappear over night!”
“Oh, no!” Toffee said.
“Good grief!” Marc murmured. He gazed out the window at the passing city, the people, the shops, cars, skyscrapers. He tried to imagine all these things torn loose from the earth, twisting and turning into space. His mind revolted before the picture. The idea was too terrifying for words; Marc trembled with horror. That he should be the one to provide the instrument by which such a fantasy could be set into motion was too awful to contemplate.
“You can’t!” he breathed. “You can’t be human and even think of such a thing!”
“You see!” Cecil said, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You’re already impressed, and we haven’t even started. Of course, if you want, we’ll cut you in on the deal. It would be worth it to get your cooperation.” He turned to Toffee who was staring at him with unguarded loathing, “You, too.”
“I’d rather die,” Toffee said.
“Well,” Cecil shrugged, “if you’d really rather, it can be arranged.”
“It won’t work!” Marc said desperately. “It’s preposterous!”
“It worked with you, didn’t it?” Cecil pointed out.
Marc thought back to his frenzied flight to the top of the Wynant. A chill passed through him; anything was possible.
“But why the whole city?” he asked. “Why not just a building or a retired battleship?”
“More spectacular,” Cecil said. “It’ll cause more comment.”
“That’s so understated,” Toffee said, “it’s below the level of reason.” She looked at Marc. “They’re mad,” she said, “raving.”
“I know,” Marc said in hushed tones. “They’re just mad enough.”
“Oh, you bet we are,” Cecil said with a sudden mood of happiness. “We’re regular ogres, aren’t we, Gerald?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say regular ogres,” Gerald answered.
“Would you say irregular ogres?”
“No,” Gerald said with due consideration. “Irregular sort of suggests those advertisements. You know the ones about people who are uncomfortable because...”
“Just listen to them!” Toffee moaned. “They’re planning on blowing up the city and they go on about it as giddy as a couple of spinsters in spring! What difference does it make what kind of ogres you are? You’re perfectly abhorrent, both of you.”
Cecil smiled his crooked smile at Toffee.
“Thanks,” he said modestly.
“Don’t mention it,” Toffee said. She turned away with a little shiver. Then suddenly she brightened. Gerald had just brought the car to a stop at an intersection. At the center of the street a truly enormous cop was presiding over traffic. Toffee looked back at the revolver in Cecil’s hand, then at the cop. She decided to risk it. She threw back her head and screamed. With all the sureness and tonal brilliance of an operatic heroine saying farewell to her lover.
“Murder!” she screamed. “Arson! Blackmail! Fire! Flood! Famine.”
Then, satisfied that she had covered the field of catastrophe sufficiently to capture the attention of even the most unimaginative cop, she stopped and settled comfortably back in her seat. Noting that the cop was already on his way toward the car, she folded her arms complacently and smiled at Cecil.
“Now we’ll see who gets taken into custody,” she said smugly.
The cop stuck his head in the window, looked bewilderedly at Marc and Toffee, then took in the Blemishes. His face widened with a grin.
“Hello, boys,” he said amiably. “What’s the trouble? Read any good plans lately?”
“No, they haven’t,” Toffee put in quickly. “But they’re trying to. Officer, arrest these two.”
THE COP’S smile faded into an expression of purest astonishment. “Arrest them?” he asked incredulously. “What on earth for?”
“They’re abducting us,” Toffee said. “That’s what for.”
For a moment the cop just stared at her, then he threw back his head in a roar of laughter. “Those two?” he gasped. “Abducting you?”
“That’s what I said,” Toffee snapped. “What’s so funny?”
“That’s right, officer,” Marc said. “They’re trying to steal a valuable formula from me.”
“Of course they are,” the cop said with amusement. “They’re always trying to steal a valuable formula from someone. And every once in a while they actually get one. But what difference does it make? They couldn’t do anything with it if they wanted to. Now why don’t you just make them out a copy like a good fellow and hand it over? It’ll make them happy as hell, and it won’t do you any harm.”
“No harm, you dumb flatfoot!” Toffee said, losing control. “Just step inside here for a minute and I’ll hammer that thick skull of yours till you can use it for a serving platter.”
“There’s no call to get nasty,” the cop said.
“But you don’t understand,” Marc said earnestly. “These men mean to use my formula to destroy the city. They’re going to float it off into space.”
The cop turned and observed Marc closely. He nodded to Gerald. “Better keep a close watch on this one,” he said. “He’s got some funny notions in his head. He might do you harm.”
“My God!” Toffee cried. “Now we’re crazy!”
“That’s a good sign, lady,” the cop said soothingly. “They say if you realize your condition and are willing to fight it there’s hope of a cure.”
“I’ll kill him!” Toffee cried. “I’ll kill him with my own two hands! Look here, you jelly-headed gendarme, these two are dangerous criminals!”
“Criminals?” the cop said. “Them? Why they wouldn’t hurt a fly. Jus
t look at their faces.”
Toffee looked at the Blemishes, then came close to choking. The twins had assumed expressions of angelic innocence such as might have been equalled only by Little Eva in the moment of her ascension.
“Why, you dirty little frauds!” she hissed.
“All right,” the cop said, “you’ll have to get along now; you’re blocking traffic.”
As Gerald set the gear and put the car in motion once more, Toffee fell back in her seat, weak with emotion.
“There’s one guy I’ll enjoy seeing blown into space,” she said. “I hope he gets air sick.”
The mood in the car deepened after that, and there was silence. Gerald made a left turn and headed the car away from the center of the city. Marc and Toffee stared pensively at the passing scene while Cecil hummed a soundless tune and smiled annoyingly over private thoughts; presumeably of the devastating thing he and his brother were planning to do. Evening deepened into final night and lights began to glitter everywhere. And then the incident of the door occurred.
IT WAS JUST as Gerald brought the car to a stop at an intersection that the door promptly opened itself, wavered for a moment, then closed. Unmistakably it marked George’s arrival. Toffee looked up sharply.
“George?” she said, and her voice was almost hopeful.
There was silence. Gerald glanced around with a smile.
“Did you see the door open and close just now?” he asked without alarm.
“Uh-huh,” Cecil said casually.
“A ghost, I guess,” Gerald said.
“You two may think your joking,” Toffee said. “It really was a ghost.”
“We know,” Cecil said. “Gerald and I believe in ghosts. Always have. We’ve had quite a few of them around from time to time. At least we think we have; ghosts are hard to tell about sometimes.”
Gerald turned to the empty space beside him. “Make yourself comfortable, ghost,” he said graciously. “Just knock twice when you want to get out.”
“You see,” Toffee said to Marc. “They’re getting crazier by the minute.” Then she paused thoughtfully. “Or are we?”
The Complete Adventures of Toffee Page 46
