Behind them, the bus started up, lurched crazily forward, shot through the hedge bordering the drive and took off drunkenly across the lawn and into the trees.
“Oh well,” Marc sighed. “I suppose it might be worse—though I can’t imagine how.”
“Devastation seems to be prevalent today,” Toffee agreed.
“And with you helping it along,” Marc said, “I seem to have gotten a double order.” Lifting his glasses briefly, he stared off toward the woods. “I suppose I’d better get going. The sooner I settle things the better.”
“If you want my advice,” Toffee said, “take a gun.”
“What in the world would I do with a gun?” Marc asked.
“It would give weight to your argument,” Toffee said. “These Latin lovers expect jealous husbands to carry guns.”
“I am not jealous,” Marc said stiffly, “I’m just worried, that’s all.”
“In that case,” Toffee said, “why don’t we just wait here until they get back? We could join the party in the cellar.”
“It’s this springtime daffiness that really upsets me,” Marc said. “Everyone seems out of control.”
“Look,” Toffee said, “if they went to the woods in that direction, why don’t we go to them in the other direction and let Julie do the worrying for a change. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”
“How could that possibly worry Julie,” Marc asked. “She wouldn’t even know we were there.”
“That’s right,” Toffee said evilly, “she wouldn’t, would she?”
“Unprincipled little trollop,” Marc said.
“Unprincipled to the bone,” Toffee agreed. She sighed. “But what good does it do me?”
“I suppose I should drop in on my guests before I leave,” Marc said, “just to make sure they’re comfortable.”
“They’re probably so comfortable by now, they’re unconscious.”
“They’re better that way,” Marc said.
This settled, he turned away, then turned quickly back again as Busby, wringing his hands with desperation, suddenly flew through the door and down the steps.
“Sir! Sir!” he yelled. “They’ve done it already, sir! I can’t imagine ... They must be quick as cats!”
“What are you talking about, Busby?” Marc asked.
“The silver, sir!” Busby wailed. “And Mrs. Pillsworth’s jewels! Your—associates cleaned out the lot! And they merely passed through the house, sir!”
“Like corn through a goose,” Toffee murmured.
“Oh, Mrs. Pillsworth will be furious, sir!” Busby lamented. “Mrs. Pillsworth puts great store by her silver and jewels!”
MARC shuddered with apprehension. Julie would be more than furious; she would be livid. And, worse than that, she would be livid at him! Since the pack of thieves who had taken the things were his guests, the whole thing, therefore, would be all his fault. She would never forgive him.
“We’ll have to get them back!” he said.
“I could call the police, sir!”
“No!” Marc fairly yelled. “No, Busby, don’t call the police.” He frowned concernedly. “Are they all down in the cellar now?”
“Revelling,” Busby said hauntedly. “Revelling and shouting and guzzling. I don’t think I’d go down there if I were you. It’s a regular den of vice.”
“Nevertheless,” Marc said, “they need a good talking to. It’s hardly good manners to accept a man’s hospitality and steal his wife’s jewels.”
“It was probably Floss,” Toffee said vengefully. “She’s got her eye out for a good thing, all right.”
Together, the three of them entered the house, crossed the wide, cool hall at the front, passed through the solarium and kitchen and drew up at the doorway that led down to the cellar. The sound of coarse laughter momentarily halted their steps. From inside his jacket, Busby extracted a revolver.
“Perhaps you should have this, sir,” he said. “I keep it for emergencies.”
“And this is certainly an emergency,” Marc said. Taking the gun, he faced the stairway. “I will speak to them firmly and if that doesn’t work, I’ll—I’ll—”
“Call the police, sir?”
“No! No, I’ll—I’ll hope for the best.”
“With that mob,” Busby said dismally, “the best is bound to be something worse than the worst, if you get my meaning.”
“Nevertheless,” Marc said, “we will have to face them with it.” He led the way through the door and down the step into the dim, musty sweetness of the cellar. As they descended, a second roar of laughter rose to greet them.
“Hey!” a voice called roughly out of the shadows. “Mine host approaches—with vassals?”
“Vassals of what?” another voice inquired woozily. “Or do you mean seagoing vassals?”
Marc peered into the dimness and held up a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, not without a note of irony. “Ladies and gentlemen, Busby, here, has just told me a most shocking story.”
There was a stirring in the dark. “Old Busby did that?” a voice said interestedly. “He hardly looks like he’d know any shockin’ stories.”
“Shame on Busby!” a feminine voice giggled out of the distance.
A form moved out of the shadows and proved to be Floss. “Let’s hear this shockin’ story,” she said eagerly. “Ain’t nothin’ like a good shockin’ story to get the party goin’.”
Marc put up his hand again. “No,” he said, “you don’t understand; it’s not that kind of a shocking story.”
“A true confession, huh?” a voice said sullenly from behind the wine bins. “Don’t sign it, Busby. Get a good shyster before you put your name to it.”
“Please!” Marc said. “Let me tell you ...”
“Not if it makes us accessories to the fact!” the voice came back. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m putting my fingers in my ears!”
“Let’s all put our fingers in our ears!” a blonde-sounding voice tittered. “It tickles!”
“Now, just a minute!” Marc yelled. “Listen! Someone here has stolen the silver and my wife’s jewels, and I’ve got to have them back. The only thing I can do is appeal to you as a friend.”
“You’d appeal to me even as an enemy,” Floss giggled tipsily. “Advance, friend and be recognized.”
“If he does,” Toffee snarled, “he’ll also be cauterized. Stay back, you twobit lollypop!”
But Marc was not to be distracted from the matter at hand. “Now, which one of you did it?” he asked. “There won’t be any arrest if you will just return the things.”
THERE was a dense silence. Hotstuff shuffled out of the dimness and took up his place unsteadily at Marc’s side.
“Okay, you crazy cats!” he hollered. “Which one of you pinched Mrs. Pillsworth’s rocks?”
“Was she wearin’ them at the time?” a female voice inquired.
“No, she wasn’t,” Marc said. “What has that got to do with it?”
“Plenty,” the voice said. “If she was wearin’ them there might have been a hell of a lot more pinched than just her jewelry.” The speaker sighed with understanding. “Sometimes a girl likes to be pinched just for herself alone.”
“You’re gonna get slugged just for yourself alone if you don’t shut up,” Hotstuff snapped. He paused significantly. “Ain’t no one gonna sing?” He turned back to Marc. “Was the stuff insured?”
“Yes,” Marc said, “but it’s not as simple as that.” Resignedly, he launched into the story of his domestic problems. “So, you see,” he concluded imploringly, “I have to have the original jewels back or I might lose my wife.”
“And she’s out two-timin’ you with this Mario creep?” a voice said indignantly. “Disgustin’!”
“You gotta take your rod and blast the guy,” another voice said hotly. “Defendin’ your home, you could get off scot free.”
“Hey!” Hotstuff broke in suddenly, “I got a great idea!” He grinned at his unseen audience with
triumph. “Here we are, enjoyin’ a healthful, restful day in the country, all at Mr. Pillsworth’s expense. Well, now, don’t it seem like we owe him some kind of token of thanks?”
“Yeah!” Floss said happily. “Like an ash tray made like a toilet seat!”
“Naw, Floss, nothin’ like that,” Hotstuff frowned. “What I mean is something real useful that he needs.”
“Yeah?” a voice asked eagerly. “Like what?”
“Well, now I was thinkin’ ” Hotstuff said, “what Pillsworth, here needs most is to have this Mario removed outa the way. Naturally, he can’t go knock the guy off himself; he just ain’t the type. So, what I got the idea for, is why don’t we do the job for him? Kind of like a thank-you present because we’re havin’ such a nice time!”
“Hey!” a voice growled enthusiastically, “that’s a solid idea. It’s got a lot of sentiment, too. Like one good turn deserves another.”
There was a general murmur of assent.
“After all,” the blond-sounding voice said soddenly, “what are friends for, except to go around and help out one another?” There was the sound of loud snuffling. “It kind of gets you when you stop and think about it. Who’s got a rod that ain’t hot?”
“Now, wait a minute!” Marc yelled. “You can’t do that! It’s murder!”
“But we gotta make up for the jewels, don’t we?” Hotstuff said. “We gotta be honest with you, don’t we?”
Already, the murderous drunks had begun to swarm out of the dimness. The blue-jawed Moose appeared brandishing a wicked looking .38.
“We’ll all take shots at him,” he chuckled, “and say it was a huntin’ accident. That way, they won’t be able to pin it on no one in particular.”
“Now, listen!” Marc rasped desperately. “I can’t permit you to do this!”
“Oh, it’s really nothin’,” Hotstuff said modestly. He motioned to his followers. “Come friends, to the woods!”
“You mustn’t do this!” Marc cried.
“What a guy!” Moose growled admiringly. “You gotta practically fight him to even do him a little favor.”
THE band swarmed past Marc and up the steps. “We’ll spread out and force him into the open!” Hotstuff yelled.
“Stop!” Marc hollered. “Don’t do it! I don’t want you to!”
But the last of the assassins reached the top of the steps and disappeared out the door. Marc turned hopelessly to Toffee.
“I should have stayed in jail!” he said. “I can just see the newspapers when all this is over. Julie will divorce me for certain!”
“Well, don’t just stand there wringing your hands,” Toffee said. “Let’s go out and warn them. We’ll have to hide this Mario character until they’ve cooled down and gone away.”
“I suppose so,” Marc said. He turned and, with Toffee’s guidance, started up the steps. “At least we know where to look. Maybe we can beat them to it.”
They hurried up the stairs and out the back door. Marc turned briefly back to Busby.
“You stay here,” he said. “If Mrs. Pillsworth and Mario return warn them to stay out of sight.”
“Yes, sir,” Busby said. “And I think I’ll stay out of sight myself.”
Marc and Toffee started out.
“They’re probably down along the stream somewhere,” Marc said. “Let’s hurry.”
It was when they had reached the end of the lawns and were starting into the brush that Marc stumbled and lost his glasses. After looking about them then, hurriedly, he gave them up.
“I’ll just have to do without them,” he said.
“This is hardly the time to indulge your Puritan sensitivities,” Toffee agreed. “Come on!”
They forged ahead over rocks and through bushes until they came to the edge of the stream. There they stopped, scanning the banks for as far as they could see, but there was no one.
“You go in that direction,” Toffee said quickly, “And I’ll go upstream. If I find them I’ll whistle.”
Marc nodded agreement and struck out, shoving his way through a thick tangle of foliage. He moved along carefully toward a clearing that he remembered to be ahead. Finally, starting through the last leafy barrier, he caught his coat on a branch. He turned back to loosen it, at the same time backing out into the opening, pulling against the hold of the branch. The gun in his hand, however, made the maneuver awkward. As the coat finally came loose, he fell backwards, landing on the grass.
He was just starting to boost himself up, when he heard the scream behind him. It was a shrill scream and filled with horror. There was an ensuing moment of silence, then the sound of swiftly padding feet, scurrying in all directions. Marc turned and looked.
At first glance he was deeply startled, having forgotten momentarily the condition of his eyes. A large collection of humanity, glistening pinkly in the afternoon sunlight, were disappearing frenziedly into the surrounding greenery. As their unclad backsides vanished behind cover, Marc noticed that they had left behind them a number of picnic baskets, thermos jugs and blankets.
He sat for a moment, getting back his breath, then, on brief reflection, it came to him that these picnickers, whoever they were, had behaved with singular strangeness. Why should they run so desperately for cover just because he had fallen into the clearing?
He had only begun to ponder this curious equation when he realized that perhaps his falling there really had nothing to do with it at all. Perhaps something else, something much more formidable than a mere intruder, had panicked them. Visions of manconsuming cobras and slavering tigers flashed through his mind. Whatever it was that had so upset these people, he wasn’t going to hang around to welcome it single-handedly. Leaping to his feet, he also ran for cover.
HE crashed through the scratchy frontier of brush and came to an abrupt stop. Crouching before him, her back fortunately turned, was a plumpish, dark-haired woman, hiding her face in her hands. Marc crouched quickly down beside her and for a moment there was a tense silence. It was as though they waited for a bomb to drop. As the moments passed, however, and nothing occurred, Marc cleared his throat. The woman flinched nervously.
“Shh!” she hissed. “Be quiet!”
“What for?” Marc asked. “What happened?”
“Didn’t you see?” the woman asked.
“I must have missed it,” Marc said.
“Well, just be quiet,” the woman said again, and once more the silence returned.
Finally, out of sheer curiosity, Marc was forced to reopen the conversation.
“This seems to be my day for crouching down with women,” he said, trying a social tone.
“Is it?” the woman said. “I suppose there’s a reason why?”
“I don’t know,” Marc said, feeling that this exchange was not destined to make a great deal of sense. “But I’m beginning to be just a little stiff from it.”
“From what?” the woman asked absently.
“From crouching down with women,” Marc said, wishing he hadn’t started the discussion in the first place.
“Do you mean you get stiffer from crouching down with women than with men?” the woman asked.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Marc said. “I’ve never crouched down with any men. Do you suppose it would matter if I stood up and stretched a bit?”
“For heaven’s sake!” the woman gasped. “Do you want to be seen?”
“Why shouldn’t I be seen?” Marc asked.
“You know very well,” the woman said, “the way you are.”
“The way I am?”
“Certainly,” the woman said. “You know how people get about that sort of thing.”
“Oh?” Marc said, completely lost. “Say, how am I, anyway?”
“How should I know how you are?” the woman said primly. “I don’t allow myself to think about those things.”
“But you were just talking about it,” Marc said, “and about how people get about it.”
“Your mind should be abo
ve it all,” the woman said. “If you’re asking for compliments, you’ve come to the wrong party.”
“I persistently get the feeling,” Marc said, “that we’re talking about two different things.”
“Weren’t you at the last meeting when the citizen’s committee showed up and started chasing us around?”
“Why no,” Marc said interestedly, “I guess I missed that one.”
“The way people act,” the woman said peevishly, “you’d think we nudists aren’t decent or something.”
“Nudists!” Marc yelped. “Then, you really haven’t any clothes on after all!”
“Of course I haven’t,” the woman said self righteously. “And you ... Suddenly a quiver of realization coursed through her plump body and, removing her hands from her eyes, she looked around at Marc with a glance of horror. Her lips parted and she screamed.
“You’re dressed!” she cried. “You’re the man with the gun! Get away from me. Don’t come near me!”
“I wouldn’t think of it!” Marc said, leaping to his feet. “Good heavens, don’t turn around!”
“Don’t worry,” the woman said fervently, “I don’t think I could even if I wanted to! I’m just going to sit here and yell.” And just to prove it, apparently, she screamed again. “He’s here!” she shrieked. “He’s here, with all his clothes on!” Her tone implied a nasty accusation.
“Good grief!” Marc said. “You don’t have to tell everybody, do you?”
NOW that the alarm was out, the landscape came madly to life. Nudes of all sizes and descriptions, clutching bits of greenery to themselves where it was most needed, began leaping about through the brush like fish in a net.
Swiftly it developed into a full-blown stampede. Marc goggled with disbelief as tanned figures rushed across the clearing and flashed out of sight along the banks of the stream.
“Well, I’ll be darned!” Marc breathed and glanced down at the leavings of the picnic. He shrugged and started on, hoping fervently that he wouldn’t overtake them again. With his eyes behaving so strangely everything became so fraught with complexities. When, for instance, was a nude not a nude?
MEANWHILE, in another clearing just a bit farther along, Julie, her blonde hair glinting golden in the sunshine, sat in a leafy bower with her wide yellow skirts spread artfully about her long, aristocratic legs. The hypnotic whisper of the stream was in her ears and the spell of the first day of spring was in her blue eyes. From beneath drowsily lowered lids, she watched Mario as he arranged his canvas and paints and then, looking up, came toward her.
The Complete Adventures of Toffee Page 74
