"Who prodded me with a riveting machine?" she asked belligerently.
"I wish I had," the manager said, rubbing his ankle. He looked at the trap. "Damn thing's got a nasty bite. I tell you if I were a bear I'd be very careful around those things."
"You can't blame a girl if she's got ingenuity," Dolly said sullenly. "I almost got you, too, you slippery devil."
"You're fired," the manager said loftily.
"Oh, yeah?" Dolly said. "I don't quit, see? I haven't even tried guns, knives, hand grenades, bayonets, hand-to-hand combat and mousetraps yet. I'm starting in on light side-arms tomorrow."
"Look," Marc said to the manager. "The young lady would like something to wear. We're in a hurry. I've got to get back home...."
"Fine," the manager said. "I was on my way to the fashion salon when this morbid little affair befell me. I'm to meet Congressman Bloodsop there, too; he wanted to sit and look at the models. Come along."
And the three of them left, leaving the luckless Dolly thoughtfully testing the blade of a machete with the tips of her fingers.
"You see?" Toffee said to Marc. "You see how easily differences can be settled under the proper guidance?"
The salon, it turned out, was on the fifth floor of the Empire. On the way the manager paused briefly in the silver department to confer with a small, detached looking lady called Miss Winters.
"Things going well?" he asked.
"Oh, divinely!" Miss Winters twittered. "Just like magic. They're simply cleaning out the department."
"Bolting the meat and picking the bones, eh?" the manager beamed. "Stealing everything in sight, are they?"
"Oh, just!" Miss Winters nodded. "To give them encouragement, every so often I close my eyes and feign deep concentration. Every time I open my eyes the place looks just a little more like a desert wasteland."
"Just blinking away the merchandise, so to speak?"
"How cleverly you put it, Mr. Baker! You always were the one with the well-turned phrase, though." She colored prettily at her own boldness. "How would you like to hear that we've lost better than twenty thousand dollars just since opening this morning?"
"Splendid!" Mr. Baker said. "Splendid! Just keep up the good work, Miss Winters, and we'll be out of business in no time at all." As he turned away he smiled broadly at Marc and Toffee. "The sooner we unload all this junk the sooner we can close up and await the end with composure. As a matter of fact the advertising department has devised a little slogan: Steal at the Empire Before you Roast in Hellfire! Clever, eh?"
"Frightfully," Toffee said, "in the strictest sense of the word."
"Good grief," Marc said. "They're so used to the idea of dying, they're getting flip about it."
"Maybe it's all for the best," Toffee said. "At least their last days will be pleasant."
In the grey coolness of the fashion salon, Toffee, Marc and Mr. Baker, the manager, sank into low, comfortable chairs and accepted the services of a dark, aloof young lady who brought them drinks in tall, cool glasses. An orchestra played muted background music as from a misted distance. All in all the salon was a den of pleasant relaxation.
Girls of all types and unparalleled beauty paraded constantly in the latest words from the fashion centers of the world. Some of the fashion designers, Toffee concluded approvingly, were given to very brief and suggestive words. She also noted—again with approval—that most of those in attendance were males.
"They come here to make dates with the models," the manager explained. "But then the models come here to make dates with the men, so it's all right. I see Congressman Bloodsop hasn't arrived yet."
Toffee leaned forward interestedly. "The congressman?" she said. "Tell me, is this Congressman Bloodsop a man of influence? Does he have connections in high places?"
Marc interrupted the answer. "Pick out some clothes and let's leave," he said impatiently. "I have to get home and start looking for Julie."
"That can wait," Toffee said airily. She turned back to Mr. Baker with a smile. "You were saying...?"
"The congressman has the best of connections," he said. "He's only been in office six months and he's already bilked the nation of millions."
"I see," Toffee said thoughtfully. "And if you were me and were picking out a dress that would interest Congressman Bloodsop what kind would you choose?"
"Something unobtrusive," the manager said. "Nothing to obscure the view."
"I see," Toffee said. "The old gaffer has an eye out?"
"Both eyes. And so far out you could tick them off with a match."
"Something of a rounder, eh?"
"Everything of a rounder."
"Sounds almost too easy," Toffee mused.
"Here, now," Marc broke in. "What are you up to?"
"Nothing," Toffee said with great innocence. "A girl likes to make a good impression on persons of importance." She pointed to the model across the room who was displaying, besides quite a lot of epidermis, a dress made of a vaporish material which had been cut with an extremely frugal hand—almost grudging. "That dress—could I have that one?"
"Oh, that's a dinger, isn't it?" the manager said approvingly. "You might say it was practically made for Congressman Bloodsop." He brought the model over with a nod of the head.
"Madam wishes to see the dress?" the girl asked.
"Madam wishes to see the dress on madam," Toffee said. "The sooner the better."
"You got guts, honey," the model said. "And you'll need them, too, to keep this thing up."
The two of them adjourned to the dressing rooms and Toffee returned a moment later, the very picture of the most recent thing in scandalouschic. She joined Marc and Mr. Baker and took her place between them.
"How do you like it?" she asked Marc.
"You'd be more modest in a plastic shower curtain," Marc said. He boosted himself forward. "Come on."
"I want to meet the congressman," Toffee said. And even as she spoke a portly gentleman with a ruddy face and almost theatrically white hair appeared in the entry and started forward. "And I think I'm about to."
At the manager's limp wave, Congressman Orvil Bloodsop, the accomplished absconder of public funds, presented himself before the company. His eyes, true to forecast, registered a lively appreciation at the sight of Toffee. He nodded perfunctorily to Marc.
"These are some people I met in sporting goods," the manager said. "I haven't the least idea what their names are—or if they have any at all. They can tell you, if they think it's wise."
"What's in a name?" the congressman said with hackneyed gallantry. He got himself a chair and wedged it deftly between Toffee's and the manager's. "It's the ... uh ... heart that counts, eh?" He settled himself with a snort. "I don't believe I've ever seen you around before, dear. Where are you from?"
Toffee lowered her lashes with artful mystery. "A long way away," she said huskily.
"Stop that," Marc said. "Stop sounding like a movie vamp with a bad cold and come on."
"I have things to discuss with the congressman, haven't I, Congressman Bloodsop?"
"Why, of course, dear," the congressman said, leering at the things he hoped she referred to.
"What things?" Marc asked crudely.
"You'll see," Toffee said. "Enjoy the passing scenery." She turned back to Congressman Bloodsop. "I hear you've got some wonderful connections."
"Some of the best, dear."
"In Washington?"
"Straight up to the President," Orvil Bloodsop boasted. "All the way up."
"The President?" Toffee said. "Who's that?"
The congressman looked at her twice to make sure she wasn't joking. "Why the President is Lemons Flemm," he said. "You know that. But perhaps you remember Lemons when he was a television comedian. That's how Lemons got elected, you know.
"During campaign time Lemons' sponsor refused to give up his air time for the candidates speeches. As a result everyone was trying to watch Lemons and the candidates at the same time, and they got confused. When they counted the votes, Lemons was elected.
"And he's made the most entertaining president we've ever had. Taxes up one day and down the next. Anything for a laugh. Anything and everything goes."
"I see," Toffee said. "This comedian, then, is at the head of the government?"
"Right on the top of the heap. However, if any of us ever live to see another election I doubt that Lemons will be reelected. It seems that during the campaign there were a lot of people who thought the candidates were a lot funnier than Lemons."
"But this Lemons Flemm is running things?"
"A mile a minute," Orvil Bloodsop nodded.
"Then if someone were in possession of a really decisive secret weapon he'd be the man to contact, wouldn't he?"
"I doubt if he'd be interested," the congressman said. "Secret weapons have been done to death lately. Everyone's sick of them."
"Suppose this were something that gets in there where it does the most good and really makes itself felt?" Toffee asked anxiously.
"Something to make 'em rare back and take notice, huh?"
"Exactly."
"I see," the congressman said. "Then you're a foreign spy, aren't you, selling out the old country? You've already said you were from far away. Tell me, how do you like our little country?"
"Love it," Toffee said. "That's why I want so badly to meet your President." She crossed her legs carefully, and no part of the movement was overlooked by the congressman.
"I see," he said. "You want to get up in the world where the bidding is high?"
"That's the idea," Toffee said. "Sort of wriggle my way into the affairs of state, so to speak."
"Brings to mind an exciting picture," the congressman commented. "Of course the best way to crash Washington society is to be investigated by the Congress. You may not believe it, dear, but we've made some of the very best international figures. But it's difficult to be investigated, especially for a spy like yourself, with credentials and all. That's too easy, and we have to concentrate on the more difficult cases—our personal enemies, for instance. However, a girl with your—uh—attributes might prove of sufficient diversion to warrant special attention."
"This Congress," Toffee said. "What is it?"
"Oh, just a body of men."
"Really!" Toffee's interest shot ahead like an arrow discharged from a sixty pound bow. "I would be investigated by this body of men?"
"Minutely, honey," the congressman assured her. "And from every angle."
Toffee was almost beside herself with anticipation; she almost forgot the purpose at hand. "I'll kill 'em," she said. She composed herself. "Could you arrange to have me hauled up for investigation?"
"Well ... I wouldn't do it for just anyone, you know."
"But you would for me, wouldn't you? Don't forget; I do have a secret weapon."
"I'm not forgetting," the congressman murmured. "No, indeed. However, I'll have to convince the Congress that you're a substantial menace." He was thoughtful for a moment. "I think I'll call the Congressman from Idaho and say that you've been insulting his wife. I think something can be worked out." He rose.
"Just a minute," Toffee said. "There's just one more thing; include my friend, Mr. Pillsworth. Say he's been insulting Texas."
"Well...." the congressman hesitated.
"Please," Toffee cooed. "He might get his feelings hurt if we left him out."
"Well, okay," the congressman agreed, and left.
Seeing that there was an opening, Marc edged closer. "Is the congressman leaving?" he asked.
"He'll be right back," Toffee said pleasantly. "He's gone off to arrange something for me."
"What?" Marc said evenly. "Just what has he gone off to arrange?"
"Oh, just a little investigation."
"What kind of an investigation?"
"He mentioned something called Congress," Toffee said. "I think it's some kind of a club he belongs to."
"A Congressional investigation?"
"Uh-huh," Toffee nodded. "I believe those were his very words."
"Who's going to be investigated?"
Toffee smiled the sublimely innocent smile of one of heaven's nicer angels. "Me," she announced, "and you."
"What!" Marc jumped to his feet as though he'd been wrenched by a pulley. "Why you...! What did you tell that old idiot?"
"Nothing really," Toffee said. "I just told him I had a secret weapon, and he assumed the rest. He's including you as a personal favor."
"Dear God in heaven!" Marc yelped. "Let's get out of here before he comes back!"
"Oh, no!" Toffee cried. "I have to wait and see if he could arrange it."
"Come on!" Marc said, taking her by the arm and dragging her out of her chair. "Where'd he go? We'll go the other way."
"I must say I don't understand your attitude," Toffee said woundedly, following him into the entry. "After I worked like a demon to charm the daffy old vulture...."
"Justlike a demon!" Marc said hotly. "Exactlylike a demon! You take the words from my mouth."
"And I should dip them in cyanide and put them right back!" Toffee said. "I suppose it hasn't penetrated your blunted intelligence that I'm only trying to do something to help save this preposterous world of yours."
"I see," Marc said. "You propose to save the world by ruining me. That makes such brilliant sense it fairly blinds me." By now they had reached the outer hallway and were covering space rapidly in the direction of the elevators.
"I'm not going to stand for it!" Marc said testily. "And that's my message to you." He stopped before the elevators and placed his finger firmly to the button. "If you think I'm going to allow my life to be governed by the noxious fermentations of that fluttering mind of yours ... you're wrong!"
Toffee parted her lips for an angry reply, but just then the door across the hall opened, and Congressman Bloodsop appeared on the scene. His ruddy face was wreathed with smiles.
"Ah, there you are!" he boomed expansively. "Well, the news is good tonight. You're to be investigated tomorrow. I'm to take you into custody right now, and there'll be a couple of government boys to guard you. You're to stay at my home under guard tonight, and we'll fly up to Washington in the morning for the festivities." He swayed back on his heels in a seizure of self-appreciation. "Fast action, eh?"
"Mr. Bloodsop...!" Marc sputtered. "Mr. Bloodsop...!"
But the congressman held up a hand. "No need to thank me, boy," he said. "It's nothing to pull a few strings for friends."
"Mr. Blood...!"
Just then the elevator doors slid back to disclose Dolly, the impassioned wild-gamester, struggling with the stringy vagaries of an enormous tuna net. She staggered forward and paused to disentangle a cork float from the door latch. Then, hunched forward under her burden, she started determinedly toward the salon.
"On the scent again already?" Toffee inquired amiably.
Dolly stopped and peered back over her muscular shoulder. "Uh-huh," she panted. "Only this time I've got a switcheroo for the sonofagun. This time I not only toss him into the trap but fling myself in after him." She winked. "Get it?"
"In detail," Toffee said. She turned to Marc. "Isn't it nice to meet a girl who knows her own mind—even when it's cracked seven ways to Sunday?"
"You should know," Marc glowered. "You should damned well know, you little heller."
Congressman Bloodsop's study was a mammoth vault paneled solidly with the finest oak that purloined money could buy. It was vast-ceilinged and set solidly at one end with leaded windows of a thousand panes. Beyond the windows, like a magazine illustration, one could see formal gardens softened with twilight. To Toffee's mind it fairly stank with class.
From the depths of her leather-covered chair, she lowered her coffee cup to the table and observed the spectacle of Congressman Bloodsop sitting like a high magistrate behind a kennel-sized mahogany desk.
"Do the guardshaveto stay outside in the hallway?" she asked. "Won't they be lonesome?"
"A matter of form, dear," the congressman said. "Looks good. Besides, I've told the maid to give them tea."
Marc standing beside the fireplace stirred with agitation. "Mr. Bloodsop...!"
The congressman raised his eyes with slow patience. "Young man," he said evenly. "Is there something the matter with you? What is this curious compulsion of yours to rasp my name every few minutes? If you have something to say, say it."
"Yes, Marc," Toffee said sweetly. "Don't let the congressman think you're dull."
Marc choked, presumably with emotion. "I only wanted to inquire just why I can't use the telephone to try to find my wife?" he said in a strained voice.
"Another matter of form," the congressman said. "Good heavens, man, do you really care so much to find your wife? It's the most extraordinary thing I've ever heard of. I must remind you that you and the young lady now constitute a matter for official inquiry."
Marc clenched his fists tight at his sides. "Oh, Christ!" he wailed.
"At least he's shouting for someone else for a change," the congressman said complacently. "An erratic type. Subversives usually are, though. Next he'll be calling for Phillip Morris."
"Poor Marc," Toffee put in appealingly. "He just can't bring himself to view the end of civilization with the same happy composure the rest of us do. It upsets him."
"No use fighting the inevitable," the congressman said. "When the whole country has gone gypsy, you might just as well snatch up your skirts, so to speak, and join in the innocent merriment."
"Seems a trifle fatalistic," Toffee said. "Sometimes I rather agree with Marc that you owe it to yourself to resist to the end ... even if it's only an attitude. It seems more ... human ... somehow."
"Thank you for that much," Marc said with heavy irony. "At least my attitude pleases you."
"Welcome, I'm sure," Toffee murmured, then turned back to the congressman. "Tell me, congressman, just who is it that's going to do all this bomb dropping anyway? I haven't heard any name mentioned yet."
The congressman gazed at her. "You mean you're not really one of them, after all? You're with another interest?"
"A private concern, you might say," Toffee said.
"Well, it's a good thing we're investigating you then," the congressman said. "One does like to know who's killing one, you know. It gives you a clue whom to curse with your dying breath."
"But getting back to these others," Toffee said, "who is it? What country, I mean?"
"Why, You Know Where, of course," the congressman said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You Know Where, who else?"
"Did someone put something in my coffee," Toffee asked, "or are you just being terribly coy about this thing?"
"I'm not being coy at all, damm-it," the congressman said. "You Know Where is the country."
"Good grief," Toffee said, "now he's lapsing into baby talk. Very well, congressman, if you can't bring yourself to tell me the name of the country in a straightforward manner, perhaps you'll just mention the man who's at the head of it. Just as a hint."
"You Know Who," the congressman said flatly.
For a long moment there was silence as Toffee gazed toward the gardens with apparent serenity.
"All right, congressman," she said presently. "Just forget the whole thing. Forget I even mentioned it."
"Come here," the congressman said, drawing a globe atlas forward across his desk. "I'll show you."
Toffee got up and crossed to the desk. She followed the congressman's finger as it swept across the United States, brushed aside the Hawaiian Islands, and came to rest on a large country on the soiled outskirts of Europe. Quite plainly the country was marked: YOU KNOW WHERE.
"For heaven's sake!" Toffee exclaimed. "Why, that's...!"
"Don't!" the congressman broke in frightenedly. "Don't say that name! It's illegal. It was the government's idea that we should ignore the country, refuse to recognize it. It was hoped that if we just didn't speak to it any more and acted as though we didn't know it was there, it would go away and leave us alone. The use of the name was outlawed five years ago. Unfortunately, it's still there so we have to call it something."
"Very shrewd," Toffee said. "Reminds one of the tactics of sulky children. And this You Know Who, I suppose, is the head of the government there?"
The congressman reached across the desk and drew a newspaper toward them. On the front page was the picture of an elderly man in a short choke-collar effect. He had penetrating eyes and a drooping mustache.
"Oh," Toffee said, "you mean...!"
"You Know Who," the congressman supplied quickly.
"Of course," Toffee agreed. "Then as I see it the country is faced with the question of whether You Know Who from You Know Where is going to drop you know what on the USA?"
"Not whether," the congressman amended, "but when. Otherwise, you have stated the situation in a nutshell."
"And I can't think of a better place for it either," Toffee murmured. "Outside of a pecan pie it's the nuttiest situation I've ever heard of."
"Well," the congressman said, "there's nothing to be done about it now. Unless, of course, your secret weapon has some bearing on the crisis. But I doubt it. We've piled secret weapon on secret weapon and the situation has simply worsened with each one. It's very disheartening."
"I see," Toffee reflected. "It makes a murky state of affairs. However, if you could get people away from the idea of blowing each other up and reduce them to the oldfashioned, intimate methods of warfare...."
"Oh, Lord!" Marc moaned aggrievedly.
"Well," the congressman sighed, "he's still in the religious cycle at least."
At that moment the door opened at the far end of the room, and a heavy-lidded French maid appeared in the opening and leaned exhaustedly against the sill.
"Someone smeared a French pastry on the woodwork," Toffee commented dryly.
"I have served the gentlemen in the hall tea for three hours," the maid sighed, shoving her hair out of her eyes. "They are the devil himself. They play funloving games, like children." She paused and sighed again. "Dinner is served, I presume."
The congressman boosted himself out of his chair. "I will speak to those funloving gorillas in person," he said. He turned to Toffee. "Are you hungry, my dear?"
"Famished," Toffee said, and looked at Marc. "And you?"
"Yeah," Marc said dolefully. "My wife is gone, my business is ruined, my world is about to go up in smoke—but what the heck!"
He turned a sardonic eye on the congressman. "Lead on," he said. "Play, gypsy, play!"
Toffee sat down gingerly on the corner of the bed and surveyed the congressman's best guest room with voluptuous appreciation. It was a production in lace and rococo gilt in which the curly-cued, beflounced bed was lost like a fireworks display in a gaudy sunset. Toffee only regretted that such splendor, for her part, was only to be wasted.
It was not that she would not have willingly stayed the night there, had she the choice—but she had not. Being a thought projection of Marc's conscious mind, she would not exist in the material world when Marc slept. She had to return to the land of his imagination until he awoke again; then she would rematerialize wherever she chose. She looked at the bed, imagined the roseate picture of herself amongst the linens and laces, and sighed a sigh of regret.
She removed herself from the bed, went to the door and listened. There were sounds; the guard was still there. The other guard would be posted at Marc's door.
Toffee glanced at the ornamental clock on the bedstand. It was well after midnight, and she was still in the land of reality. That meant that Marc was still awake—and still worrying about Julie—and the bombs.
She crossed to the bed, sat down as before, and ran her hand absently over the lace coverlette. Something had to be done to help Marc before he became a nerve case. It was true that she had gained the attention of the law makers, but now it seemed that the law makers were as irresponsible a group as one could wish for. And there might not be much time left. Something had to be done ... something big ... and in a hurry. If either side could be made to see the sheer idiocy of the situation. If, for instance, You Know Where....
Suddenly Toffee stood up.
"My gosh!" she cried. "If I could only...!"
She stopped suddenly and a gasp came to her lips. Even as she did so her very being seemed to fade a bit.
"Oh, no!" she cried. Then slowly she became more completely materialized again; Marc had yawned. She ran to the door and threw it open. Instantly the guard, a youngish ape in a dark suit, appeared before her.
"Yes, miss?"
"I've got to see Mr. Pillsworth!" Toffee cried. "He's going to sleep and he mustn't! Not yet." She started forward, but the guard stood firm.
"Sorry, miss," he said. "You're not permitted to see Mr. Pillsworth tonight."
"But I must!" Toffee cried. "He has to stay awake until...!"
"I'm sorry, miss," the guard said, then looked at Toffee more closely. "Aren't you feeling well, Miss? You look a trifle pale around the gills."
"And what's worse," Toffee said, "Ifeelpale too."
"Well," the guard said helpfully, "I saw an advertisement once about a lady who recommended a vegetable compound very highly. Of course I couldn't be positive but I believe the lady's name was Sylvia Pinkham, or something of the sort. She was a very kind looking old lady...."
"Look," Toffee put in distractedly, "could I go to the study if you came with me? It's terribly important."
"Well," the guard reckoned, "all right. But don't you think you ought to lie down. This lady ... Sylvia ... seemed to think that other ladies should lie down...."
"Blast Sylvia Pinkham," Toffee said. "And blast her compound, too. Come on. Hurry!"
Together they hastened down the stairs. On the first floor the guard led the way to the study and switched on the lights. He watched Toffee with concern as she swept past him into the room.
"My, miss," he said. "You're looking paler every minute. You'll soon be nothing more than a ghost the way you're going."
Heedless, Toffee ran to the desk. There she reached for the globe and turned it with a hurried hand. The guard joined her curiously.
"Let's see," Toffee mused. "We're here. You Know Where is there. If you concentrated in a straight line in that direction...."
"Miss," the guard said softly. "I'm sure Miss Sylvia Pinkham wouldn't like it at all...."
"And I wouldn't like Miss Sylvia Pinkham at all," Toffee said shortly. She turned back to the globe. "This must be the capital of You Know Where, this heavy black dot over here. It is, isn't it?"
"Yes, Miss. But if you're thinking of going there, they won't let you in, you know. There's the Brass Curtain."
"I thought it was iron," Toffee said.
"It used to be. But after a few dealings with those people everyone decided it must be brass."
Without comment Toffee snatched up the newspaper and studied the picture of You Know Who as though she were committing the unlovely features to memory. Finally she set it aside and turned to the guard.
"There now," she said. "I think I've got everything fairly straight in mind. There's just one thing. Mr. Pillsworth is going to sleep now. Don't let him sleep too long—just a little while, then wake him up."
"Are you certain he'll want to...?" the guard began.
"Don't forget," Toffee said positively. "It's a matter of life and death."
"Well, okay," the guard agreed. "I'll tell him you said...!"
Then, with a gasp, the poor man's voice descended down his throat with the gritty rattle of a parcel of bones dumped into a disposal. As he watched, shaken to the very roots of his soul, the girl by the desk gradually faded into thin air....
Dusk had come to a distant land.
Toffee stood in the formidable square and looked with disfavor on the great concrete pilings that brooded over the clear area in the center and isolated it from the waning light of day. Functional architecture, with frippery—cold, grey and starkly oppressive. Very functional, like a straight jacket, and just as pleasant to look at.
There were hardly any signs of human life. A couple of men, so grey and so gross that they seemed only a part of the buildings around them, lumbered down the steps of the largest and most formidable of the structures, stopped to look at Toffee curiously, then passed on. Toffee shrugged and turned toward the building from which they had just come. The best way to obtain information, after all, was to ask someone for it. And if those men had just come from the building, life must exist inside the place in spite of appearances.
She had no more than set foot on the steps of the place, however, than life suddenly descended upon her in a rush; two grey-uniformed guards, seemingly patterned very closely on the physical and spiritual makeup of the gorilla, clumped down the steps toward her with bayonets fixed. One of them barked something that, to Toffee, had no specific meaning. The bayonets, pointing in the vicinity of her mid-section, spoke with great eloquence. Toffee felt keenly that the moment called for a disarming smile.
"Don't be silly, boys," she said with arch modulation. "There's no occasion for manly demonstrations."
There was a sputtered, incoherent exchange between the two, interspersed with moments of silence which allowed them time to stare in open-mouthed wonderment at the lightly-swathed redhead before them. Toffee listened to this for what seemed the proper social interval, then started determinedly forward. The bayonets, however, thrust a little closer, took all the verve and sweep out of the gesture.
"Now, kids," Toffee said, "I don't want to have to get rough with you." And so saying she reached out, delicately parted the bayonets, and passed between them. Their owners, obviously unused to this open flaunting of the sword, turned to stare after her in petrified astonishment. After a stunned silence, there ensued a growl-and-spit interchange of thought on the matter.
Though Toffee had no way of knowing it, one aborigine inquired of the other if they were eye to eye in the opinion that they were seeing things. The other replied in the affirmative, adding that if it were not illegal to entertain such notions, he might venture that they had just been bypassed by an angel from heaven. Of course, since everyone knew that heaven and angels did not exist, the notion was silly.
"Nothing descends from heaven but bombs," his companion observed with native starkness. "The Great Leader has said it is so."
"Then it is so, and we are only the victims of a delusion."
Shrugging their massive shoulders they returned to their posts and hoped for the best.
Inside the building Toffee found herself confronted by a wide foyer from which innumerable corridors stretched away in all directions. Guards of a similar stamp to those who had accosted her on the steps literally infested the place, two to the corridor. They seemed so much a part of the sombre decor, however, that Toffee did not notice them at once. She had proceeded nearly to the center of the room before, overtaken by a certain feeling of uneasiness, she stopped and reconnoitered.
As she glanced around, the walls began to bristle with bayonets. She appraised this nasty state of affairs with concern and decided to adopt the policy of the congressman and his colleagues. A song on her lips, if not in her heart, she fixed her eyes straight ahead on the center corridor and resumed nonchalantly in that direction—perhaps if she pretended that these bayoneted orangoutangs were beneath her notice they might go away and leave her alone. They didn't appear to be the friendly, informative type anyway.
For one brief moment it seemed that the ruse, by dint of sheer boldness, was going to work. Toffee was almost to the corridor when one of the benumbed guards suddenly began to vocalize in an overwrought fashion. In a voice that slammed against the vaulted ceiling like a trumpet blast he shouted something that sounded loosely like, "Gamnovitch!" His tone did not convey the feeling of warm welcome. Toffee, sizing the situation up as the sort that only comes to a head with delay, bolted.
She darted into the corridor and kept going at a pace that utilized her lovely legs to the utmost. A noisy clatter from the rear, however, told her that she was not in the sprint just for exercise. She renewed her efforts. Then suddenly stopped.
It wasn't so much that the corridor terminated in a huge doorway only a few yards ahead—though that was bad news enough—the real thing was that before the door there stood not two but four enormous guards, supplied like the others with those ugly weapons. The guards and Toffee caught sight of each other simultaneously, but the really filthy part of it was that the surprise element in the incident shoved the guards into action while it only held Toffee motionless.
Toffee needed no one to tell her she was about to be surrounded. "Iwouldhave to get into this place," she sighed. "It must be a barracks for guards." She watched with resignation as the bulky bayoneters formed a prickly circle around her. She chose the most likely-looking of her captors and smiled enchantingly into his sub-ugly face. But the favored one only reciprocated with a small jabbing gesture which was enthusiastically picked up and elaborated upon by his companions. Toffee was the first to realize that the situation was climbing toward that state which is often described as 'serious.'
"Look out, you lumbering oafs," she said hotly. "You could play hell with a lady's dainties with that sort of thing."
She considered her ring and the hoard of armed brutes around her; there were too many of them to deal with effectively. The situation called for help, and Toffee took her cue from the situation; though she didn't know the language she was willing to kick it around a bit.
"Helpovitch!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Helpovitch!"
The result that followed was as instantaneous as it was unexpected. No sooner had Toffee's voice split the air of the hallway than the guards froze where they were and stared at her in a transfix of horror. Toffee hadn't the faintest notion of what she had said but she was awfully glad to have said it.
Experimentally she made a movement; the guards remained still. She stepped out of the circle, and one of the guards made a small movement of protest.
"Helpovitch, you rat," Toffee said. "You heard me."
The guard remained motionless.
Toffee paused, selected the door at the end of the hall as her destination, and went rapidly toward it. As she drew abreast of it, it opened just a crack and an ear presented itself in the opening. Apparently someone had been disturbed by the noise in the hall. Toffee leaned forward and placed her mouth close to the ear.
"Helpovitch," she whispered.
There was a moment, then the ear shuddered delicately, after which it turned red and withdrew quickly from sight. Here, Toffee realized, was the sort of ear that responded to a firm hand. She shoved the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. Then she turned about—and stopped short.
It wasn't so much the room which, large and marbled, was a gasping matter all in itself—but the room's occupant; the ear had been misleading for its owner was none other than You Know Who himself. Between the Great Leader and Toffee there wasn't much to choose for goggle-eyed surprise. Toffee, however, was the first to recover from the encounter.
"Well," she said, "just the old villain I'm looking for!"
The Great Leader, his eyes retreating back into their sockets, set his mustache atremble with a great sucking breath and launched into a series of resonant sounds.
"Knock it off," Toffee commanded. "You're making a fog in here. Besides, I can't understand a word of that juicy jazz."
"So!" the Leader exploded. "Who iss? How you got har, hah?"
"Well," Toffee murmured relievedly, "at least you can speak English—using the language loosely, that is."
"How come you har, hey?" the Leader insisted truculently. "Why not soldiers kill you forst?"
"They had it in mind," Toffee said, "but I just said 'helpovitch' to them, and they dropped the whole thing."
"Vooman!" the Leader gasped. "You say soch dorty vord it is only sooprise soldiers do not drop teeth along with thing!" He waved his hand. "Go vay, dorty gorl! Screm!"
"For Pete's sake!" Toffee said. "What does the word mean?"
"Don't ask!" the Leader gasped, throwing up his hands. "You make me drop whole thing, too! Go vay or I call soldiers and tall tham shoot you all over—oop!—down!" He started toward the door. "Tarrible gorl!"
"Hold it, Cecil," Toffee said. "You touch that door and I'll pull off a shindig that'll make you sad all over."
The Leader stopped and regarded her uncertainly. "You American vooman spy, hah?" he demanded. "You think you smart. Vell, you be dad soon, vhat you think, hay?"
"I think you're going to be reasonable and do what I say, hey," Toffee answered firmly. "Either that or you're going to get the surprise of your life."
"Who iss you anyway?"
"An avenging angel," Toffee said. "That'll do for now."
"Nonsanse!" the Leader snorted. "No soch thing angel. Anyvay, angel vould not say dorty vords, make soldiers drop things."
"Okay," Toffee said, "so I'm no angel. You're right there, pop. But I'm avenging, and don't you forget it."
A new thought crossed the seething mind of the Leader. "You know who you talk to so mean?"
"Sure, Mac," Toffee said. "I know you."
"Than I tall you drop dad, you gotta do it, hah?"
"Huh-uh," Toffee said, shaking her head. "And let's have no more sass about killing people. Now let's get down to brass doorpulls...."
But just at that moment the soldiers outside not only got down to doorpulls, but pulled them: the room began to swarm.
"If I'd knew you were coming," Toffee said, "I'd have baked a snake." Nevertheless, she retreated warily. The guards paused uncertainly before her and started babbling among themselves.
"Now!" the Leader said triumphantly.
But Toffee pointed imperiously to the gabby guards. "What are those birds saying about me?" she demanded. "I've got a right to know."
The Leader paused to listen, then nodded with comprehension.
"Forst man say he think you foreign spy because you look nothing like voomans from this country. Other man say he's right because if you var from here you vould haf thick lags like his wife who iss von big slob. Forst man say he can say that again for his vife who iss so big slob you gotta say it twice to describe her." The Leader paused to consider this exchange and suddenly smote his brow. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "Now iss clear! You deganerate product of America sant har to make men unrastful with slobbish female population. So!"
"It's a side-line I hadn't thought of," Toffee said and smiled engagingly at the guards. "But if you think it'll work...."
"Iss no good you viggle around and look saxy," the Leader put in sullenly. "You gonna get shot good, you deganerate boopsy daisy." He turned to the guards and shouted an order which had but one meaning in any language. The men instantly formed a single rank with mechanical precision and raised their rifles toward Toffee, albeit with a certain gleam of reluctance in their eyes.
"Now you gonna gat it," the Leader said.
But Toffee only smiled. "I've told you," she said, "I'm an avenging angel. And we angels are practically indestructible."
"Ve see," the Leader snorted. "So!" He turned to the guards and barked an order that touched off a confusion of explosion and gun smoke. In the moment that ensued, as the smoke settled, there was a tense silence. This was followed by a many-throated cry of alarm.
Toffee, still smiling, and completely unscathed, stepped lightly through the screen of smoke and presented herself to the company at large.
"What would you like for an encore?" she asked.
She did not bother, of course, to explain that she could not possibly be destroyed as long as Marc's mind held the image of her as a live being. She would always be just as Marc imagined her and he quite evidently was not thinking of her as dead at the moment.
As she moved forward, the guards took a faltering step backwards. Then, as a man, they turned and fled the room, slamming the door after them.
Toffee shrugged lightly, turned and gazed about. The Leader was no longer in evidence. She paused to consider briefly, then crossed to the large desk in the center of the room, and bent down to peer underneath.
"You may as well come out," she said. "I see you."
The Leader's head appeared apprehensively in the opening. "Go vay," he said. "Vhy you not dad? You crazy?"
"Crawl out of there, Sam," Toffee commanded. "Loosen that tight collar of yours and get set for a lesson in future history. You can frolic about on the floor later."
Slowly the great man emerged and stood before her. Toffee's refusal to die or even get decently dented had shaken him to the very foundations. Furtively he eyed the bullet-scarred wall.
"Shame," Toffee said. "You've been naughty, Jasper. Sit down."
He did as he was told, looking as though he might burst into tears at any moment. "Vhy you not dad lak hangnail?" he insisted. "You got an iron gordle?"
"I simply can't be killed," Toffee said. "I just can't seem to bring myself around to a serious frame of mind about guns and knives and that sort of trash. Which leads me to the problem at hand. I've got a plan for you, kiddo, and though it won't take five years, we've got to shake a leg." She glanced at the row of buttons and the speaker on the desk. "You know what you're going to do?"
"No," the Leader said warily. "Vhat?"
"You're going to start pressing those buttons, one at a time, from right to left. You're going to talk to all the big shots wired to those buttons and you're going to order the country demobilized, tonight."
"Hah?" the Leader said. "And since vhen?"
"Right now," Toffee said. "You are going to have every bomb and every facility for making bombs blown to dust in the cool of the night. Every piece of live ammunition in the country is going to be laid to rest. By your order. So get busy and start having the danger areas cleared."
The Leader only stared at her in blinking disbelief.
"Voop!" he burped with deep emotion.
"And what is the meaning of that remark?" Toffee asked.
"Means you iss goofy. Means you got bats in the bonnet."
"And you're going to have ants in the pants if you don't start pressing your moist little finger to those buttons." Toffee eyed him humorlessly. "Are you going to start pressing or aren't you? You've had the word."
"I'm waste no more time talking foolish with dorty, saxy dame like you," the Leader said petulantly. He got up and started determinedly toward the door. "I call new guards and have them carry you avay."
"I warned you," Toffee said, raising her hand tentatively. "You'll regret it."
But the Leader, unintimidated, continued toward the door. He had just reached out to open it when Toffee brought her hand down quickly over the face of the ring. Events proceeded according to expectations.