"I see what you mean," Toffee said thoughtfully. "It's rather an impasse, isn't it?" She turned to Mr. Culpepper who, roused by the sound of the shot, was now weaving his way toward them. "What about that antidote?" she asked him. "If whiskey's supposed to restore us, heaven knows we've had whiskey aplenty."
"Takes time," the little man said thickly. "Mustn't expect miracles, you know."
"Oh, mustn't I?" Toffee said with sudden heat. "You change me into a miserable little blob of flab and then you have the gall to tell me not to expect miracles. That's a laugh ... a fair howl."
The little man chuckled. "It is rather humorous, isn't it?" he said.
"I ought to kick in your bridgework," Toffee said dully.
"You don't like me," Mr. Culpepper said with no particular expression. "You think I'm disgusting."
"You think you're kidding," Toffee said. "You've just shown real insight."
"Thank you," the little man said gravely. "Sometimes I think...."
In a start of surprise he lurched to one side, grasping a chair for support. His eyes, like Agatha's and Chadwick's, were fastened on Marc and Toffee. Suddenly, the two erstwhile youngsters had begun to stretch upward like a pair of extending telescopes. They were growing and aging with the speed of lightning, it seemed. In a matter of seconds Marc became once again a tall, serious-eyed businessman ... one that had unaccountably rolled up his trousers to go wading. At his side Toffee was again a scantily clad redhead ... a fine figure of a girl with a fine figure. The effect was impressive to say the least. The Harpers gasped in unison.
Toffee stretched out one of her exquisite legs and surveyed it with satisfaction. "Well, that's more like it," she said happily. "A girl can really get places with a pair of pins like that."
"I told you!" Agatha shrieked. "I told you there was something funny about her. Only it isn't funny!"
"Oh, Lord," Chadwick murmured. "I've never seen anything so weird in all my life. How did they manage it?"
"Don't ask me," Agatha said unhappily. "I don't like to even think about it."
Marc had also stretched out a leg, but the sight of it seemed to give him no particular pleasure. Hastily, still holding his gun on Agatha and Chadwick, he reached out and rolled down his trousers.
"Well, thank heaven that's over," he sighed. "What a relief."
"Hypnosis," Chadwick said to Agatha. "That's what it is. Either they hypnotized us into thinking they were children a while ago, or they're hypnotizing us now to make us think they're adults. I wonder which they really are?"
"I don't care," Agatha said with sudden disillusion. "I don't care if they're really a pair of Newfoundland puppies. I don't care about anything anymore."
"I told you," Mr. Culpepper said to Toffee. "It worked like a charm. Now you don't have to be sore at me any more."
Toffee favored the little man with a radiant smile. "I could kiss you," she said recklessly.
"Please do," Mr. Culpepper said.
"Later," Toffee said. "Much later." She turned to Marc. "The decks are clear. Call the cops. Let's get rid of these regal rats."
Marc nodded and retired to the telephone. "We can say they broke in here," he said, "if all else fails."
Toffee, in the meantime, had leveled her gun on the Harpers. "Turn-about is some fun, eh, kids?" she said. "And while we're waiting for the cops, why don't you tell us what really happened to the Duchess of Windsor's jewels? Remember, anything you say will be used to hang you."
Mr. Culpepper teetered to Toffee's side. Screwing his face into what he fondly believed to be a romantic pucker, he lifted himself to his toes and growled, "Kiss me, baby," a la Clark Gable. He wavered a moment and then fell forward.
It might have been the perverse paw of destiny that sent the little man crashing against Toffee. Otherwise, the situation involving the Harpers, Mr. Culpepper and Fixage might easily have righted itself on the spot. The Harpers might have been carted off to the pokey in chains; Mr. Culpepper might have returned to his laboratory for a late pot of coffee; Fixage might have become an unpleasant memory, and Marc and Toffee might have been free to disport themselves in any way that pleased them. It might have happened that way. But it didn't.
Under Mr. Culpepper's sudden weight Toffee tottered a moment, then crumpled to the floor, dropping her gun. She showed splendid presence of mind in retrieving the gun swiftly enough to ward off any attack from the Harpers. But she wasn't quick enough to prevent the enterprising twosome from scooping up handfuls of the scattered pills and greedily popping them into their mouths.
"Don't!" Toffee screamed, leaping to her feet. "Spit them out!"
Agatha swallowed mightily and gasped for air. She laughed shortly. "Too late now," she said triumphantly.
"You've no idea," Toffee said. "If you did, you'd be courting a stomach pump with everything that's in you."
Marc slapped the telephone receiver back into place. "Good night," he murmured, aghast. "Whole handfuls of the things!"
Chadwick managed to choke down his generous grabbings. "Well," he said with satisfaction, "now we'll see what's what."
"And probably a good deal more," Toffee said. "If we can bear to look." She glanced down at Mr. Culpepper who was still resting quietly on the floor. "What can we do about it?"
The little man shrugged, uninterested. "You cheated," he mumbled. "You ducked."
"We ought to do something right away," Marc put in. "Maybe a stomach pump isn't such a bad idea. In a minute it'll be too late. There's a...."
It was already too late.
The Harpers had suddenly turned an unfortunate shade of whitish-green. They clutched at each other in a paroxysm of agony, shuddering from head to toe. Then, seized by a rending spasm that nearly doubled them, they slid soundlessly to the floor.
"Oh, Chad...!" Agatha whimpered. Her head fell loosely to the pit of Chadwick's stomach. "Ohhhh!" And then she passed out.
Chadwick was unmoved by his mate's pitiful lamentations; he had been dead to the world even before he touched the floor.
Toffee regarded the crumpled figures at her feet. "How terrible!" she breathed. "Do you suppose they're dead?"
Marc shook his head. "They're still breathing," he said.
Mr. Culpepper, after a number of false starts, finally made it to his feet. His eyes wandered loosely about the room for a time, and finally arrived at the bodies on the floor.
"With all their fine manners," he mused, "you'd think they'd find a more suitable place to retire."
"Oh, shut up," Marc sighed. "If you don't I may cram a few of those pills down your gullet."
Agatha and Chadwick remained in their state of enforced slumber only a few minutes. Then, almost at the same time, they awoke and opened their eyes. Chadwick glanced dazedly around, stretched luxuriously and yawned a cavernous yawn. Agatha, however, seemed to suffer no after effects at all. She merely opened her eyes, surveyed the situation briefly and went directly to the business at hand. Getting to her feet, she regarded Marc and Toffee triumphantly.
"Well," she sneered, "now we'll see about that turn-about stuff. You needn't try to scare us with those guns any longer, either." She turned and helped Chadwick to his feet.
"What happened?" Chadwick asked. "What hit me?"
"The pills," Agatha reminded him. "We're all set, love. We've nothing more to worry about. Shall we quit this dreadful place?"
"Oh, yes," Chadwick smiled. "We did take the pills, didn't we? We're bullet-proof. To coin an expression, the world is practically ours."
Agatha took him by the arm. "Yes, dear," she said gaily. "Tax free, too. Shall we duck out and rifle a few banks just for a starter?" her voice was exuberant, almost giddy.
"Right-ho," Chadwick said agreeably. "And maybe a jewelry shop or two, eh? Just for good luck."
They started happily toward the door, too wrapped up in their gold-tinted dreams of the future to notice the fascinated, expectant gaze of their erstwhile adversaries. They were almost into the outer office when it happened. Unquestionably it was the shock of their lives.
They seemed to melt like popsicles in a furnace. They dwindled so swiftly there was the faint sound of disturbed atmosphere, a little rush of air. Suddenly their clothes were hanging loosely about them, the ends of their sleeves trailing on the floor. And they were still melting. Agatha screamed with terror; and even as she did her voice faded away into a thin, childish wail.
"Oh, heavens!" Toffee cried. "They took too much. They're disappearing entirely!" She buried her face against Marc's shoulder. "I can't look!"
Marc and Mr. Culpepper stared at the spectacle with open-mouthed amazement.
It was a long time before Toffee found the courage to turn away from Marc's shoulder. When she did, her eyes moved apprehensively toward the door, and then she made a little whimpering sound. Two forlorn little piles of clothing lay there, one on either side of the doorway.
"Ohhh, Lord," Toffee breathed. "They're gone ... completely gone. There's nothing left of them, not even a whisper."
"'Fraid you're right," Marc said. "Fixage fixed 'em."
Mr. Culpepper had been greatly sobered by the disappearance of the Harpers. "I had no idea," he muttered woodenly. "No idea at all."
"I feel sorry," Toffee said. "I can't help it. They were so proud and so elegant ... even if they were just a couple of rats."
"Rats indeed!"
Toffee started as though slapped in the nether regions with a cactus. The voice had been nothing more than a tiny whine, a mere vibration, but it had seemed to come from the heap of clothing that had been Agatha's. Toffee streaked across the room and knelt beside the crumpled garments. They seemed furiously agitated.
With deft fingers Toffee dug inside the clothing. First she uncovered a tiny, wrinkled hand, then an arm and finally an entire baby. The infant was very red of face and its small features were screwed up into an expression of extreme annoyance. Its button eyes blazed malevolently as it gazed at Toffee. It gritted its tiny teeth.
"Witch!" it hissed. "Oh, the things I would call you if I weren't a lady."
"Agatha!" Toffee cried. She lowered the infant back onto the pile of clothing and turned to the tangle of male garments on the other side of the door.
A brief search through a coat, a shirt and an undershirt uncovered Chadwick, also in an acute state of infancy. When he looked up and saw Toffee staring down at him he blushed furiously.
"Give me my trousers!" the baby demanded hotly. "Stop staring at me and give me my trousers!"
"Well, for heaven sake!" Toffee exclaimed.
She placed the depleted Harpers side by side on the lounge, and Marc and Mr. Culpepper moved to her side. As babies, the erstwhile thieves were markedly unbeautiful, and Toffee musingly remarked as much. At this the infant Agatha surprisingly forgot herself and poured out a string of oaths such as would have done credit to a stevedore on a hot day. Chadwick continued to blush.
"What are we going to do with them?" Toffee asked. "We can't turn them over to the police like this."
"Certainly not," Marc agreed. "And we can't keep them around. If my wife should suddenly come home and find me with a couple of babies...." He shuddered at the thought. "We'll have to restore them." He turned to Mr. Culpepper. "We can do that, can't we?"
"Yes!" Toffee cried. "We could bring them back to what they were before their faces were changed, couldn't we? That would solve everything."
This suggestion provoked a discordant howl from the infant Harpers.
"I don't know," the little scientist mused. "It could be done all right, but it would have to be done very carefully. We'd have to give them spirits in exact amounts. A little too much one way or another...." He stroked the tip of his nose with a slender finger. "Figuring on the basis of the amounts that you and Mr. Pillsworth consumed to restore yourselves, I could probably...." He retreated to the chair behind Marc's desk, tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Yes, yes," he murmured dreamily.
"Will you just listen!" Agatha piped. "They're going to work us out a whiskey formula."
"I don't care what they work out," Chadwick replied, rolling unhappily over onto his fat little stomach. "I want some clothes. I'm cold and embarrassed."
"See if you can find something for them to wear," Marc said, turning to Toffee. "Try the model's dressing rooms in the photographer's studio; there may be something there." He glanced briefly at Toffee's faintly obscured figure. "And while you're about it," he added, "you might pick up something for yourself."
Toffee nodded and left the room. When she returned she was resplendent in a shimmering ice-blue evening gown that had a very conservative neckline ... provided a girl's neck, by some freak of nature, commenced somewhere in the region of her midriff. The glistening material clung tightly to her body, highlighting its more provocative features. When she walked she shimmered with a loveliness that seemed almost unreal.
In her hand she was carrying two brief lengths of black velvet. These she twined haphazardly around the rather brief figures of Agatha and Chadwick.
"How's that little wretch coming with our formula?" Agatha asked.
"Yes," Chadwick put in, "I could do with a spot or two very nicely just now."
Toffee glanced at Mr. Culpepper who, for all the world, seemed merely to be enjoying a sound sleep. His facial muscles twitched occasionally, though, giving testimony to the experimental processes that were being accomplished inside.
"Keep your diapers on," Toffee said. "He's doing what he can."
"Oh, well," Chadwick sighed. "I suppose there's really no hurry. They'll only turn us over to the police when we're restored."
"I don't care," Agatha said, eyeing Toffee's new loveliness with envy. "I'd rather rot in jail than be left to go on groveling around like this."
There was a sudden snort from Mr. Culpepper as his head snapped forward, and his eyes opened. "I have it," he announced composedly. "As I have it figured, ten jiggers of strong whiskey should restore them to what they were six months ago." He turned to Marc. "Do you have any liquor handy?"
Marc shook his head. "We'll have to go out for it."
"Very well," Mr. Culpepper said. "I'll go."
"No. We'll all have to go," Marc said. "We can't risk staying here. The cleaning ladies will be around this way soon. If they saw this ..." he indicated the babies and Toffee, "... there would be a scandal that would make Hollywood furious with envy."
Leaving the building, the Pillsworth party was one to startle and confound, a woman in a revealing evening gown carrying two velvet-swathed babies and accompanied by two extremely uneasy looking gentlemen, was a sight to give pause to even the most careless-minded citizen. Indeed, several citizens not only paused but stopped cold in their tracks as they saw the strange group moving toward them. With grave dignity, though, glancing neither to the right nor to the left, the ill-matched fivesome proceeded to the end of the block, waited in heavy silence for a change of traffic signals, crossed the street and disappeared through the doors of a retail liquor store. There they were greeted by a large, befuddled looking merchant.
The merchant surveyed his approaching customers with silent disbelief. Then he seemed to shake himself from an absorbing dream.
"This is a liquor store," he said dully.
"Yes, we know," Toffee said politely. "That's why we've come."
"I just thought I'd mention it," the merchant said unhappily, clearing his throat. He glanced out the window and closed his eyes a minute. Then he turned back to the group before the counter and seemed to be surprised all over again.
"Since you're really here," he said, "what can I do for you?"
"We'd like a bottle of strong whiskey," Toffee said. She turned questioningly to Mr. Culpepper who nodded back to her approvingly. "The strongest you have."
"Two bottles!" a tiny voice suddenly piped from the depths of one of the velvet bundles. Chadwick's small head bobbed into sight. "Make it two! And make it snappy!"
Agatha's head was only a moment behind Chadwick's in making its appearance, "Sot!" she accused. "Greedy little pig!"
"You be still," Chadwick rejoined. "What if I do get a little drunk tonight? Who ever had a better reason? Just being married to you would be enough, I should think! I've got it coming to me."
"You've got a lot coming to you," Agatha shrilled. "And someday you're going to get it. If it hadn't been for you starting that fight up there...."
"Please," the infant Chadwick said, looking pained. "Try to restrain your shrewish tendencies just this once, won't you?" He turned to the liquor merchant with a bland smile. "Two bottles, if you please, friend."
"Yes," Toffee put in quickly, by way of ending the discussion. "Two bottles, if you please."
"Perhaps it's just as well," Agatha drawled. "I wouldn't drink from the same bottle with that little lush, anyway."
The merchant made a brief, strangling noise as he tore his eyes away from Agatha and Chadwick and backed into a shelf, upsetting several bottles onto the floor. "I shouldn't of nipped the stock in the back room," he muttered to himself. "Me old lady warned me this would happen. She said it would start just this way." He turned his back on Toffee and the infants, grasped the edge of the shelf and rested his head on the backs of his hands. A deep shudder ran the full length of his body. It was some time before he began to recover even a little bit.
Finally, without turning around, he managed to say, "What kind of whiskey did you want, lady?"
Toffee looked at Agatha and Chadwick questioningly.
"What kind have you got?" Agatha called out.
The merchant shuddered again. "I don't know," he whimpered. "I don't know nuthin' right now. Maybe this is all Chanel number 5 up here on these shelves. It wouldn't surprise me none. Why don't you just look around and take what you want? I won't look. You just take it and go away. Just tip-toe out and don't slam the door. That's all I ask. The liquor is on the house."
After the selection of two large, rather vaporish-looking bottles, the little company returned to the sidewalk. The babies, however, were becoming increasingly troublesome in their eagerness to be at the liquor, which was in Marc's custody for the time being. Their ill-tempered cries, however, were almost entirely directed at Toffee. People began to stop in the streets to watch and to listen. If they could believe their ears, they were overhearing two new-born infants calling their mother names that even an adult hadn't any right to know. Shocking invective gushed from the sweet mouths of the babes in a fountainous stream. Toffee, probably for the first time in her life, was embarrassed.
"Can't we do something?" she asked her companion. "Can't we go somewhere? If this sort of thing goes on much longer I'll be picked up by a home for wayward mothers or something."
Marc glanced down the street. Then he pointed. "Over there," he said. His finger indicated a public library. "There should be quiet and privacy in there." He turned to the babies. "Now listen here, you two, either you be quiet and behave yourselves or you won't get a drop. Understand?"
Agatha and Chadwick were instantly subdued.
The library was a large, high-ceilinged place of passages and corridors. Just inside the main entrance was a large foyer-like room out of the center of which, like a giant mushroom, jutted a circular checking counter. Toffee moved quickly to the counter and rested the babies on it. An aged woman whose spinsterish face belied her gay dress turned and smiled, revealing a mouth full of charred fags.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Where are the books?" Toffee asked.
"What books?"
Toffee looked puzzled for a moment. "Big books," she said. "In stacks. I was told there were veritable walls of books in here."
"And there are," the woman said defensively. "Which books are you interested in?"
"How should I know?" Toffee asked helplessly. "I haven't read them yet."
The woman sighed. Then her eyes fell to Agatha and Chadwick lying on the counter and they lighted with the fanatical gleam of frustrated motherhood. She reached out and pulled back the velvet folds.
"My, what beaut...!" The lie died in her throat. To suggest that Agatha and Chadwick were anything but downright ugly was too great a falsehood for even this child-starved soul. "You must be ... uh ... proud," she said tonelessly. However, she was game; once she'd started she wasn't going to give up. She reached out a hand and waggled a finger over Agatha's protruding tummy.
"Kitchy-kitchy," she said unhappily.
Anger flashed in the infant's eyes. "Get your horny talons off me, you withered old wraith," she snapped. And having given warning, she parted her bubbling lips and bit the woman's finger.
The woman didn't cry out in surprise; she didn't make any sound at all. She simply stared hard at Toffee for a long moment, then silently pointed to a distant corridor.
"The books on abnormal child psychology are in there," she whispered. "And if I were you, honey, I'd hurry."
Toffee gathered up Agatha and Chadwick and joined Marc and Mr. Culpepper, who had been watching from a distance.
"That was fine," she scolded Agatha. "That was a splendid display."
"What did you expect?" Agatha replied haughtily. "The old hag was thumbing me like a ripe watermelon."
"I wish she'd throttled you," Toffee said annoyedly. "Lord knows you deserve it. Your mothers must have been women of great forbearance. How they kept their hands off your little throats is more than I can tell."
The little party made its way through the nearest passage and found itself in a forest of books. Shelves lined on either side stretched out toward them like great, reaching fingers. Here and there a solitary "browser" was picking his way painfully along the long rows, title by title, but on the whole the great, book-jammed room was reasonably deserted. Toffee moved along the ends of the rows, found a browserless section and disappeared inside. Marc and Mr. Culpepper followed. Together, they all retreated to the end of the section and formed a sort of huddle. Marc produced the bottles from beneath his coat.
"How are we going to measure it?" Toffee asked. "We have to give them ten jiggers exactly."
"Do I have to think of everything?" Agatha inquired scornfully. Her small hand emerged from her velvet wrappings, clutching a jigger glass. "It was lying around loose on the counter," she explained.
"As in womanhood," Toffee said philosophically, "so, too, in infancy is she a crook."
As though in solemn ritual, the bottles were silently opened and the initial portion poured.
Agatha stretched out her miniature hand. "Gimme," she said. "It's my glass. And, boy, do I need a slug!"
"Tell me, dear," Toffee said quietly, tilting the glass to Agatha's eager mouth, "whatever became of that lovely accent of yours?"
Agatha polished off the whiskey and burped. "None of your damned business," she said with truly childish simplicity.
By alternating between the two babes, a certain amount of decorum was maintained. Marc took charge of the stoking of Chadwick while Toffee continued in behalf of Agatha. Mr. Culpepper shoved a few volumes aside on one of the lower shelves and seated himself, watching with interest as the glass moved from hand to hand to bottle to baby. He looked like a spectator at a tennis game being played on a checker board. The glass shuttled from pouted lip to pouted lip until the inner infant, on both scores, had been fortified five times over. From this point on, as the whiskey poured down the tiny throats, a corresponding amount of exuberance arose via the same channel. Agatha, made congenial by the liquor, began to while away the time between drinks by lifting her childish voice in song.
"Becky lived in a Turkish harem," she chortled. "She had towels but she wouldn't wear 'em."
"Stop that caterwauling," Toffee commanded.
Agatha perversely increased her volume. "Becky looked like Theda Barer," she shrieked. "Theda was bare but Becky was barer!"
Suddenly a sharp, gasping sound echoed around the little group, seeming to come from no place in particular; the bookshelves themselves appeared to be making little twittering sounds of surprise. The Pillsworth party froze as it was. Eyes moved furtively in unturning heads. It was Toffee who discovered the cause of the interruption.
Several books had been removed from one of the upper shelves, leaving a sort of peep hole into the next section. In this opening had appeared the forbidding face of the spinsterish librarian. It bore the dismayed expression of a maiden lady who had inadvertently stumbled into a YMCA swimming pool.
"Heavens!" the woman gasped. "Giving liquor tobabies! No wonder they're retarded!"
Toffee, recognizing the situation for what it was, displayed what she believed was great presence of mind in grabbing the tell-tale bottle from the shelf and lifting it to her own lips. She drank deeply of the contents, and just to lend conviction to her performance as a ravening drunkard, staggered against the bookshelves, rolling her eyes loosely in their sockets.
"Oh, dear," Mr. Culpepper put in from the perch on the shelf. "If I were you, I don't think I'd...."
A little moan issued from the colorless face in the bookshelf. "Oooo, what depravity!" it exclaimed. "And teaching the babies to drink, too!"
"Nonsense," Toffee said, addressing the face openly. "We're drinking this ourselves. We're just a bunch of roaring sots. We're too stingy to give any to the babies."
"I saw you," the face insisted. "You were forcing the filthy stuff on those infants. You ought to be reported."
Toffee turned to Marc. "We weren't either, were we?" she asked. "We never give these babies any liquor, do we?"
"Certainly not," Marc said indignantly. "We were only fighting them off, trying to keep them from taking it away from us. We love the stuff too much to waste it on them."
In demonstration, he grabbed the bottle that had been Chadwick's and pressed it eagerly to his mouth, a fanatical gleam in his eye.
"Oh, really," Mr. Culpepper cried. "I really don't think...."
"You see," Toffee said to the face. "Can't leave the stuff alone. Those babies haven't got a look-in as far as liquor is concerned. We wouldn't give them a drop if they were dying of thirst."
Doubt came into the face as Marc withdrew the bottle from his lips with a loud smacking noise and grandly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The librarian was beginning to look more or less convinced. Slowly, the face started to move away.
"Becky's boy friend came and found her," Agatha suddenly shrilled in a voice that was definitely dewy. "But her towels were not...."
The voice suddenly became softly muffled, as though by velvet.
The face darted back into the opening between the books. "What was that?" it asked.
"Me," Toffee said. "I like music with my liquor."
The face was some reassured. "Well, you'll have to stop it," it snapped. "You'll have to stop almost everything you're doing, in fact, if you expect to remain here. Drinking is not allowed...."
A loud, rumbling burp issued from the velvet bundle in Toffee's arms.
"Oh!" the face exclaimed, and suddenly disappeared. There was the sound of quick tapping footsteps on the other side of the shelf.
When the footsteps had died away Toffee and Marc, with renewed vigor, returned to their labors with the bottles and the babies.
"We'll have to hurry," Marc said. "That old hag had a look about her that definitely meant trouble if you ask me."
"I agree," Toffee said. She glanced down at Agatha. "And you didn't help matters any. You displayed your customary perverseness, I noticed."
The baby cocked an insolent eye at her. "You acted with rare intelligence, yourself," she said. "In my opinion you handled the situation like a jerk. I only shudder that all these strangers are laboring under the degrading notion that you are my mother."
The liquor flowed with increasing velocity. The eighth jigger had been administered when the footsteps sounded in the doorway beyond the book shelves. They entered the room and hurried forward as though they knew just where they were going.
"In there!" came the voice of the aging librarian. "They're in section five, throwing a regular wild party! They're drinking liquor and singing dirty songs and ... and ... contributing to the delinquency of babies! They're carrying on 'till you wouldn't believe it!"
"My!" a voice said, not untinged with pleased expectancy. "Sounds like the time we raided that house over on the other side...."
"Shut up," another voice said. "No matter what's goin' on behind them books, this is different. And don't you forget it!"
The footsteps drew closer and swiftly rounded the end of the section. The members of the Pillsworth party looked up in unison and saw two large, blue-clad policemen running toward them.
Toffee fairly threw Agatha into the arms of Mr. Culpepper. "Here!" she said. "I'll hold them off. You see that she gets the other two shots!" She sounded like the little Dutch boy about to cram his pinky into that dyke over in Holland. Agatha landed in Mr. Culpepper's lap with a thud and a burp.
Thus relieved of her besotted burden Toffee raced quickly to a movable ladder stretched up against the long shelves. Reaching it, she started upward, two rungs at a time.
The ladder was the sort that rested on rollers at either end and could easily be shuttled from one location to another with a good deal of facility. Once aloft Toffee lost no time in using the contrivance to its utmost capacity. Rollers whirred and Toffee and the ladder sped forward to the attack, toward a section that was notable for the number of truly weighty volumes it housed. Toffee seized up the first of these volumes and paused momentarily to read its title.
"War and Peace," she read. "That ought to put them to sleep."
Never was literature so forced upon anyone as it was on the hapless policemen in the awful moments that followed. "War and Peace," true to Toffee's expectations did indeed leave the first of the cops looking extremely drowsy as it clipped him on the chin and sent him staggering backwards against his companion. In a matter of seconds two of the city's finest were groveling pitifully on the floor, trying vainly to ward off a hail storm of books. Toffee, in selecting a lettered diet for these two besieged gentlemen showed a marked preference for the heavier works. Her victims were most impressed, in a very physical sort of way, with the works of the ancient Greeks.
The cops, apparently unwilling to perish under this literary avalanche, turned tail, and started crawling toward the outer protection of the shelves. Seeing that victory ... at least momentary victory ... was at hand, Toffee turned back to see what progress was being made with the howling Harpers. Everything at the end of the section was oddly serene.
Agatha had been set aside on one of the shelves and apparently the last of the ten libations was being given to Chadwick. While Toffee was watching this picture of rather distorted domestic contentment, one of the cops timidly extended his head around the lower corner of one of the shelves.
"Lord," he commented to his companion, "they're choking whiskey down them young'uns like it was a matter of life and death. What do you suppose they wanna do that for?"
"Maybe they get a kick out of drunk babies," the other returned morosely. "Maybe hooched-up babies are a barrel of fun. How should I know?"
"Looks more like they're tryin' to kill 'em," said the peeping cop. "Infanticide is a serious charge. Attempted infanticide is just as bad. It's goin' to go hard on 'em when we get 'em outa there."
"Ifwe get 'em outa there," his companion corrected. "Me, I feel almost like just crawlin' outa here and lettin' 'em do as they please."
"Shame on you, Murphy," the first cop said. "It's our duty to protect them babies, even if they don't look very human."
"What'll we do?"
The cop surveyed the situation; Toffee was now facing away from them, watching as Chadwick was being shelved beside Agatha.
"Now's our chance," he said. "Let's rush 'em."
"I wouldn't mind rushin' that redhead," Murphy said stoutly, "if I could just get out of the readin' room. She flings a mean book."
"Let's go," the first cop whispered. "No time to jaw."
Together, the policemen rushed once more onto the scene of their recent defeat. Somehow confused, they both ran headlong for Toffee and the ladder. Apparently neither remembered the swift mobility of the ladder for, simultaneously, they lunged at it, throwing their full weight against it.
Instantly the ladder shot into motion, fully burdened with the two startled cops and a thoroughly unbalanced Toffee. At the outset Toffee toppled from her perch, hurtled downward, and caught one of the cops around the neck just in time to prevent a crashing arrival at the floor. From there on, it was just one grand, piggy-back ride for the redhead. For the cop it was a matter of an extra burden and hanging on for dear life. Books, row upon row of them, flashed by in a screaming blur. They were heading for a dead end with the speed of a bullet.
"Get off me!" Toffee's protector yelled ungallantly. "Beat it, lady! No riders!"
"Not on your life!" Toffee hollered back through clenched teeth. "For the rest of this trip you and I are sweethearts!"
At this moment the librarian appeared at the end of the book littered aisle and gazed on the scene within with open amazement. "Just look at those cops!" she exclaimed. "Carrying on just as bad as the others! You'd think this was a fun house. You boys stop that this instant!" she yelled. "I'm going to call the commissioner!"
"When you do, lady," one of the policemen hollered back, "tell him for me what he can do with his lousy job! I got a wife and kids to think of!"
Just then, the ladder, like a transcontinental express, arrived at the end of the line and discharged its protesting passengers like three jet propelled missiles. The two policemen shot out into the air, headed directly for Marc and Mr. Culpepper who had been watching the little excursion in a state of rigid immobility. Toffee, through some hitherto undiscovered law of physics, left the back of her stalwart carrier in a sweeping upward arc that landed her ungently atop the book shelves.
The law literally swept down on Marc and Mr. Culpepper, upending them posthaste and hurling them to the floor. From the top of the bookcase, Toffee collected her breath and gazed blandly on the scene of confusion below. She might have hurled a book or two in Marc's behalf, except that in the tangle of arms and legs, it was impossible to tell which were the property of Marc. Besides, she had just become happily aware of a window at her side, one that was easily accessible from the top of the book shelves. She threw the catch and it slid open.
Turning her attention back to the confusion on the floor, she was delighted to see that Marc and Mr. Culpepper had emerged from the "flail" and were dazedly looking about for some new, less hazardous enterprise.
"Up here!" Toffee yelled, pointing to the window. "Up the ladder!"
They reacted mechanically. They gazed dully at Toffee and the window, then started obediently toward the ladder. They were nearly to the top of the shelves when the two cops, finally weary of struggling with each other on the floor, got to their feet and observed these recent developments with considerable malice.
"Oh, no you don't!" one of them grated viciously. He lunged at the ladder and shoved it with all his might. As it shot away from his hand he let out a hysterical laugh. "There!" he yelled. "Now it's your turn to look silly!"
The ladder streaked away toward the open end of the section like a shrieking, avenging thing. Marc and Mr. Culpepper twined themselves to it and each other in a seizure of iron-bound desperation.
"Heh, heh, heh!" the cop cackled wildly, watching their terror. "That'll teach 'em to make light of the law!" He turned his attention to Toffee. "Come down off there, you little witch," he demanded.
"Come and get me, lardhead," Toffee hissed. "I'm holding out for squatter's rights."
Toffee smiled enticingly from her perch on top of the bookcase as the cop gestured wildly....
Toffee smiled enticingly from her perch on top of the bookcase as the cop gestured wildly....
Toffee smiled enticingly from her perch on top of the bookcase as the cop gestured wildly....
The cop accepted her invitation. Or at least he tried. Clutching the edge of a high shelf he attempted to swing himself upward. From there on, the natural laws of gravity took matters into their own hands. The entire bookcase teetered drunkenly for a moment, swayed forward, paused, then clattered downward. Toffee's pursuer went down under a flood of literature, while Toffee sailed lightly outward and landed with ease in the outstretched arms of the other policeman. All three of the participants in this rather singular incident were starkly surprised at its outcome.
At the same moment a howling duet of horror announced the arrival of Marc and Mr. Culpepper at their dreaded destination. There was a thud and a crash as the ladder hit the end of its track and hurled its helpless cargo into the wall. A clatter, a moan and a groan marked the end of the operation.
"Now look what you've done!" Toffee howled as the cop lowered her to the floor. "You've probably killed them!"
A howl of outrage issued from the mountain of books at her side. A few slid from the top of the pile and the head of the deluged policeman jutted into view, eyes ablaze. "You haven't increased my insurance value either, sister," he said bitterly. He burrowed his way to freedom and gained his feet, staring evilly at the diminutive cause of his downfall. "I—hate—you," he said with heavy emphasis.
By the time Toffee and the cops arrived at the end of the section, Marc and Mr. Culpepper were just beginning to stir. Apparently their nervous systems had suffered the bulk of the damage, for they were not noticeably marked. The cops took them into hand.
"Fun's over boys!" the more unruffled of them said. "You won't go sky-larking again for a long, long time."
In the meantime, Toffee was staring back into the aisle, searching out the shelf on which she had last seen the infant Harpers. She made a little cry of surprise. The shelf was empty.
"They're gone!" she said. "They've gotten away. And after all the trouble we've gone through to bring those two crooks to justice!" A look of speculation crept into her eyes, and she turned to the nearest cop. She grabbed his arm with an urgent hand. "My babies!" she wailed dramatically. "My babies! They're gone. You've got to find them! You've got to! I'll kill myself!"
"What's that?" the cop asked mildly.
"I'll kill myself, Dumbo," Toffee said sourly. "Go get my babies. They've run away."
"I don't blame 'em. Where did they go?"
"How should I know?"
"Kill yourself, lady," the cop said tiredly. "I'm too worn out."
"Why you...!" Toffee started.
A sudden shriek from the foyer interrupted her. It was a scream with a purpose in life, it was ambitious, it was soul searing and nerve shattering.
In a body, the cops and the apprehended fugitives ran to the doorway. Then they stopped, completely stunned by the spectacle before them.
Two lank and very mature figures, clothed only to the essential degree in brief scraps of black velvet, were crawling serenely across the foyer floor. The ancient librarian, holding onto her counter to keep from slipping to the floor, was screaming her dreadful head off. The Harpers, apparently in the midst of escape, had suddenly and quite unbeknownst to themselves been restored to adulthood. At each movement the velvet wrappings were slipping a bit further afield. A number of people, some with books in their hands, were standing about the room in attitudes of fascinated bewilderment.
Beyond the apparent chronological transformation, even stranger changes had been wrought in the Harpers. Their faces were no longer the works of art that they had previously been. Agatha was definitely moon faced, in a wall-eyed, colorless sort of way, and Chadwick's handsome features appeared suddenly to have been run over by a steam roller.
"Holy gee!" one of the cops breathed, recovering from the first shock of surprise. "It's the homicidal Harpers!"
"What a catch!" his companion exclaimed excitedly. "We'll both get promoted, sure. Agnes and Chester Harper! They're wanted for things that ain't even got a name yet ... in five continents!"
In light of this sensational development, the ambitious policemen hastily abandoned their captives and started in pursuit of the Harpers.
Agatha and Chadwick, at the sound of running footsteps, glanced up, caught glimpses of each other and became instantly animated. Springing quickly to their feet, they frantically clutched their brief coverings to them where they would do the most good, and started to run, their bare feet slapping dully against the tiled floor. They raced through the entrance and out onto the sidewalk, the policemen in hot pursuit.
At the other end of the room Toffee plucked urgently at the sleeves of Marc and Mr. Culpepper.
"Why hang around?" she asked, motioning them back toward the bookshelves. "Follow me, men."
The three of them raced back to the aisle from which they had been so rudely ejected only a few moments before. They shoved the ladder to the far wall and hastily climbed toward the window. The window wasn't so accessible as it had been before the pillaging of the end bookcase, but they managed to reach it without too much difficulty.
Outside, the trio found themselves in a dead-end alley which was pleasantly bathed in bright moonlight. They did not tarry, however, to enjoy the scenery. Immediately upon hitting the pavement, Mr. Culpepper streaked out toward the sidewalk, and Marc and Toffee started out after him at a dead run.
Then something happened.
Ahead, they could see Mr. Culpepper skittering swiftly around the corner. Accordingly, it was only logical that they should be in the close vicinity of the little man's flashing heels. But they were not. Their own progress, unlike Mr. Culpepper's, suddenly lacked something in get-up-and-go.
Their steps definitely lagged, and their breath came to them in rasping gasps. As they ran, they turned questioningly to each other. Toffee screamed and stopped dead in her tracks. Marc came to a halt only a few steps distant. They gazed at each other in horror.
All at once, they had become nothing more than a couple of doddering old wrecks. Toffee, no longer a voluptuous young redhead, was now a withered, greyheaded hag. And Marc's transformation was no less startling, his clothes were hanging loosely over a shriveled frame that was noticeably hunched in the back. Both their faces were networked with wrinkles, and their eyes were dull with age. All of a sudden they had become old ... very old.
They stared at each other in silent bewilderment, too stunned to speak.
In this dramatic moment, footsteps thundered in the mouth of the alley, and the two policemen appeared, running toward them. The first to reach them, grabbed Toffee roughly by the arm.
"So!" he cried triumphantly. "Got yuh! Thought you'd pull a sneak, eh?"
"Hey!" the other cop yelled, arriving on the scene. "That ain't them!"
Toffee glanced quickly at Marc, then back at the cops. "Take your hands off me, young man," she cried indignantly. "Have you no respect for old age?"
"Gee, sorry, mother," the policeman said apologetically. "We thought you was someone else. Did you see a young couple with some babies runnin' down here?"
Marc shook his head. "Not a soul," he said.
The cops backed away, looking thoughtful.
"Say," one of them said, a note of suspicion in his voice. "What are you two doin' down here at this time of night?"
Toffee giggled coyly. "Why officer!" she exclaimed. "What a question!"
The cop looked shocked. "You're kiddin'," he murmured.
"It's our fiftieth anniversary," Toffee lied smoothly. "And right here, on this very spot, is where we first met. We thought it would be nice if we came back tonight." She reached out and patted Marc's hand with a pretty show of sentiment. "And it was, too, wasn't it, lover?" she asked.
"You two met in an alley?" the cop said, scandalized.
"Of course not," Marc put in quickly. "This was a park here in those days. Now, would you mind leaving us alone?"
"You'd better not stay here," the cop said. "These people we're looking for are still at large and they're clean outa their heads. You'd better go on home."
Marc and Toffee, accompanied by the cops, proceeded to the sidewalk, helping each other along in their sudden senility. They tottered up to the police car that was parked in front of the library and peered interestedly inside. Nearsightedly, they made out Agatha and Chadwick, sitting in the inner dimness, handcuffed to the door handles.
"What vile looking people!" Toffee exclaimed elegantly. "How vulgar. I abhor vulgarity, don't you, lover?"
"Indeed," Marc said primly. "Indeed I do, sweetheart."
Agatha's scowling countenance instantly appeared at the window. The woman opened her mouth to say something, then, at the sight of the aged couple, changed her mind. A suspicion of something too fantastic to believe flickered briefly in her eyes, then disappeared in a flood of doubt.
"Couldn't be," she murmured, sinking back into the dark reaches of the car. "But oh! how I wish it was!"
"What a disagreeable looking creature!" Toffee said. She turned pleasantly to the policemen who were standing proudly at her side. "See that they get everything that's coming to them, won't you, boys?"
"Yes, mam," the cops chorused. "We sure will."
Agatha's face reappeared in the window. "Say...!" she started hotly.
"Come, lover," Toffee said, turning to Marc. "Don't you think we should look for more refined company?"
As they started down the sidewalk, Toffee turned back and waved daintily to the two policemen.
"Goodnight, gentlemen!" she called.
"Gee," one of the cops said. "What a sweet old dame. It's sure a shame they got the wrong street."
"What do you mean?" the other cop asked.
"That alley they were in," the first cop said. "There wasn't no park there in the old days. There wasn't nothin' but a pickle factory. My old man used to work there." He sighed. "I didn't want to tell 'em ... might of spoiled their evening, you know."
For the enfeebled couple it was a long, tortuous climb to the fourth floor and to Marc's office. When they finally made it, they both collapsed into chairs and regarded each other bleakly.
"This is worse than being children," Toffee wheezed. "I could die."
"You may," Marc said morosely. "We've got one foot in the grave already. Anyway," he went on, "Agatha and Chadwick are taken care of."
"It hardly seems worth it," Toffee said, "when things turn out this way. No matter what punishment they get, it'll never be as bad as what's happened to us."
They both sat up as the door to the outer office whined open and slammed to. Footsteps rattled through the silence, and then the door to Marc's office edged open to make way for a small, ferret-like face.
"There he is," Toffee said. "The cause of it all. If I had the strength I'd strangle the little devil with my own two hands."
Mr. Culpepper looked at them with interest. "I was afraid this would happen," he said brightly. "I tried to warn you not to drink any more liquor, but you wouldn't listen. Now your chemical action has been reversed. If you'd only waited twenty-four hours you'd have been all right." He shoved the door open and stepped inside. "My!" he murmured, patting dust from his clothes. "I certainly had to run to get away from those cops. Why didn't you follow me?"
"We didn't have to," Toffee replied. "Thanks to you, there isn't a soul in the world who would recognize us."
"Yes, yes," Mr. Culpepper said, smiling. "We'll fix that up right away. I have it all worked out. If you take the original dose of two pills you should return to what you were before you grew old. And there shouldn't be any permanent after-effects."
"No!" Marc said. With a palsied hand he boosted his wasted frame out of the chair. "No more of those pills. Heaven only knows what they might do next."
"It could hardly be worse than what they've already done," Toffee said. "And besides, I won't stay this way for the rest of my life ... what little there is left of it. You'll take those pills if I have to fire them down your throat with a gun."
There were several heated exchanges before Marc finally gave in.
"Oh, all right," he said at last. "At this point I really don't care what happens anyway."
"The reaction will be faster this time," Mr. Culpepper said. "But don't be alarmed. Everything will be all right." He plucked two pills from the littered desk and handed them to Marc.
Marc frowned at the pellets for a long time. Then, saying, "Here goes everything," he popped them into his mouth. He turned to Toffee. "If we wind up in our infancy again, I'll...."
Suddenly he stopped; already Toffee's image was blurring before him. The blackness was closing in fast this time. The room seemed to whirl. Round and round it went, then it stopped with a jerk. But Marc didn't. He went sailing off into space ... into unbroken blackness....
Toffee gently removed her lips from Marc's and gazed at the quiet valley through half-closed lids. Folding her hands beneath her head, she lay back on the mossy grass. They were resting on the topmost point of the sloping knoll.
"You know," Toffee mused. "I'm actually a little glad to be back here this time. That business with the pills was rather fatiguing; we kept being such unattractive things. Oh, it was lovely being with you again, but here, in the valley of your subconscious, I can at least count on being what I am."
"I wonder," Marc said, "what age I'll be when I get back."
"Oh, you'll be back to normal, I'm sure," Toffee said. "When you stop to think about it, it should work out just as Mr. Culpepper said."
"Then I'll probably be dragged off by the cops the minute I show my face."
"Oh, I don't think so. No one really ever got a very good look at you. After the cops showed up, we were in the shadows most of the time and moving too fast. Besides they'll be looking for a couple with children."
Marc shrugged. "Maybe you're right." He sighed and stretched out on the grass at Toffee's side. "It's really very restful here," he said.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than it happened, the earth began to rock beneath them. The little valley was seized by a spasm, it lurched crazily from side to side in an erratic see-saw motion. Marc dug his fingers into the grass, but it didn't help; in a moment he was rolling swiftly down the side of the knoll, heading into a thick bank of blue mist. Behind him he could hear Toffee calling to him, but her words were muffled and unintelligible though her tone was cheerful and unworried.
And then the mist closed over him, turned into fog and became dense and black.
Someone was shaking Marc's shoulder when he opened his eyes, and he looked up into the anxious face of Mr. Culpepper.
"The girl!" Mr. Culpepper was crying. "Gone! Entirely gone. I didn't see her take any of the pills, but she's gone!"
Marc gazed dazedly around the room, heard himself echoing the word "gone."
"I didn't mean to do anything like this!" Mr. Culpepper wailed. "I didn't mean to destroy anyone."
To Marc, the room and his thoughts became clear in the same moment. He gazed at Mr. Culpepper's anguished face and smiled. Perhaps the little man deserved the remorse he was feeling; perhaps it was his just payment for tampering too much with the natural order of things. Still....
"I'm sure she's all right," Marc said. "She probably just wandered out when you weren't looking. She often does. Sometimes she just drifts away for whole months at a time. I wouldn't worry about it."
The little man looked up, smiled with relief. "She's so pretty," he said. "She's an awful heller but she's such a pretty one."
Two days later Marc was sitting at his desk, going through the morning mail, when Memphis opened the door and came in.
"The boys are here," she said.
"Boys?" Marc asked, looking up.
"You know. The applicants for the messenger boy job. There are several waiting. Shall I send them in?"
Marc dropped the letter in his hand and gazed absently out the window. "Oh, all right," he said. "Run them through."
Memphis left the room. A moment later there was a tap at the door.
"Come in!" Marc called without turning.
The door opened and footsteps moved into the room. There was a long moment of silence and then a throat anxiously cleared itself nearby. Marc turned around. A small boy, about twelve, regarded him from the other side of the desk ... a small boy with eager eyes and a hawk-featured face.
"Culpepper!" Marc yelled.
The boy twisted his cap nervously. "Yes," he said. "It's me, Mr. Pillsworth. Your secretary kept throwing me out."
"I told her to."
The boyish Culpepper nodded. "That's why I took the pills. It was the only way I could get in."
"There are several ways you can get out," Marc said menacingly. "One of them is with a broken neck."
Mr. Culpepper started waving his small hands. "You must listen to me, Mr. Pillsworth. I have something sensational to show you. You remember we were talking about something that would make people immortal? Well...." He paused to fish a small green bottle out of his pocket. "Well...."
"Out!" Marc was on his feet, yelling. "Out! OUT!"
The boy's eyes widened with alarm. He turned and scurried for the door like a frightened rat.
"Don't!" he shrieked. "Don't throw that paper weight, Mr. Pillsworth! I'm leaving, Mr. Pillsworth! I'mleaving!" He scooted through the door and slammed it after him.
Marc replaced the paper weight on the desk and sank back into his chair. For a long time he just sat there, staring blankly across the room. Then, slowly, a smile crept into his face.
Somewhere in the back of his mind there was laughter.
THE END