The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  “I’m sure you have,” Julie said.

  “You’re very nice to encourage us like this,” Cecil said. “And we won’t let you down either. We’re very good at our trade. Would you like to see us skulk?”

  “Skulk?” Julie said. “How do you mean?”

  “Oh, just skulk. You know, slither and sneak around and things like that.” He turned to Gerald. “Let’s show her, huh?”

  “All right!” Gerald said. “I’m ready.”

  “Now wait...!” Julie began, but before she could say anything more the two had disappeared into the shadows, and suddenly the hallway and the room behind her were filled with strange furtive scurrying sounds. As she turned to look behind her in the study, she saw one of the frightful brothers dart soundlessly from beneath the desk and disappear behind the drapes at the window. The other peered at her momentarily from behind a chair. They moved around the room with a rapidity and stealth that was maddening. They were everywhere.

  “Stop that!” Julie cried. “For heavens sake, stop it!”

  Instantly the two brothers returned before her, grinning breathlessly.

  “Isn’t it sinister?” Cecil asked. “Doesn’t it just make your spine crawl?”

  “I think mine has already crawled,” Julie said. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see it scuttling out the door under its own power at this very moment.”

  “We could skulk all day and never get tired.” He held out a sheaf of papers. “I got these out of the desk.”

  Julie took the papers timidly. “Don’t you think you ought to spy on the gentlemen down in the basement now?” she suggested. “They’re probably wondering what’s keeping you.”

  “That’s right,” Gerald said. “Well, we’ll sneak along now. It’s too bad we haven’t more time. We’d show you how we lurk. Everyone says we’re the best lurkers in the business.”

  AND SUDDENLY the two were gone, faded into the shadows. Shaking her head, Julie turned back to the study to replace the papers in the desk. Then she stopped as a sharp scream of terror came from the kitchen; the awful brothers had evidently discovered Marie.

  Julie was just returning from the desk when the telephone rang. Without waiting for Marie, who was probably in no condition to talk at the moment anyway, she continued to the hallway and answered it herself.

  “Mrs. Pillsworth?” a male voice inquired heavily. “This is the police.”

  “Police?” Julie said. Her first thought turned instantly toward Marc. “My husband! Has something happened to Marc?”

  “I’ll say, lady,” the voice replied. “He’s been arrested.”

  “Arrested? What for?”

  “Well. I don’t know how to tell you, lady. It sounds silly, and you ain’t going to believe it, but he was run in for attacking a statue.”

  “Attacking a statue!”

  “That’s what the description says. That an’ a lot more that I can’t repeat on the telephone. It seems like him and this little redheaded hellcat...”

  “Oh!” Julie broke in frigidly. “So she’s mixed up in it, is she!”

  Then suddenly the look of anger faded from Julie’s face and became one of pure astonishment. As she had been talking, her attention had been drawn to the living room doorway by a movement there. Now, her eyes wide, she stared at a bottle suspended in thin air. Even as she watched, it moved a bit, tilted inquisitively, almost as though it were eavesdropping.

  Julie closed her eyes tightly and turned away. She had to get a grip on herself before her nerves gave way completely. She tightened her hold on the telephone.

  “You tell my husband,” she said, “that he can rot in jail for all I care. I’m going to Reno.”

  She hung up, passed a trembling hand over her forehead. For a long moment she stood perfectly still. Then, slowly, she turned and forced herself to look at the doorway. As she stared, her face draining white, the bottle tilted smartly and emptied the slight remains of its contents into thin air. There was a moment of electric silence, then the hallway resounded from end to end with the rumblings of an unrestrained burp.

  With a smothered cry, Julie sank limply to the floor.

  CHAPTER VI

  “OH, MY WORD!” the judge said, lifting haunted eyes from the report. “Do you mean this Pillsworth fellow actually did all that to a statue? Before witnesses? It fairly makes my hair stand on end.”

  “He did that and more,” the prosecuting attorney said. “Pillsworth is no ordinary man.”

  “Either that,” the judge said, “or that statue is no ordinary statue. Where is this fellow? I can hardly wait to get a look at him.”

  “No, Your Honor,” the attorney said. “I didn’t mean that. Actually, nothing happened to the statue.”

  “Put up a good fight, did she? Good for her.”

  “What I mean to say,” the attorney went on patiently, “is that the statue is perfectly all right.”

  “Stout girl,” the judge nodded. “I give that statue real credit. There aren’t many women, stone or otherwise, who could go through a seige like that and come out on the right side of things. That statue has got guts. If she were here now it would give me great pleasure to shake that statue’s hand.”

  The attorney cleared his throat dryly. “Can’t we drop the statue, Your Honor?” he suggested.

  “After everything else she’s been through!” the judge exclaimed. He narrowed his eyes indignantly on the attorney. “Really, sir, do you think that’s the human thing to do?”

  “I don’t mean drop her literally,” the attorney protested. “I mean couldn’t we just sort of lay her aside for a bit? What I’m getting at is...”

  “I know perfectly well what you’re getting at,” the judge broke in hotly. “You can just forget it. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re any better than this Pillsworth fellow.”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you about,” the attorney said quickly. “Pillsworth claims he had to grab hold of the statue to keep from floating away into space. He says he’s lighter than air.”

  “My word!” the judge said, thoroughly scandalized. “Does he really? I’m surprised he has the nerve to try to pull a thing like that in court. And the girl? What about her? I understand she was swimming around without any clothes on.”

  “Well, actually, she had on a sort of shift affair. But it looked like she was naked when she was wet. At best, she’s a wild citizen. Seems to regard this whole affair as a sort of picnic. I understand she broke out of her cell last night.”

  “Oh, dear!” the judge said. “I hope it doesn’t leak out. How did she manage it?”

  “No one knows,” the attorney said. “The girl won’t tell. The door was still locked and everything was in order. When they found her this morning she was romping around in the wardrobe and had rigged herself out a dress from one of those burlesque strippers who were brought in.”

  “A pretty taste in clothes, eh?”

  The attorney nodded. “When the burlesque girl saw her in it, she told her to keep it; said she looked so much better in it than she did herself, she was throwing in the sponge.”

  “Sponge?” the judge said. “Throwing it in where? Do you mean this stripper threw a sponge at her?”

  “I was speaking figuratively,” the attorney said patiently.

  “I understand that,” the judge said with an air of testiness. “You have to speak figuratively when you’re going on like this about strippers and such.” He laughed foolishly. “I get it; I’m not so old. But about this sponge, was it wet or dry when the girl threw it?”

  “I don’t know,” the attorney said desperately trying to cling to some small thread of logic in the conversation. “It wasn’t mentioned when I heard about it.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose it really matters,” the judge said. “A sponge doesn’t constitute a deadly weapon either way.”

  JUST AT that moment one of the doors across the room opened and Toffee appeared before the court. She was followed at a safe distance by an extremely h
arrassed-looking police matron. The redhead was a study in glitter and pink flesh. Three sequined butterflies garishly highlighted the strategic portions of her anatomy without running any grave danger of obscuring them entirely. A vaporish material dusted with spangles provided a skirt of sorts. It was a dress that fairly begged for blue lights, slow-rhythmed music and unrestrained whistles. Toffee presented herself to the court with a spectacular flourish, then turned peevishly to the matron.

  “You make another grab at me with those horny talons of yours,” she warned, “and I’ll flatten you down even with your arch supports.”

  The matron backed away, frightened. “Then you keep your hands off those zippers,” she said. “They don’t allow monkeyshines in the courtroom. And just you wait till the judge hears about you breaking out of your cell.”

  Toffee smiled enigmatically. She knew the matron would be deviled with that mystery for the rest of her days. And even if the wretched woman ever discovered the truth, she’d never believe it, though the explanation was simple enough. Being a product of Marc’s consciousness, Toffee naturally could not exist when he was asleep. So, as she had promised, when Marc had finally fallen asleep, Toffee had disappeared from her cell to return to the valley of Marc’s mind. However, when Marc awoke in the morning, she had instantly reappeared. She had simply chosen to rematerialize in the wardrobe rather than her cell.

  To Toffee’s mind there was really nothing so terribly mysterious about that. Choosing to ignore the matron altogether, she turned her attention to the judge. She waved a hand to the august person of the bench and started forward.

  “Here, you...!” the matron began.

  Toffee swung around menacingly. “Stand your ground, Bertha,” she said. “You may wind up wearing those false teeth of yours as a necklace.” She turned back to the judge and smiled. “Well, here we are,” she greeted airily, “wild-eyed and bushy-tailed!”

  The judge made an indignant choking sound. “Now, look here...!” he said.

  “I am looking there,” Toffee said. “And it’s a great disappointment to me.”

  “Young lady!” the judge roared. “Do you want to be charged with contempt of court?”

  “Maybe I’d better warn you, judge,” Toffee said coolly. “Don’t bully me; I may forget myself and pull a zipper. That would crab your act something awful. Besides, if you charged me for all the contempt I’ve got for this court there wouldn’t be enough money to pay the bill.”

  “Well!” the judge snorted. “Of all the ... !”

  “You’re turning purple, son,” Toffee observed mildly. “It’s not half becoming, either.”

  The court audience became tensely hushed as the judge reared back in his seat and opened his mouth. But the eruption failed to come.

  Just at that moment the door at the far end of the room opened and Marc, accompanied by a guard, stepped into view. His progress to a position before the bench was not marked with any noticeable tendency toward levitation. Toffee, the judge, the court spectators regarded him with undisguised interest. Marc directed his gaze self-consciously toward his toes.

  ONLY THAT morning Marc had made a remarkable discovery; that food tempered his buoyancy and made it possible for him to remain secure to the floor without clutching to anything for anchorage. Whether this was a permanent condition or not, he didn’t know, but still it had been a relief to know that he would be able to make his way before the court without appearing on the ceiling. However, though mightily relieved, Marc was not as elated at this development as he might have been; there were other things to plague him. Julie’s message that she was going to Reno, for instance. And the court’s probable decision; they were bound to conclude that he was either a criminal or insane or both before they were through with him. He felt that he might just as well drift off into eternity and have it over with as spend the rest of his life locked up, separated from Julie. He raised his head and glanced apprehensively at the court audience.

  Julie wasn’t there. But he hadn’t really expected that she would be. However, a number of people involved in the affair at the Wynant were in attendance, including the manager and the clerk. Also, there were a pair of the most evil-looking male twins Marc had ever set eyes on. Heavily bearded, wearing thick-lensed glasses, they looked to him like nothing so much as a pair of those spies you used to see in movies. Marc shuddered and turned back to the judge, which was no improvement over the unattractive twins. The judge lifted his gavel.

  “The court is now in session!” he thundered.

  “And high time, too!” Toffee sang out in reproving agreement.

  The judge leaned on the gavel and brought it down solidly on his own hand.

  “Damnation!” he bellowed.

  “Such low talk for such high places,” Toffee commented dryly, turning to Marc.

  Marc glanced down at her brief costume and a look of pain assailed his already troubled features. “Be quiet,” he said, almost pleadingly.

  “Yes!” the judge said, nursing his hand. “You be quiet!” Then he turned and gazed malevolently at the gathering in general. “The air of insanity which has crept into this court will dissipate itself instantly or I’ll clear the hall. I’ll clear out the whole kit and kaboodle of you, even the defendants.” He turned back to Toffee. “I may clear out the defendants anyway.”

  The court settled into a state of heavy quiet, and though the air of madness which the judge had spoken of with such great passion had abated, there was the feeling that it was only holding itself in abeyance, that it might reassert itself at any moment with a vengeance. The judge cleared his throat and settled his glasses on his nose.

  “Your Honor...” the prosecution began.

  “Shut up!” the judge snapped peevishly. “I want no lengthy speeches from you. This case is plain enough without any highfalutin’ verbage from any legal eagles.”

  The judge elaborated, going on at some length about the degree and quality of the silence he wished from all concerned. No one noticed that the door to the courtroom had quietly opened, permitted the passage of a quantity of what appeared to be merely fresh air, then gently closed again.

  IT HAD BEEN a cruel night for George; the ways of earthly civilization had dealt with him without temperance or humanity. The poor ghost, having eavesdropped on Julie’s telephone conversation, had begun to have a horrible suspicion that Marc Pillsworth was still alive and that he, George, was on earth under false pretenses. George had been distressed at this; here was a set of circumstances that the High Council wouldn’t even begin to approve.

  Gathering that the mortal in question was in the hands of the police, George had finally... and with all the best intentions in the world... decided to check this appalling piece of information for himself on the bare hope that there might have been some mistake.

  Placing himself, rather invisibly of course, in the hands of the rapid transit system, George had received the ride of a lifetime. He had covered the length and breadth of the city several times over without ever arriving at his destination. It was all too much for George’s powers of comprehension. He had been shoved, stepped on, pushed and sat on by humans almost beyond the limits of his endurance. Now, bruised and beaten, he had finally arrived at the place he sought. He gazed on the courtroom without enthusiasm, sighted Marc and drifted disconsolately forward, his hopes withering as he moved.

  “Of course,” the judge was saying, “this case, on the face of things, is so silly I blush to be trying it in this court. Actually, it belongs in an asylum.” He fixed Marc with a cold stare. “Do you still contend, Pillsworth, that you were clinging to that statue solely for reasons of security? In other words, do you persist in the mad delusion that you were floating through space?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Marc said earnestly. “You see, I have been engaged in an experiment...”

  “Enough!” the judge snorted. “Don’t go on about it. It’s too disgusting.” With a forefinger he pressed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “That
settles it. The only thing for you to do, Pillsworth, is to prove your point to the court. In other words, demonstrate that you really are ... uh ... buoyant. Briefly, either you float, here and now, for the court or you go to the pokey and wait for a mental examination. And let me warn you against any mechanical devices.”

  “But, Your Honor!” Marc protested. “Only this morning I discovered that...”

  “Float!” the judge demanded. “Go on. Float!”

  An expectant quiet ensued as Marc stood miserably before the bench. Several photographers moved quietly forward, shifting fresh bulbs into their cameras. Toffee turned to Marc anxiously.

  “Go on!” she hissed. “Show the old goat!”

  Marc looked at her unhappily. “I can’t!” he whispered.

  During this interval, looking remarkably haunted for a ghost, George arrived at a position between Marc and Toffee. He gazed on Marc’s face and frowned; there was no question about it, his mortal part had played him a foul trick; Marc was still alive. George was undecided as to how to meet the situation. His inclination was to stick around just for revenge, but there was the warning from the Council. Then, too, there was the possibility that Marc might tick off at any moment; after all, living in this earth world was an extremely perilous business from all that George had seen of it. In that case, everything would be all right. Weighing the pros and cons of the matter. George turned to regard Toffee for the first time. Instantly his mood brightened.

  There was hardly anything that George could see about Toffee that he didn’t like, and he could see virtually everything. Particularly, he admired her taste in clothes. Clearly, here was a girl who had a bit of flair and imagination. However, the small piece of metal sticking out untidily at the waist offended George’s sense of perfection. That didn’t belong there, he was sure of it. As George reached out to pluck away the offending blemish he had no idea that with the mere flick of a finger he was about to touch off a roaring panic.