Front matter (continued 2)

"Mario!" she breathed.

"Madonna!" Mario whispered fervently, dropping to her side. "You are exquisite! You are like a rare jewel in the sunlight!" And his arm moved practicedly toward her shoulder.

Their eyes met, and for a moment the tableau of romantic danger held, suspended in time, it seemed. Then it shattered as the greenery suddenly parted around them and a host of naked figures, desperately clutching bunches of leaves to themselves, flooded into the clearing. Julie looked up frightenedly and screamed.

"Good heavens!" she cried.

The undraped stampeders stopped short. There was an interval of stunned silence, then the leafy interlopers, seized with a fit of modesty, hastily huddled together and crouched down.

"My God!" a small round-eyed man gasped. "We're surrounded. Everybody's wearing clothes today."

"Everywhere you look," said a tousled-looking blond, "there's concealment!"

The silence returned, more awkwardly this time. The nudists stared worriedly at Julie and Mario and they, too stunned for words, stared back. Julie, from sheer nervousness, finally spoke.

"You—you haven't any clothes on!" she observed rather foolishly.

"We are aware of that, madam," a bald-pated gentleman said miserably. "And we're growing more aware of it every minute. You don't have to tell us."

"Don't you even care?" Julie asked shakenly. "Don't you want to have any on?"

"No, we don't," the first man said defiantly. "We feel that for the sake of our health—and morals, too—we shouldn't have."

"It may be wonderful for your health," Julie said doubtfully, "but I can't think it would do much for your morals."

"That's because you don't understand," a woman snapped. "You're not a right-thinker."

"Well, it hardly matters now whether I understand or not," Julie said. "Are you going to go on like that indefinitely?"

"Not wearing clothes?" the man asked.

"No," Julie said. "Crouching there, I mean, staring around. You are making me terribly uncomfortable."

"If we stood up," a skinny man said, "we'd make you a lot more uncomfortable."

"Yes," Julie agreed quickly. "I suppose you would. Still, we can't just all sit here like this, can we?"

"I don't know about you, lady," the skinny man said, "But I'd rather not."

"Then, what will we do?" Julie said. "If we close our eyes will you promise to go away—very quietly."

"But where will we go?" the man asked. "The woods are alive with non-nudists today. We hardly know which way to turn."

"You should have thought of that before you took your clothes off," Julie said edgily.

At the far end of the clearing there was a dry parting of the bushes and Marc ambled into range. His gaze went no farther than the nearest nudist and, despite the gun, he put his hands over his eyes.

"Marc!" Julie cried.

At the sound of Julie's voice Marc's face drained of all color. The worst had happened, just as he had suspected. Under Mario's degrading influence, Julie had not only gone astray, she had even joined the nudists.

"Julie!" he cried forlornly. "How could you do a thing like this?"

"A thing like what?" Julie asked, getting to her feet. "What are you talking about?"

"Running around—like that!" Marc said.

"I'm not running around," Julie said, inching her neckline up guiltily. "Why are you holding your hands over your eyes like that? And what are you doing with that gun?"

"I can't bear to look," Marc said. "I may shoot myself."

"What!" Julie said, then smiled. "Oh, it's all this bare skin that upsets you, eh?"

Marc winced anew. "Doesn't it bother you?" he asked.

"You'll never know how much," Julie said, "but they say it's good for the health and the morals."

"Morals!" Marc said. "I'm surprised you even know the word any longer. I think I'd better leave."

"Well, if I can face all this, surely you can, too," Julie said. "You still haven't explained what you're doing with that gun."

The skinny nude gentleman stirred anxiously. "Are you people going to go on chatting all day?" he asked plaintively. "My leaves are beginning to wilt."

"Your leaves," Julie said tartly, "are no concern of ours."

"If they droop just a little bit farther they'll be everybody's concern," the man said wanly.

"Yes, they certainly will," Marc shuddered. He turned in Julie's direction. "I hope your leaves are holding up all right."

"I don't have any leaves," Julie said. "Why should I have? Why are you acting so strange?"

Marc started forward. As he did so, he caught his toe on a projecting root and stumbled. Lurching forward, he threw out his hand blindly and inadvertently pulled the trigger of the gun. There was a deafening report and a bullet sailed into the air. Julie, clutching at Mario's arm screamed at the top of her lungs.

"He's trying to kill us!" she yelled. "Run, Mario, run!"

Mario hardly needed the invitation; even before it was completed, he had begun to put his feet into motion. Dragging Julie after him, he crashed into the brush, and the two of them disappeared from sight.

"Julie!" Marc said brokenly. He opened his eyes and looked in the direction of their departure. He glanced back at the nudists. "I hope you're satisfied!"

"We're not, mister," the skinny man wailed. "We can't hold onto these leaves forever. What will we do then?"

"I wouldn't be surprised at anything," Marc said nastily, "not from a gang like you."

Like a belated echo in the distance, there was the sound of a loud report from the direction in which Julie and Mario had departed.

"Good Lord!" Marc said, leaping forward. "I forgot!" He started toward the bushes just in time to collide with Toffee who darted suddenly into the open.

"They're after them!" Toffee cried. "They heard your shot and closed in!" There was the sound of two more shots. Marc started forward, but Toffee held him back.

"Don't go out there!" she cried. "They're in a mood to shoot anything that moves!"

"But if they kill Mario, Julie will swear I did it!" Marc said. "I've got to stop them!"

Suddenly the air rattled with gunfire, this time closer at hand. In the quiet that followed there was the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps. An instant later, Moose crashed into the clearing and jounced to a stop against Marc's chest.

"Get outa the way, you civilian!" the thug yelled blindly. "The joint is swarmin' with bulls!"

Marc had only barely digested this frenzied bulletin when Floss, Hotstuff, the blousy blonde and the other assorted criminals hurtled drunkenly through the opening.

"Cops everywhere!" Hotstuff wailed. He fixed Marc with a cold eye. "Who tipped 'em off, huh?"

"I didn't," Marc said. "Where are they?"

"Fannin' out!" Floss whined. "Closin' in!"

"Both at the same time?" Toffee asked curiously.

"Well, I suppose it's better than murder," Marc said hopelessly.

During this exchange, the fugitives had collected themselves enough to be aware of the nudists, who, rising, were clutching their greenery to them with trembling fright.

"Holy gee!" Floss said. "Will you look at them! What's goin' on here, an open air smoker?"

"We do it for our health," the plump woman said defensively.

"That's a new angle," Floss said interestedly.

"The police!" the skinny man moaned, unaware of Floss' roving eye. "They'll arrest us!"

"Boy," Floss said evilly, "what a place for a pair of prunin' shears!"

"Floss!" Hotstuff said severely. "This is no time for fun. The cops will be swarmin' all over us in a minute!"

"Are we just going to stand here and let them arrest us?" Toffee said.

"We're surrounded," Moose said. "We'll have to shoot our way out."

"No!" Marc yelled. "Absolutely no more shooting!"

"We nudists," the skinny man announced quaveringly, "refuse to have any part in all this."

"You shut up!" Moose snarled. The sound of a wailing siren approached from the distance. "Good God, they're on wheels now! They've got us out-pointed."

There was a general nervous shuffling as the assembled law-offenders moved forward to view their oncoming fate. The movement was suddenly arrested, however, as a roaring sound, accompanied by the snap and crunch of despoiled underbrush, echoed near at hand.

"Holy smoke!" Marc cried, "they're sending in tanks!"

"Everybody grab something!" Floss said hysterically. "A lady must defend herself to the end!"

"And then what?" Toffee inquired bitterly.

Already, the trees and bushes at the end of the clearing were starting to thrash about with frenzied agitation. A tree crashed to earth and, plowing over it, in a veering rush, came the yellow sight-seeing bus. The driver, markedly foggy of eye, leaned his head out the window.

"The cops!" he yelled. "They're after me! They've been chasing me to hell and gone all over the place!" With a great grinding of brakes, the bus jolted to a stop. "I gotta get outa here!" He peered down at Marc. "Which way do I go, mister?"

"Hey, wait!" Toffee said. "We've all got to get out of here!" She ran around to the door of the bus. "Open up!"

There was a crush of humanity as nudists and thugs alike struggled to climb into the palpitating bus.

"Snap into it!" the driver barked. "They're comin' in droves, those cops, and they're all sore as hell!"

Marc and Toffee stumbled to the rear of the bus and dropped into adjoining seats.

"At least we've got a running start," Toffee said breathlessly.

"Toward what, though?" Marc asked dismally. "The law thinks I'm an undesirable and my wife thinks I'm a homicidal maniac. Have I thanked you sufficiently for your wonderful help in this affair?"

"At least I tried," Toffee said. "You might show a little gratitude for that."

But Marc wasn't listening. He was gaping at the others as they climbed aboard and fell into their seats up ahead.

"My gosh!" he breathed.

"What is it?" Toffee asked.

"In all this excitement—and with all those nudists around—I didn't notice."

"Notice what?"

"The elixir is wearing off. Now, everybody's in their underwear! Except the nudists, of course."

"Well, at least," Toffee sighed, "you can keep your eyes open now."

"I'm not so sure," Marc said. "You should see Hotstuff's underwear—begonias on a field of purple."

"No!" Toffee said delightedly. "I suppose even he has his poetic side."

The conversation stopped short as the bus leaped ahead, throwing the passengers back in their seats.

"We'll try to circle around them!" the driver called out. "Hang on!"

There was a crash as the bus lunged back into the foliage. Branches lashed frenetically at the windows and skittered back into the distance. There was a communal scream as a large oak loomed before the windshield, but the driver, pulling frantically at the wheel, managed to send the bus swerving around it. Presently, the leaping, bucking vehicle fought its way clear of the wilds and emerged onto the green expanse of the lawns.

It all happened too quickly for any of the participants to have a very clear view of exactly what happened. One thing, though, was woefully evident; the driver had gotten mixed up in his directions. As they quitted the undergrowth, they suddenly found themselves in a head-on rush toward the charging ranks of the law. All at once the landscape was fairly littered with scrambling, dissembling cops. A siren shrieked with mechanical outrage.

"Give it the gas!" the passengers yelled. "Give it hell!"

The driver reacted automatically and pressed his foot down on the gas with everything he had. The bus shot ahead, wildly out of control, and headed into a zig-zag course toward the house. In the path there suddenly loomed a pair of distracted figures who, at the sound of the churning bus, looked back and instantly froze in their tracks.

"Julie!" Marc screamed, leaping from his seat and fighting his way to a position beside the driver. "Julie! Run!"

Outside, Julie merely covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Lord!" she wailed. "Now he's after us with a bus!"

At the last second Marc grabbed the wheel from the driver and yanked at it furiously. The bus careened to one side as Julie and Mario leaped or fainted to the grass, out of the way. The bus roared on, while in the background the siren hurled its piercing tone to the sky. Somewhere in the distance a voice barked hoarsely.

"Fire!" it bellowed. "Get 'em in the tires! That bus is packed with lunatics!"

There was an instantaneous volley of gunfire and suddenly the bus skittered to one side, teetered precariously on two wheels, then righted itself and plunged dead-on into the substantial trunk of a weeping willow. There was a thunderous crash, a rising chorus of terrified voices and then silence.

By fighting her way through the mass of struggling bodies in the aisle, Toffee managed to reach Marc's prone figure. She dropped down beside him and drew his head gently into her lap.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Marc opened his eyes and looked at her mistily. "I think so," he said. "I feel so drowsy, though." Then suddenly he frowned.

"What is it?" Toffee asked quickly.

"Julie...." Marc said.

"Julie? What about her?"

"She wasn't with the nudists after all," Marc murmured. "I mean she wasn't one of them."

"Well, what's so bad about that?"

Marc sighed unhappily. "She's wearing pink lace underwear!" he said. "And she's never worn it before." With that, as though the thought were too much for him, he closed his eyes and went limp in her arms.

Toffee, like a drifting, though shapely, cloud of smoke, faded rapidly into thin air.

"Jeez!" breathed a cop who had reached the door of the bus just in time to witness this phenomenon. "This gang is even creepier than we thought!"

Judge Frennish plainly boggled at the sight that greeted his astonished eyes as he ascended the bench.

The defendants had split themselves into definite factions. At one side of the court the nudists had huddled together in a tight little protective unit, while the thugs and their dolls had disdainfully withdrawn to the other side. Marc, still in a state of slumber, had been casually deposited in a chair, mid-distant between the two groups.

Briefly, the judge studied these separate crime camps and turned a disillusioned gaze toward Sergeant Feeney who had reluctantly accompanied him to the bench.

"Good grief, Feeney," he said, "do you mean to say you picked up this gang all in one place?"

"All in one place," Sergeant Feeney nodded wearily.

"Good Lord!"

"Definitely, your honor," Sergeant Feeney agreed. "The ones without any clothes claim they were havin' a picnic."

"I'll just bet they were," the judge said. "Though I shouldn't think they'd care to be so frank about it." He sighed tremulously. "And the others? I see many familiar and loathsome faces there."

"They explained that they were botany students out for a field day. They're still quite drunk, your honor."

"Isn't that Hotstuff Harold there in the middle?"

"Yes, your honor," Sergeant Feeney said thinly, "he insists he's the head of the class."

"Quite a haul," the judge said. "I only wish they'd haul them somewhere else. What about that tall fellow there who seems to be asleep? Is he the one who was turned in earlier on the morals charge?"

"Yes, your honor. There's nothin' rightly wrong with him, accordin' to the doctor. Either he's shammin' or he's been takin' dope."

"A nasty business, Feeney," the judge commented sourly. He glanced around the room as though hoping to find some unexpected avenue of escape, then shrugged. "I suppose I might as well plunge in." Picking up the gavel, he banged it heavily on the bench. The defendants and the spectators looked up apprehensively.

"The court will come to order!" the judge announced, a severe look coming into his dark eyes. "It had darned well better, anyway." He fixed the nudists with a steely glance. "Is there a spokesman for this shameless group over here?"

The skinny man edged forward, clutching his badly drooping leaves. He flushed embarrassedly.

"I suppose I am, your honor," he said weakly.

The judge eyed him without pleasure. "Why are you crouched down like that? Got a bellyache?"

"No, sir," the skinny man said. "It's just that I can't stand up—the way my leaves are. It wouldn't look right."

"It doesn't look right now," the judge said tersely. "It looks perfectly dreadful."

The skinny man flushed a still deeper shade of red and agitated his leaves. "I'm sorry, your honor."

"It's too late to be sorry," the judge said. "Now, suppose you just tell me what you people were doing, running around indecently exposed."

"Well, your honor," the skinny man said hopefully, "we were having a picnic."

The judge blanched a mottled grey. "So I've heard," he said. "There's no need to be defiant about it, you know."

"It was all very nice and orderly," the man offered, "until Mr. Pillsworth showed up."

"And then it got disorderly?"

"Everything got completely out of hand."

The judge's gaze swiveled toward Marc with gloomy speculation. "This fellow Pillsworth must exert a powerful influence everywhere he goes," he said. He turned back to the nudist.

"Just how out of hand did everything get, would you say?"

"I don't know exactly," the skinny man said. "Everyone was leaping about and running. It got pretty hard to follow. I don't think there were any broken bones, though."

"Broken bones!" the judge wheezed. He closed his eyes, as though to blot out a vision too awful for observation. When he opened them again, they were fixed on Hotstuff Harold.

"And how did you and your disreputable friends get mixed up in this?" he asked malevolently.

"We weren't mixed up in it," Hotstuff Harold said innocently. "We didn't know anything about these nudists until close to the end. We were very shocked at them."

"I dare say," the judge said dryly. "And may I ask, since you were out merely sniffing the flowers, how you all happened to be armed with guns?"

"Well," Hotstuff said vaguely, "we botanists can't be too careful, you know. There might be snakes."

"There are snakes," the judge said evenly, "and this courtroom is fairly crawling with them. Don't tell me that you were shooting up the countryside just to be on the safe side. Don't tell me that!"

"No, sir," Hotstuff said sullenly. "I was goin' to, but I won't."

Floss stepped forward, her hair in wild disarray. "Look, your honor," she said, "I guess we might as well come clean. We was only out doin' a little job for Pillsworth."

"What!" the judge said. "You mean to say this Pillsworth commissioned you to do murder for him?"

"Well, not exactly murder," Floss said ingenuously. "We was just arrangin' a little accident—outa gratitude."

"This Pillsworth is a veritable fiend!" the judge said hollowly. "He's even managed to corrupt the underworld!" He glanced around the room. "Where's this bus thief I've heard about?"

The disconsolate driver shuffled forward. "That's me, I guess," he said.

The judge studied the man pettishly. "You admit stealing this bus?"

"I guess I did steal it," the driver said, "if you want to be technical about it."

"And I do," the judge said. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Well," the driver reflected, "I didn't exactly steal it with malice aforethought. That is I wasn't even thinking about stealing it until Pillsworth came along and asked me about it."

"Don't tell me this Pillsworth persuaded you to take the bus?"

"Well, the money was quite an inducement."

For a moment, the judge appeared to brood into space, then, decisively, he turned to Sergeant Feeney.

"Wake this Pillsworth monster up," he said.

"Yes, your honor," the sergeant said and advanced toward Marc.

"I'll help," Floss said, joining him. "I'll loosen his tie."

"Thanks, miss," the sergeant said. "And I'll rub his wrists."

The court became quiet with speculation as Floss and the sergeant labored to arouse Marc. The stillness was soon shattered, however, as the door at the rear flew open and Julie, followed by Mario, flew down the aisle, her eyes ablaze.

"Stop!" she yelled. "Stop everything!"

"Madam!" the judge said, "the court is in session!"

"That's just fine," Julie said. She looked around wildly. "Where is he? Have you got him under restraint?"

"Have we got whom under restraint?"

"My husband, Marcus Pillsworth. Is he tied up?"

"He's under arrest," the judge said. "Should he be under restraint, too?"

"Should he!" Julie said. "He's mad! He tried to shoot us and when that didn't work he chased us with this frightful bus!"

"How awful!" the judge said. "Your husband appears to be a one-man crime wave."

"Then he took the silver and my jewelry!" Julie nodded. She turned to Mario. "Isn't that right, Mario?"

"Yes, Madonna," Mario said.

The judge shook his head. "Your husband hasn't missed a trick today. I never saw anyone so hell-bent for criminality."

"I want a divorce!" Julie cried. "I...."

The judge held up a hand. "Just a minute!" he cried. "I'm losing track." He consulted the sheaf of reports before him. "Now, taking it from the beginning, your husband's crimes, since only this morning, include possession of lewd pictures, jail breaking, destruction of private property, resisting arrest, disturbing the peace, assaulting seven officers, collusion in an automobile theft, lewd and immoral conduct, two attempts at murder, harboring criminals and, now, grand larceny and perhaps an insurance swindle." The judge paused for breath. "That's just hitting the high points."

"I want a divorce!" Julie insisted.

"You certainly shouldn't have any trouble getting one," the judge said firmly.

The skinny nudist, stirred uneasily. "Your honor," he said timidly, "what about our leaves? Now, they're beginning to dry out. They may even fall!"

The judge started, banging the gavel with reflexive nervousness. "Your leaves are entirely your own responsibility!" he snapped. "If they're drying out, then just don't rustle them."

"That doesn't allow us much freedom of movement," the nudist said.

"From what I've heard, that's probably all for the best. And if I hear any rustling I'll know what to make of it." The judge turned back to Julie. "After your husband answers the charges...."

At this point, Marc, responding to treatment, sat up and opened his eyes. He looked around at the assemblage and smiled bewilderedly.

"Fiend!" the judge thundered.

"Hold him back!" Julie screamed. "Don't let him near me!"

Marc started violently, and Floss put out a hand to steady him.

"Get your sticky hands off that man!" a voice hissed.

Everyone turned in surprise to see Toffee, newly reinstated to the realm of reality, move forward.

"I was only tryin' to help," Floss said defensively.

"I saw you palm that wallet," Toffee said hotly. "Put it back, you camp-following kewpie before I crack your plaster!"

"Okay," Floss said, replacing the wallet, "but I guess I've got as much right to him as you."

"You've also got a right to be carried out of here feet first!" Toffee said. Doubling her fists, she stepped forward. "What kind of flowers do you want on your coffin?"

"Why, you redheaded hellcat...."

The gavel banged thunderously. "Just what's going on here?" the judge roared, leaning across the bench. He pointed to Toffee. "How did you get in here?"

Toffee moved sinuously toward the bench. "Don't upset yourself with worrisome details, judge," she smiled. "Let's just stop flubbing around here and get on the ball."

"What!" the judge yelled.

"You're far too upset to handle the situation sensibly. Anyone can see that."

"Are you in contempt of court?" the judge wheezed.

"Please don't ask me that, judge," Toffee said sweetly. "Let's be friends."

"Now, look here...."

"Be calm, judge!" Toffee said. "If you don't settle down we'll have to find someone else. Now, who's being charged with what around here?"

"Who is that woman?" Julie demanded sharply.

Toffee smiled at her winsomely. "It would only upset you to know, dear," she murmured.

The gavel banged again, announcing that the judge had regained the gift of speech. "Silence in the court!" he bellowed. He turned eyes heavy with vexation on Toffee's pert face. "If I give you a resume of the court's activities until the awful moment of your intrusion, will that make you feel sufficiently included in things?"

"That would be fine, judge," Toffee said pleasantly.

"God in heaven!" the judge moaned and took a deep breath. In a rumbling voice he enumerated again the list of Marc's crimes. As he did so, Marc's expression became more and more incredulous.

"But that's not true!" he cried out. "Almost none of it, judge!"

"Certainly it isn't," Toffee said. "In the first place, those lewd pictures were planted on him."

"That's right, judge," Hotstuff said contritely. "I eased 'em onto him."

"And he didn't wreck any store, either," Toffee said hotly. "It was the sergeant and his clumsy chums. As for assaulting them, I'd be happy to oblige."

"And about the bus," Marc said. "I hadn't any reason to suspect it was stolen."

"I guess that's right, judge," the driver said sadly. "I didn't tell him it wasn't mine."

"There's something else you didn't get straight, judge," the skinny nudist said. "His behavior wasn't lewd or immoral. It was just that he had his clothes on. Naturally, we were upset."

"He wasn't shootin' at anyone, either," Moose put in. "He was just tryin' to stop us."

"Wait a minute!" the judge yelled. "In a minute you'll be trying to tell me this Pillsworth is a saint." He coughed excitedly. "I'm pleased that you've all decided to incriminate yourselves, but you still haven't succeeded in clearing Pillsworth. There are still the charges of jail breaking and jewel robbery." He levelled his gaze on Marc. "What have you got to say to that?"

Marc's interest, however, had been diverted by Hotstuff, who, for the past several minutes had been staring with unbroken fascination at Mario. Overlooking Hotstuff's begonia infested shorts, Marc followed the pickpocket's gaze across the courtroom.

The first thing Marc noticed was that Mario was not comfortable under Hotstuff's curious stare. The second was a large birthmark, roughly the shape of an eagle, on Mario's forearm.

"My word!" Marc murmured.

"Mr. Pillsworth!" the judge said. "Would you mind giving your attention to the court?"

"Oh, yes, your honor," Marc said, "I was just noticing the birthmark on Mr. Matalini's arm. Its resemblance to an eagle is remarkable."

"Birthmark?" the judge said, glancing at Mario. "What birthmark?"

"Well, judge," Marc said, "you can't see it. But with my eyes the way they are...."

"Mayfair Marvin!" Hotstuff ejaculated loudly. "Well, I'll be damned!"

"You be quiet!" the judge said. "No one asked you anything."

"But I'm telling you something!" Hotstuff said excitedly. "That guy is Mayfair Marvin with a dye job and a moustache. He's one of the hottest international jewel thieves in the racket!"

"What!" the judge said. "Isn't there anyone innocent in this court?"

Mario, who had suddenly lost his ruddy complexion, edged toward the exit. "That's preposterous!" he said.

"Yeah?" Hotstuff drawled. "Let's check that birthmark with the official descriptions." He turned to Julie. "If you want to know where your jewelry is, lady, just ask this bum."

Stricken, Julie turned to Mario, who refused to meet her gaze.

"How about it, Marvin?" Hotstuff said. "Do you fork over the rocks or do I tell the court about that job in London when...."

"All right!" the bogus Mario said weakly. He turned to Julie. "If you look under the hedge at the end of the drive you'll find your jewelry buried there. I meant to come back for it later, after a fortuitous call to the bedside of my dying mother."

"Sergeant Feeney," the judge said, "grab that man and have him locked up."

"Yes, your honor," Sergeant Feeney said and, taking Mario by the arm, relievedly escorted him from the room. As he did so, Julie buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

"There!" Toffee said elatedly, turning to the judge, "you see? There goes another charge!"

"There's still the one of jail breaking," the judge said spitefully. "It simply means that the charges, instead of being centralized with one man, are now more evenly distributed. In a minute now I'm going to start throwing sentences around here like rice at a wedding. The lot of you—with the exception of Mrs. Pillsworth—can start planning a nice long retirement."

As the judge leaned down to study and rearrange the reports before him, Toffee turned quickly to Marc.

"Do you still have the elixir?" she asked.

"Huh?" Marc said, his eyes on Julie.

"The elixir," Toffee said. "Give it to me!"

"Oh, that," Marc murmured. He reached into his pocket, extracted the partially filled bottle and handed it over. "Here."

"Thanks," Toffee said. She advanced happily to the bench and stood for a moment gazing soulfully into the judge's scowling countenance.

"If you need some help," she said demurely, "I'll be glad to give you a hand. You'll probably never figure it out all by yourself."

"What!" the judge said, infuriated.

"Well, let's face it," Toffee said innocently, "with a muckle-head like you running the show we'll never get anywhere."

"You are in contempt!" the judge screamed. "I thought so all along!"

"Well, you must admit it's a pretty contemptible court," Toffee said. "Nothing personal, judge, but...."

"Silence!" the judge cried. "Don't say another word or I may have to send myself up for murder! I...." The rest was lost in a fit of coughing.

Quickly, a triumphant gleam in her eye, Toffee reached to the water pitcher at the side of the bench, emptied the elixir into it and poured a draft for the judge.

"Here, judge," she said, "pull yourself together."

The judge drained the glass and, closing his eyes, leaned back in his chair. Through the ensuing silence, Toffee returned to Marc's side.

"His honor may see things a little differently now," she mused.

"Why should he?" Marc said angrily. "All you've done is insult him."

"I also fed him the elixir."

"You—you gave him that!"

"In the water," Toffee nodded. "I hope it works."

"But it's unpredictable! There's no telling how he'll react."

"Any change," Toffee said, "is bound to be an improvement."

During this exchange, the judge seemed to have fallen into a doze. For a time, while the court waited breathlessly, he remained still, then he stirred. Drowsily, he opened his eyes and sat up. Looking enormously refreshed, he surveyed the defendants before him blankly for a moment and then, quite astonishingly, grinned with a sort of gentle mischievousness. He looked around at Sergeant Feeney, who had just returned from the cells.

"Well, hello, sergeant," he said. He made an inquiring gesture toward the defendants. "Who are all these attractive people?"

"Huh?" grunted Sergeant Feeney. "Why they're bein' tried, your honor."

"Tried?" the judge said. "How do you mean?"

"You're tryin' them, that's all," Sergeant Feeney said, puzzled.

"I am!" the judge said. "Then I must stop it instantly. I assume that when you say they're being tried, you mean someone has been very trying with them. I can see, now that you mention it, they look a bit put out. Well, we'll have to do something about that." He smiled at Marc and Toffee and the others with winning graciousness. "I want you to know that I'm grateful to you all for coming today, and I'm sorry if I've bored you." He turned back to Sergeant Feeney. "Have I been lecturing on the life of the mollusk again, or something like that?"

Sergeant Feeney observed the judge quizzically. "Your honor, this is a gang of desperate criminals and you're the judge who's...."

"Oh, no, no!" the judge laughed suddenly. "Oh, you're mistaken, sergeant! I'm no judge." His expression, however, became thoughtful. "It's curious, though, that you should think that, because I do have a vague recollection that I once was a judge—though it may have been a dream—and I wanted nothing more than to forget it. I got so weary of having to be virtuous all the time. But, I'm sure it was only a dream. Aren't you?"

"Your honor!" the skinny nudist said plaintively. "I really think something ought to be done about our leaves!"

"Your leaves?" the judge asked.

"Yes, your honor. We need fresh ones desperately."

"My, my," the judge said admiringly, "don't you all look cool and comfortable, though?"

"Huh?" the nudist said. "You mean you aren't sore at us any more for being nudists?"

"Sore at you?" the judge said. "Why should I be sore at you? As a matter of fact I'll tell you a little secret." Abandoning the bench and descending to the floor, he lifted his robes to display a pair of bare and knobby knees. "On warm days I never wear pants!" he chortled.

"My gosh!" the nudist said.

"Hey, what about us?" Hotstuff said. "Are you going to let them off and send us up for taking pot shots at Mario?"

"Did you do that!" the judge said delightedly. "Of course I don't know this Mario of yours, but I'm sure it did the scamp a world of good to have his pot shot at." He looked around fondly at the assemblage. "But what are we all doing indoors on a lovely day like this? Why don't we all go on a picnic or something?"

"Then you mean we're all dismissed?" Toffee asked. "We can go?"

"Why certainly, you lovely child," the judge said benignly. "Run along and get into some sort of beautiful mischief. And if there's anything I can do to help...."

"You've already done it," Toffee said. She turned to Marc. "Come on!"

But Marc was watching Julie as she turned and started disconsolately to leave the court.

"Julie!" he called. "Julie!"

"Hey, now," Toffee said, "don't tell me you're going to go chasing after that thin blonde just because you married her once!"

Marc remained heedless. "Julie!" he cried, starting after her. "Wait a minute!"

"Oh, yeah!" Toffee said and, deftly, she put her foot in front of his.

Marc shot out into space head first and came up abruptly against the leg of a table. He dropped to the floor, made a small twitching movement and went limp.

"Julie!" he murmured.

"That'll show you, you big stiff," Toffee said. "You can't just toss me aside like a...."

And then, as Marc passed out, she, like the words she never finished, faded away into nothing....

"What a stunning girl," the judge murmured thoughtfully. "There's something so elusive about her."

At his side, Sergeant Feeney fainted dead away.

In his subconscious world of gently-sloping knolls and strange feathery trees, Marc lounged on the cool greenness and smiled up at Toffee.

"Sometimes," he said, "I'm not certain which is truly real, this world or the other."

"Reality is only relative," Toffee said sagely. "After all, if you didn't believe in me, I wouldn't exist." She leaned down close and brushed her lips across his. "You wouldn't even be able to feel my kiss. Reality can be happy or sad, depending on how you look at it. If you see only the happy side of things...."

She paused as the light began to flicker uncertainly in the glowing sky above them. "It's time for you to go back now; I'll have to continue this little sermon another time." She touched his cheek. "It's been a lovely day, Marc. Goodbye—until we can do it all over again...."

"Goodbye," Marc said, "and thanks."

The light flickered again and was gone. Marc felt himself begin to drift.

"Goodbye...."

"Marc!" the voice cried.

Marc looked up to find Julie bending over him. He was relieved to note that she now appeared fully dressed.

"Oh, can you ever forgive me?" Julie said. "It was Mario who suggested I take the jewels to the country—in case he needed them for the portrait. And when we were out by the stream this afternoon...."

"Never mind," Marc said. "It's all over now, let's forget it. Will you help me up?"

Taking his arm, Julie guided him to his feet.

"Look, dear," she said, "couldn't you drive back to the country with me? A few days vacation wouldn't hurt too much, surely. You'd like to, wouldn't you?"

"I'd love to," Marc said suddenly. He took her hand in his. "Let's go."

"You poor dear," Julie murmured. "I wonder how you stood it, with everyone saying such awful things about you when you really hadn't done anything at all."

Together, they left the court and started down the walk toward the convertible.

As they left the city and started into the country, Marc pulled the car over to the side of the highway and gave his attention to the drama of the brilliant sunset.

"Well," he sighed, "there it goes, the first day of spring."

"Thank heavens," Julie said. "Now we can relax and enjoy it."

But there was still a question nagging at the back of Marc's mind.

"I was just thinking, dear," he said, "about your birthday...."

"Birthday!" Julie said. "But that's months away yet!"

"But, still," Marc said, "I was wondering what you'd like for a gift. I thought maybe some nice pink lace underwear...."

"Pink lace underwear!" Julie said. She began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Marc asked suspiciously.

"Darling," Julie said, "don't you remember the pink lace underwear mother gave me for Christmas and how I loathed it? Well, I brought it to the country where it wouldn't matter just so I could wear it out and get rid of it."

Marc's relief came to the surface in a smile. "Then pink lace is out, huh?"

"Definitely," Julie said. "But if you insist on lingerie, get me something wicked and black. No true siren would ever dream of letting herself be caught in pink."

Marc reached across the seat and drew her close to him. "In the spring time," he said, "a young man's likely to get fancy."

The sun, on the horizon, slid conveniently out of sight and was gone. As it did, a breeze blew lightly through the car and somewhere, it seemed, there was laughter.