The William P. McGivern Fantasy MEGAPACK™: 25 Classic Fantasy Stories from the Pulps

First published in Fantastic Adventures, February 1943.

Chapter I

Larry Temple was feeling rather low when he stepped out into the alley that flanked the Palace theatre. He had just completed his act and the response of the audience could hardly have been termed enthusiastic.

Larry leaned against the brick wall of the theatre and moodily lighted a cigarette.

“To hell with ’em,” he muttered bitterly. “They just don’t appreciate any act that hasn’t got a strip-tease in it.” Larry Temple was a puppeteer and, as such, he was considered, in the judgment of those in show business, about one notch below a ventriloquist and about on a par with acrobats.

He was thoroughly sick of manipulating puppets for a living, but he had to eat and there was nothing else he could do to earn his cakes and coffee.

As he flipped his half-smoked cigarette away he noticed a small tavern across the street, advertising liquors and beer via a cheerily blinking neon sign.

Larry was not a drinking man, but his present dissatisfaction weighed against his normal abstinence. He crossed the street and entered the small, dimly lighted bar.

The bartender mopped the bar in front of him with a damp rag and looked inquiringly at him.

“Rye,” he said. “Make it double.”

He lit another cigarette and pushed his gray fedora back on his forehead. He was a clean-cut young man with pleasant brown eyes and a small mustache.

The bartender set the drink on the bar.

“Thanks,” Larry said. He tossed a bill on the bar and then picked up the glass of whisky. For a second he inspected the ruddy brown contents of the glass with misgivings; then he lifted the glass to his lips and drained it with one gulp.

The effect was like that of a small bomb exploding gently in his stomach. A warm languorous wave spread from his midriff and flowed down his legs and up to his arms and throat. He blinked and a hiccough shook him slightly.

The sensation was not at all unpleasant. He ordered another drink and loosened his collar. It suddenly seemed a bit too tight.

He glanced at the clock over the bar. It said 8:45. He made a mental note of the time, for his next show was at 9:30. But he had plenty of time.

The second drink was smoother than the first and it was then that Larry made a discovery, which drinkers the world over have been making since time immemorial. Namely, that each succeeding drink tastes better than its predecessor.

This discovery was like a revelation to Larry.

He ordered another drink to prove his thesis and he was nodding with thoughtful pleasure when he had finished the third drink. He was absolutely right. The third drink tasted immeasurably smoother and better than the second, which hadn’t been any slouch.

A little while later, he glanced at the clock. He blinked and peered at it intently. He experienced a faint sensation of annoyance. The damn clock wasn’t behaving. Its hands were revolving slowly and steadily and the numerals on the dial were moving about in small circles.

“No way for a clock to act,” he muttered. He put his elbows on the bar and slumped forward. He felt better that way, he discovered.

The bartender leaned toward him.

“What’d you say, buddy?”

“I asked for a drink,” Larry said, with considerable dignity. “And, If you aren’t busy, you might tell me what time it is.”

“Sure thing.”

The bartender glanced over his shoulder. “It’s 9:05.” He poured another drink for Larry.

“Thank you,” Larry said solemnly. He suddenly realized what a sterling chap this bartender was. He blinked owlishly.

“You are a scholar and a gentleman,” he said, punching the surface of the bar for emphasis.

“The same to you,” the bartender said. He watched Larry drain the glass of whisky with slightly apprehensive eyes. “You’d better take it a little easy,” he advised. “That stuff you’re drinking ain’t milk.”

Larry digested this information in silence. Somehow it seemed important that he wasn’t drinking milk, but he couldn’t quite figure out why.

He looked at the clock again but it was still acting foolishly.

The bartender said, “It’s 9:10. Have you got a date or something?”

Larry nodded, beaming. He liked this chap more each minute. He liked the way he figured things out and drove right to the heart of an issue.

“What time is your date?” the bartender asked.

Larry was reaching the secretive stage. He put a finger over his lips and peered up and down the deserted bar.

“Mustn’t tell,” he hissed in a thick conspiratorial whisper. “McGinty wouldn’t want me to tell.”

“Who’s McGinty?”

“McGinty is the stage manager,” Larry confided.

“Are you an actor?” the bartender asked.

Larry felt a warm, satisfied glow stealing over him and it was not altogether the effect of the liquor.

“Yes,” he said, “you might say I am an actor. That is, after a fashion.”

“Gee,” the bartender said, and the admiration in his voice was sufficiently pronounced to seep through the alcoholic fog that was enveloping Larry. “That’s sure interesting,” he went on wistfully. “You know I always had a hankering to go on the stage. Making love to pretty girls all day is my idea of nice work, if you can get it.”

Larry began to feel unhappy again.

“If you can get it,” he said. A tear fell into his empty glass.

“What’s the matter?” the bartender asked solicitously.

“I need another drink,” Larry said mournfully.

“Okay,” the bartender said, reaching for the bottle, “but are you sure you’ve got time? It’s 9:25 right now.”

Larry straightened with a jerk.

Nine-twenty-five!

His act was supposed to go on at 9:15!

This realization had a slightly sobering effect on him. Missing an act was one of the unpardonable crimes of show business. Performers who missed their acts inevitably wound up missing their meals. That was as definite as an algebraic equation.

He rose unsteadily to his feet.

“I must be going,” he announced, in about the tone of voice Napoleon must have used when his boat set out for St. Helena.

“I hope you’re not late,” the bartender said.

Larry glanced at the clock. He had sobered sufficiently to read the hands. It was 9:30!

“Hope is a wonderful thing,” he muttered. He patted the bartender on the shoulder. “We, who are about to go hungry, salute you.”

With that he staggered out of the bar and lurched across the alley to the stage door of the Palace. He felt fine, except for his realization that black doom was awaiting him; and also his knees had an odd tendency to work in reverse.

Fortunately there was no one on guard at the stage door and he was able to slip backstage without being noticed. He saw a small knot of people gathered at the wings watching whatever was happening on the stage and he heard the roars of applause from the theatre audience.

Someone was getting a hand, he thought bitterly.

In the crowd of stage hands and performers gathered at the wings he recognized the stocky belligerent figure of Matt McGinty.

He swallowed guiltily. He had no desire to meet McGinty now. After missing his act, McGinty would be in a mood to strangle him with his bare hands.

With commendable stealth, considering the load he was carrying, Larry tip-toed past the group at the wings without being noticed. He crept through the maze of backdrops and ropes until he reached a slit in the curtain, from where he could watch the act on the stage without being observed.

When he peeked through the narrow opening in the back curtain the sight that met his eyes gave him a distinct start. For in the center of the stage was his puppet booth and, at the angle he was looking, he could see his three puppets going through their paces.

The antics in which they were indulging was not in any way similar to the act he had perfected; but the audience was obviously delighted.

Larry felt as if he had been slugged at the base of the skull with a lead pipe. He had returned to the theatre expecting to have fire and brimstone heaped on his head by McGinty for missing his act. And here was the act going merrily on, apparently not minding his absence one bit.

But who was manipulating the puppets!

The curtain at the back of the booth was drawn and whoever was inside was not visible to Larry. But, whoever he was, Larry knew he was a master.

There was a life-like humor and deftness in the performance of the puppets that exceeded any effect Larry had ever been able to create.

The act was reaching its climax. Already, Larry knew, it had been on several minutes too long, but far from minding, the audience was eating it up.

When the curtain finally came down and the stage hands emerged from the wings and speedily shoved the puppet’s booth off the stage, the packed house was shaking to the applause of the audience.

Larry listened to the ovation enviously. He had never gotten a reception like that. He was lucky if the audience took pity on his efforts and applauded through kindness.

But he did not feel too bitter. For he realized that someone had saved him from a nasty mess. If whoever had stepped into the breach to operate the puppet act hadn’t been on hand, it would have been terrible. McGinty at this moment would be throwing him out the rear door of the theatre with explicit and profane instructions not to come back.

The stage hands had shoved the puppet booth in to the wings and Larry realized that the least he could do was to thank whoever had saved his neck.

With that thought in mind he emerged from his place of concealment. As he stepped into the view of the crowd in the wings McGinty saw him and strode toward him.

Larry felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

McGinty stopped in front of him, hands on his hips.

“It breaks my heart to tell you this,” he said, “but that was a darn good act.” He smiled suddenly and slapped Larry on the back. “What are you looking so scared about? I’m telling you, you laid ’em in the aisles. Listen! They’re still clapping. Keep up that kind of work, son, and you’ll be out of the bread-and-butter circuits darn soon.”

Larry sputtered helplessly. He tried to speak but there were no words to express the weird thoughts that were running crazily through his head.

“What’s the matter with you?” McGinty demanded. “You’d think there something wrong about knocking that audience cold like you did.”

Without answering, Larry moved dazedly to the puppet booth which was standing in the wings. He drew aside the rear curtain and peered into the small aperture from which the puppeteer manipulated the puppets.

It was empty!

He stepped around to the front of the booth and stared intently at the three puppets who were hanging inertly from the strings which motivated them.

The three figures were carved from wood and cleverly jointed together at knees, elbows and neck. Their small, merry faces were tinted with life-like shades and there were bright glints in their shining eyes, which were made of buttons.

Larry called them Pat and Mike and Tim.

In the act, Pat and Mike were hellions, in and out of trouble all the time, while Tim was dutiful and innocent.

But in spite of the fact that Larry sometimes thought of them as having personality and individuality, they were actually three wooden figures, about eight inches high, cleverly fashioned to react to his manipulations.

And that was all.

Larry took off his hat slowly and ran a hand through his hair. He felt the effects of the liquor deserting him and he didn’t like that. He felt that he was going to need something to sustain him.

For there was a great big question in his mind.

Who had manipulated these puppets?

That was the question and, needless to say, there was no answer to it.

McGinty was looking at him closely.

“What’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “You act as if you’d been on a binge.”

“McGinty,” Larry said slowly, “X didn’t handle this act. Do you know who did?”

“Huh?” McGinty’s voice was incredulous. He leaned forward and sniffed suspiciously. “As I thought. You’ve been swilling a lot of cheap booze from the smell of you. It’s lucky this is your last show tonight. Go home and sleep it off and don’t let me catch you drinking on the job again.”

“But I know what I’m talking about,” Larry said. He felt a peculiar flutter of panic. “I didn’t handle this show. I couldn’t have. I wasn’t here.”

“Who’re you trying to kid?” McGinty demanded. “You’re out of your head. Sleep it off, I’m telling you.” Larry shook his head weakly and stared at the puppets.

“Maybe they know,” he muttered. “I don’t.”

He turned on his heel and strode toward his dressing room, weaving only slightly from the load he was still carrying.

Chapter II

Larry did a lot of thinking when he got to his dressing room. With an ice pack on his dully aching head he sat at his dressing table staring moodily at his image as reflected in the long, cracked mirror.

And the more he thought about the weird events that had taken place, the more befuddled he became. Maybe he, himself, had manipulated the puppets. Possibly he had been so drunk that he just didn’t remember.

He shook his head irritably. That wouldn’t wash. He hadn’t been that drunk. And he had a distinct recollection of having watched the act from back-stage.

He couldn’t have been in the puppet booth manipulating the marionettes and, at the same time, back-stage watching the show, could he?

No, he told himself decisively, that would have been impossible. So there he was. Stuck.

Stuck, that, was, for any reasonable explanation of how the act had managed to go on while he was sitting in a bar a half block away.

He shook his head wearily. Nothing made any sense.

He had reached this conclusion when there was a sudden sharp knock on the door of his dressing room. The sound of the impatient knock was like a knife driven into each of his eardrums and then twisted slowly.

He jumped involuntarily and the ice pack fell from his head to the floor.

The knock was repeated, sharply, insistently.

Larry winced, and walked to the door.

“Go away!” he shouted. “I just died!”

The door opened and a girl stepped into the room. She surveyed him coolly.

“You look it,” she murmured.

Larry goggled at her speechlessly. She was just about the most breath-taking parcel of femininity he had ever inspected. Her eyes were deep and level and their shade would have shamed violets. The top of her smooth-shining blonde head came just about to his shoulders and she was as neatly put together as a Christmas package. She was wearing clothes. Larry was too impressed with the contents of this particular package to notice the details of the trimmings.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Won’t you please come in?”

This was a somewhat superfluous invitation, for the girl was already in the room and Larry noticed then, for the first time, that she was not alone.

A man was with her. A tall, well-groomed man with a lean, arrogant face and smooth, dark hair that fitted his skull as closely as a velvet cap.

This immaculately turned-out specimen looked about the dressing room with an amused twist to his lips. His attitude was that of slumming royalty.

“I told you this was a mistake,” he murmured to the girl.

The girl ignored the remark. She turned directly to Larry and he noticed that her small lovely jaw was squared stubbornly.

“I’m Gloria Manners,” she said, “and this is my friend, Dereck Miller.”

“How do you do,” Larry said.

The tall creature designated as Dereck Miller ignored the hand that Larry extended and nodded his head carelessly. Larry discovered that he had taken a violent dislike to Dereck Miller. And this was rather unusual, for Larry was the easy-going, cheerful type, who very seldom bothered to have serious emotions about people. Now he found himself thinking rather wistfully of the many interesting things that could happen to the man, what with big cars whizzing about and people dropping flower pots from high buildings...

This pleasant train of thought was derailed abruptly by the girl’s next remark.

“I want to hire your services, Mr. Temple, if it can be arranged.”

“What?”

“Yes,” the lovely girl said, “I saw your act a few minutes ago and I’d like to hire you to perform at a party I’m giving this coming weekend. Would you be interested?”

“Why — why, yes, indeed,” Larry said breathlessly. He wasn’t thinking of the job so much as the opportunity of seeing this girl again. “Just what sort of a party is it?”

“Quite respectable,” the girl said, smiling slightly.

“I didn’t mean—”

“That’s all right. The party will be given at my father’s estate in Pineknoll. You will come down Friday night and bring your equipment with you. The party is on Saturday night and you will have all day Saturday to set up your apparatus. One of the servants will meet you at the train Friday night, if that is agreeable with you.”

“Why, it sounds perfect,” Larry said enthusiastically.

The tall impeccably clad young man named Dereck regarded the girl with a faintly annoyed expression.

“My dear,” he murmured, “are you sure the colonel will approve of what you’re doing? After all, I don’t imagine that he relishes having just anyone invited out to Pineknoll.”

“Father won’t mind,” the girl said.

“That’s big of the old boy,” Larry said drily.

The girl put her hand on his arm in an impulsive, contrite gesture. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. You must think we’re terribly rude. It isn’t that, but Father is somewhat peculiar, but I’m sure you’ll get along with him.”

“I’ll try my best,” Larry grinned. The girl’s warm sincerity had completely charmed away his feeling of irritation. “He can’t be too bad. After all, he’s your father.”

Dereck coughed and flicked away a spot of dust from his coat sleeve.

“Shall we be going?” He let the question hang meaningly in the air.

The girl was regarding Larry uncertainly. Finally, as if making up her mind, she held out her hand and smiled.

“We’ll be expecting you,” she said. “Friday night.”

“Righto,” Larry said.

The girl smiled again and walked out through the door. Dereck lingered a moment in the doorway.

“Don’t presume on a professional relationship, old boy,” he said softly. Then, with a final glance of faint contempt about the littered dressing room, he departed.

Larry turned the remark over in his mind for several seconds and then he shrugged and bent to retrieve his ice pack. When he straightened up, there was a small man standing in the doorway, regarding him with a cheerful smile.

“Mind if I drop in, chum?” the little man asked.

Larry stared at this new arrival in mild surprise. He was wearing a checkered plaid suit, a green shirt and an orange tie. On his round head he wore a furry cap pulled low over one eye. He was about as inconspicuous as a pink elephant on the morning after.

“Come right in,” Larry said expansively. “This is becoming a popular place these days. We’ll need stop and go signs if the traffic holds up.” He sat down at the dressing room make-up table and balanced the ice pack on his head. “And what can I do for you, little friend?”

The little man stepped into the room and closed the door carefully. He was still smiling and his blue eyes were tiny pin-points of lights in his red-wrinkled face.

“Right nice of you, chum,” he said gratefully. “The name is Buggy Rafferty, late of Atlanta and Leavenworth.”

Larry blinked in surprise.

“Did you say Atlanta?”

“That’s right, chum. And Leavenworth; don’t forget Leavenworth.”

“I’ll try not to,” Larry said dubiously. “And what can I do for you, Mr. Rafferty?”

“Aw, call me Buggy,” the little man said, with a modest wave of his hand. “I ain’t a guy to stand on formality. Particularly with me partners.”

“That’s very democratic of you,” Larry said. “And—” He stopped speaking abruptly as the little man’s last remark hit him solidly. “What was that last, again?” he asked.

“Aw, there I go again,” Buggy laughed, “gettin’ ahead of myself. ’Cause you didn’t know we was going to be partners, did you, chum?”

“The idea hadn’t occurred to me,” Larry admitted. And now that you bring it up, I don’t find it intriguing. Do you care to elucidate, or do you find it fun being mysterious?”

The little man pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“I guess I’d better tell all,” he said. “That would be nice,” Larry said. “Shoot.”

“It’s like this,” Buggy said, “all my life I been on the wrong side of the law and it ain’t no fun. They catch me and ship me away to some lousy jug and that’s that for five, maybe ten years. I’m sick of it. It’s getting boring, that’s what it is.”

“I’m glad you have seen the error of your ways,” Larry said.

“That’s what I’ve seen,” Buggy said, nodding vigorously. “The error of my ways and means. My means, in particular, have been lousy with errors, if you get what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Larry said. “It’s like this. A smart crook is a guy who don’t get caught; right?”

“That seems logical.”

“Now,” the little man continued warmly, “the smart crooks who don’t get caught didn’t just get that way by accident. They figure everything out, they case all the angles and they don’t take no unnecessary chances. So they don’t get caught, get it.”

“It all seems to follow,” Larry said. “Pray, go on.”

“Okay, chum, listen good. From now on I’m playin’ it smart. I’m casing all the angles. I’m figuring all the details. I’m looking before I leap.”

Larry stood up and smiled.

“I think you are in the wrong pew, Mr. Rafferty. While I am naturally delighted with this ambitious attitude of yours, I fail to see how it concerns me. Possibly you could find a more sympathetic attitude at some reform school, where the inmates would probably be happy to absorb any little trade secrets you could pass along. As for me, I am on the right side of the law and I find my position comfortable. I am not a reformer by nature but I might suggest that you would do well to join me. It makes for better nerves and sounder sleep to know that the gendarmes are not sniffing on your trail. You are at liberty to correct me if gendarmes do not sniff, but it has been my opinion that they do.”

“I ain’t talking just to waste my breath, chum,” Buggy said quietly. “I got a very definite purpose behind this kind of rambling introduction. You and me, chum, is going into a partnership of sorts. I’ve got a little deal lined up and I need you bad.”

“That is going to make your disappointment more acute,” Larry said sadly.

“There ain’t goin’ to be any disappointment,” Buggy said. He was no longer smiling. “That dame that just left here has got a fortune in ice out at her Pineknoll estate.”

“Ice?”

“Ice. Diamonds, to you. She’s got one in particular that’s worth a striptease queen’s ransom. And I’ve had me eye on it for months, but I couldn’t figure any safe way of cracking into her joint. You see I’m figuring all the angles like I said. I’m playing it smart, waiting till I get a foolproof scheme worked out. And I got it now. But I need you, chum.”

“You have been walking in the sun too much and too long, I’m afraid,” Larry said. “What makes you think I’d help you steal Miss Manners’ valuables?”

“This,” Buggy said. He drew out a very large, very ugly looking gun from his pocket.

“My gracious,” Larry said, “you’d have to mount that before you could fire it.”

“I do all right with it in my hand,” Buggy said cheerfully. “Now are you goin’ to be nice, chum?”

“I don’t know,” Larry said truthfully. He thought a moment. “Would you really shoot me with that thing?”

“It would break my heart,” Buggy said, “but that wouldn’t stop me.”

“What do you want me to do?” Larry asked.

“That’s the spirit, chum. I been tailing Miss Manners for weeks trying to figure out an angle to get into her home without creatin’ no suspicions. I was listening outside when she proposed her little deal to you. Now you’re goin’ to have an assistant when you go down to do your little act.”

“But I don’t need an assistant,” Larry said reasonably.

“This time you do,” Buggy corrected him softly. “And said assistant is none other than Buggy Rafferty, late—”

“Of Atlanta and Leavenworth,” Larry finished the sentence with a weary sigh.

“That’s right, chum. That way I get into the house without any one suspecting a thing. I find this hunk of ice, cop it and blow. Before it’s missed I’ll be in South America bein’ a good neighbor to some of them Pampas patooties with plenty of chicken feed to feed the chickens. Now, how does it sound to you?”

“Terrible,” Larry said.

“That’s just an amateur viewpoint,” Buggy said equably. “Anyway, what you think of the idea ain’t so important. All you got to do is cooperate.”

“Supposing I would go immediately to the police and tell them all that you have told me,” Larry said thoughtfully. “What would happen then?”

“A lot of things.” Buggy said cheerfully. “All of them would be unpleasant and all of them would happen to you. But what good would it do you to squeal? Who’d believe you? You got any witnesses?”

“I have an honest face,” Larry said, clutching at straws.

“So have most of the mugs in Alcatraz,” Buggy said, grinning.

Larry sighed despairingly. He looked at the big gun in Buggy’s hand.

“I can’t think with that cannon in my face,” he said moodily. “Sight it on something else, will you?”

Buggy slipped the gun back into his pocket.

“Anything to oblige,” he said. “But don’t forget it’s within easy reach.” Larry thought for several minutes and got nowhere. There was nothing he could do about the situation immediately. The only possible course was to string along with Buggy and hope to turn the tables on him before he went south with the beautiful girl’s diamonds.

And that course wasn’t the best of all possible courses, by a darn sight.

“Okay,” he sighed, “get yourself a social security number. You’re working for me now. And be ready to leave Friday afternoon for Pineknoll.”

“I been packed for weeks,” Buggy grinned. He opened the door. “Don’t do anything foolish, chum. You wouldn’t look nice on a slab.”

“You have a good point there,” Larry said moodily.

The door closed on Buggy Rafferty. Larry sighed. In spite of all his trouble, he still wished he knew who had manipulated those damn puppets!

Chapter III

Colonel Marmaduke Manners’ estate was a vast sprawling affair covering several dozen acres of choice wooded land, replete with formal gardens, elaborate fountains and bird baths.

The home was built on the crest of a sloping hill. Winding lanes led from the road, through avenues of stately trees, and up to the majestic porticos of the house.

Seen for the first time, the home and grounds were an impressive sight.

Larry and Buggy Rafferty were duly impressed.

They were seated in the rear of a shining oak-paneled station wagon which was driven by an elderly Negro, who had been with the colonel’s family for two generations.

Buggy leaned back and sighed expansively.

“Nifty, ain’t it?”

The car was winding through stately parks and gardens that surrounded the colonel’s home, and in the distance the majestic gables of the house were visible above the tops of the trees.

Larry looked distastefully at his companion. Buggy was wearing a wildly designed sports coat over a mauve turtle neck sweater. A mangled cigar jutted from his mouth.

“‘Nifty’ is just the word I was thinking of,” Larry said dryly.

The Negro driver brought the car to a stop at the side door of the palatial home and Buggy and Larry climbed out. Larry had shipped his puppet booth down earlier in the week and he was anxious to find out whether it had arrived safely.

The wide, paneled door opened and Gloria Manners appeared. She smiled a welcome to him. She was wearing a trim sports suit and low-heeled oxfords. Her honey-colored hair was carelessly wind-blown.

Larry sighed. Never in his life had he seen anything more exquisite.

“Hello,” she said. “Your apparatus got here yesterday. I had one of the gardners unpack it and set it up in the sun-room. I hope that was all right.”

“That’s fine,” Larry said. “Saves me a job.”

The girl was looking rather curiously at Buggy, who stood beside Larry twisting a red jockey’s cap in his big hands.

“Oh, this is my helper, Mr. Rafferty,” Larry explained hastily. “I forgot to tell you about him.”

“How do you do?” Gloria said. Her eyes were moving in polite astonishment over the little man’s incredible clothes.

“Pleased to meet cha, ma’m,” Buggy said cordially.

Larry put a hand on his shoulder and smiled innocently.

“Mr. Rafferty does all the heavy work for me,” he said. “There won’t be anything for him to do since you have taken care of my outfit; so,” he patted Buggy on the back, “maybe there’s some work around here he can do.”

“Well, I don’t know,” the girl said. She turned to the elderly Negro. “Rastus, will you take Mr. Rafferty to the kitchen?” Maybe you can find something to keep him occupied.”

Rastus rubbed his big, horny hands. He did not approve of Buggy Rafferty and it was obvious that his mistress’ assignment gave him deep pleasure.

“Yassum,” he said, smiling. “I’ll keep him busy. Ain’t nobody touched dat woodpile for days now. He can start on dat.” He turned to Buggy. “Come on, you.”

Buggy looked darkly at Larry.

“Much obliged, chum,” he muttered under his breath. He shuffled off after the Negro, the cigar in his mouth wagging angrily.

Gloria took Larry by the arm.

“You must come in and meet Father now.”

“Fine,” Larry said.

His vague misgivings in regard to the colonel were not eased when he entered into the huge, high-ceilinged library with Gloria at his side, and saw a tall, broad-shouldered old man, with fierce white mustaches standing in front of the fireplace with a great, blue-barrelled rifle in his hands.

The old man had steel blue eyes and a jaw that looked like Gibraltar.

“Shot and shell are for sissies,” he was thundering to some invisible auditor as Gloria and Larry entered the room. He waved the huge gun about impatiently. “For a real, honest-to-God battle give me cold steel. A man—”

He broke off in mid-sentence and peered at his daughter.

“Ah, there you are,” he said in a milder voice. “Dereck and I were talking about you.”

Gloria smiled. “How did I manage to squeeze into a conversation on the relative merits of cold steel and shot-and-shell?”

Dereck stood up and bowed gallantly. He had been seated in a high-backed chair facing the colonel.

“There’s room for you, my dear, in any conversation,” he said, fairly exuding charm from every pore. He was dressed in formal riding clothes and he seemed to realize that he cut quite a dashing figure.

Gloria led Larry forward.

“Father, this is the young man I was telling you about.”

Larry shook hands with the colonel and he found himself staring into a pair of frosty blue eyes that were like chilled lake water.

“Yes, yes,” the old man muttered, “I remember you telling me about him. How are you, young fellow?”

“Fine, thank you, sir,” Larry said, breathing a little more easily, as the colonel stood the huge elephant gun against the fireplace.

“What do you do for a living?” the colonel asked bluntly, when he turned back to Larry. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his bushy eyebrows were drawn together over his piercing eyes.

Gloria said quickly, “I told you all about him, Father. He’s an entertainer. He’s going to perform at the party tomorrow night.”

“What kind of an entertainer?” the colonel asked.

“I’m a puppeteer,” Larry explained apologetically. He didn’t know quite why but his occupation suddenly seemed rather shameful.

“A what?”

“A puppeteer, sir. I manipulate puppets by string control and make them do all sorts of things.”

The colonel frowned.

“What sort of things?”

Larry loosened his collar.

“Well, I make them hit each other over the head and walk as if they’re drunk and—” His voice trailed off weakly and he cleared his throat desperately. “Things like that,” he added feebly. He was all too conscious of how silly his work must seem to a fire-belching colonel.

“I see,” the colonel said. He glanced at Dereck and smiled. “Interesting, what?”

“Very,” Dereck said smoothly. “Someone has to keep the women and children entertained while the men are away fighting the war, I suppose.” Larry restrained an impulse to kick Dereck squarely in the stomach. He said nothing of the knee that had caused his rejection from the Army, Navy and Marines. That was a little something he kept pretty close to himself.

“Of course,” Dereck continued smoothly, “when I was fighting in India we were too busy to worry about the morale of the people back home. We had enough trouble staying alive without worrying about anything else.”

“You’ve mentioned that before. Dereck,” Gloria said quietly. She turned to Larry. “Maybe you’d be willing to show us how your act works. Sort of a preview of tomorrow night. Everything’s all set up in the sun-room, just off the library.”

“I’d be glad to,” Larry said.

She led him across the library and through an arched doorway into a solarium. His puppet booth was in the center of this room and his three puppets, Pat, Mike and Tim were sprawled on the tiny stage.

Dereck and the colonel followed them, and Larry heard the colonel’s clarion voice growling vaguely about a sabre charge in the Crimea in which he participated; and in between these blasts he could hear Dereck’s smooth voice relating some bit of personal daring that he had accomplished in the air above Tobruk.

He sighed and there was envy in the sigh. Naturally the old man and Dereck would be as thick as thieves, since they had a sort of military bond between them.

“Oh, they’re cute,” Gloria cried, as Larry gathered the controlling strings of the puppets in his hands and lifted them to a standing position. With dexterously sensitive fingers he set them jigging.

The colonel shoved his craggy face close to the dancing puppets.

“I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous in all my life,” he growled.

“They’re the most stupid looking things a person could imagine. They look silly. Whoever made them must have been dumb and blind.”

His fiercely scowling face was within an inch of the puppet at the left end of the line. This was the puppet Larry had dubbed Mike, because of the merrily belligerent expression carved on his little wooden face.

An odd thing happened then.

The foot of this puppet flew out with sudden malicious speed.

And its hard wooden shoe landed squarely on the tip of the colonel’s red-veined, beaked nose!

The colonel straightened with a roar that set the floor trembling. He glared in raging accusation at the puppet that had kicked him.

“It — it assaulted me!” he roared.

“Don’t be silly, Father,” Gloria said soothingly. “How could a puppet do anything like that? They’re just little wooden figures. Their actions are completely controlled by Larry.”

“So that’s it!” the colonel bellowed.

He wheeled on Larry who was still holding the puppets’ strings in his hands.

“I presume, young man, that that is your idea of a joke,” he shouted wrathfully.

He drew himself up to his full impressive height and his eyes pierced Larry like twin needles.

“It might interest you to know,” he said scathingly, “that I happen to regard practical joking as the external expression of a low, perverted intellect.”

He turned on his heel and marched stiffly from the room. After a discreet interval Dereck followed suit. His attitude indicated plainly that he shared the colonel’s opinion.

Gloria was looking at Larry with wonder in her blue eyes. “Why did you have to do that, Larry?”

“Do what?”

“Make that puppet kick Father.” Larry’s expression was slightly dazed. “I–I didn’t. Anyway I don’t think I did.”

The girl’s expression was an interesting blend of exasperation and amusement. “Don’t be silly! It could hardly have kicked him of its own accord.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Larry. “I mean, you’re right. But I don’t see how—” His voice trailed off.

The entrance of the butler with the announcement that dinner was served, ended the conversation on that note of uncertainty.

Except for the excellent food, dinner proved to be something of an ordeal. The colonel, evidently still smarting from Larry’s attempt on his dignity, had drawn into a shell. Dereck managed to monopolize Gloria by means of a steady flow of light conversation that definitely held no place for Larry.

Afterward, the young puppeteer, tired, puzzled and vaguely depressed, slowly mounted the stairs to his room. He undressed wearily and got into bed. But he couldn’t sleep. There were too many disquieting thoughts buzzing about in his head. And chief among these disturbing figments was his concern over what had happened to Mike. He was certainly acting in a peculiar fashion and he could think of no reasonable explanation for the puppet’s conduct. If anything happened tomorrow night during the big show...

He tossed restlessly. Sleep seemed an elusive thing that was farther away than ever. When he heard the great clock in the lower hall mournfully chiming two o’clock, he decided that there was no longer any point in staying in bed.

He got up and slipped into his bathrobe and slippers. He lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the bed smoking moodily. The cigarette tasted foul. He put it out and lit another.

After a few moments he stood up, deciding that he had better go downstairs and see that everything was all right with his equipment.

He felt better having something definite to do. He put out his cigarette and left his room as quietly as possible. The house was dark and heavy with a tomb-like silence.

Larry found the carved stair banister and guided himself down to the first floor. He picked his way carefully through the library and when he reached the sun-room he turned on one of the floor lamps.

A shadow moved away from the wall. The end of a glowing cigar was visible in the semi-gloom.

“Greetings, chum,” a voice said.

“It’s you again,” Larry said wearily, as Buggy Rafferty moved out into the light, blinking his little eyes against the soft glare.

He was wearing crimson pajamas with a yellow sash and a light tan dressing gown with green felt lapels. His hands were jammed into the pockets of the gown and Larry detected a significant bulge under the right pocket.

“That was a crummy trick you played on me today, chum,” he said in an injured voice, “but I ain’t sore, honest. This way I gets to gab with the help and find out the lay of the land.”

“What are you doing prowling about the house this time of night?” Larry asked stiffly.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Buggy grinned. “But I ain’t the nosey type. I’m just doin’ a little research work, that’s all. Checkin’ the burglar alarms and things like that. Can’t be too careful these days. That Rastus kept me so busy cuttin’ wood and hauling garbage that this is the first chance I got to look the joint over. And from what Fve seen, it’s goin’ to be a lead-pipe cinch.”

“How dandy,” Larry said gloomily.

Until now he had forgotten about Buggy. He had been so worried about the peculiar behavior of his puppet that all other thoughts had been driven from his mind. His spirits sank. For a while he had been kidding himself with the delightful prospects of seeing Gloria the next day and possibly making hay while the sun shone.

But his name would be mud when Buggy copped her diamonds and blew the country. Naturally he would be held responsible for that. If he escaped a nice smacking twenty-year sentence he’d be lucky.

“Well, be good, chum,” Buggy said. “I’m goin’ back to my honest slumber. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Good night,” Larry said dully. The chances of Buggy strangling in the bed clothes were too remote to be cheering. All he could hope for was something developing tomorrow that would enable him to pull Buggy’s claws.

He would like to do it with pliers, he thought bitterly.

When Buggy had left, Larry turned his attention to his puppet booth. And here he was in for another shock.

The strings that led to two o£ the puppets were badly twisted and snarled. But that was not the worst.

The two puppets were gone!

Larry felt his scalp prickling with a strange fear. He turned on the high lights in the room and returned to his booth to make a thorough inspection of the damage.

Only one puppet was in evidence.

Tim, the puppet who took the role of the naive, innocent party in the little skits, was still present, but Pat and Mike, the two hellions, were gone without a trace.

Tim was sitting on the edge of the tiny stage, a prop match and cigarette in his hands. There was a peculiarly doleful expression on the little face.

Larry picked the puppet up and examined it carefully. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it for all the manipulating strings were still attached and in good order.

Larry set Tim on his shoulder and manipulated the wooden arms, legs and neck of the tiny puppet to make sure that everything was in good working order.

He was slightly reassured to discover that Tim at least was all right, but he couldn’t put on a show with only one puppet.

He stared bitterly at the deserted stage and the snarled ropes.

“I wonder where the hell they are,” he said angrily.

“They’re gone,” a small voice said in his ear.

“I know that,” Larry said irritably, “but where—”

Words jammed up in his throat and stuck there. An unpleasant shudder traveled down his spine.

Had someone spoken?

Or was he going batty?

“I know where they’ve gone,” the small voice said. “They wanted me to go with them but I didn’t think it was right.”

There was no doubt in his mind now.

He turned his head slowly, carefully, as if he were afraid that his neck might splinter. His eyes met the shining button eyes of Tim, the little puppet.

“Did you say something?” Larry whispered.

“Yes,” Tim answered. His voice was clearly audible. It was small and rough, but not unpleasant. “I said I knew where Pat and Mike have gone. They asked me to come with them but I didn’t think it was the right thing to do.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” Larry said weakly. Perspiration was pouring down his forehead in tiny rivulets. His mind felt as if it were rocking on its foundations.

This was incredible! Yet it seemed to be happening.

“Why didn’t you go with Mike and Pat?” he asked. It was a silly question but Larry hadn’t had much conversational experience with puppets. He was at a loss as to just the right approach.

“I didn’t think it would be right,” Tim repeated. “I am supposed to act in shows. I want to do what is right.”

“I am glad you do,” Larry said. He had the inane feeling he was making a perfect fool of himself. The proper procedure, he felt sure, would be to ignore Tim completely and go to bed. This thing couldn’t be happening. It was all a product of his imagination.

Then he remembered the night at the theatre when the puppets had gone through their act without him; and he remembered the scene earlier that evening when one of the puppets had kicked Colonel Manners in the nose.

These recollections gave him pause. “How long has this been going on,” he asked Tim, in what he hoped was a severe voice. But it sounded like a croak to his ears.

“How long has what been going on?” Tim asked.

“This — this nonsense,” Larry said. “This business of you puppets taking things into your own hands.”

“Not long,” Tim answered. “We came to life sort of gradually. The first night was when we put on the show at the theatre without you.”

“So you did that, did you?” Larry asked.

“Yes. We were pretty good, too. Better, I guess, than when you ran things.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Larry said.

“I didn’t think we ought to let anybody know about us coming alive, but I couldn’t make Pat and Mike see it my way. They think they’re going to have a lot of fun now.”

“This is terrible,” Larry whispered. “How’d you happen to become animated in the first place?”

“We were made from the wood of a carnivorous tree,” Tim explained. “It was inevitable.”

“I see,” Larry said. If this wasn’t the damnedest thing!

Another thing occurred to him then. “Where did Pat and Mike go?” he asked. He felt that he should have asked that question immediately.

“They went to find the nasty man with the white mustaches,” Tim answered.

“The colonel?”

“They didn’t like him,” Tim said. “He called us stupid and silly. Mike and Pat felt very hurt. They were going to do something about it.”

“Good God!” Larry groaned. “How long have they been gone.”

“I don’t know,” Tim said. “I can’t tell time.”

Larry lifted the puppet from his shoulder and put him back on the stage. He had to stop Mike and Pat somehow.

“What were they going to do to the colonel?” he demanded.

“They were going to puncture the hot water bottle in his bed,” Tim giggled. “All they needed was a needle. They figured he would be pretty surprised when the water leaked out in the middle of the night.”

Larry groaned. This would certainly put him in solid with the colonel. The old ram-rod would naturally blame him for anything that happened. The only thing he could do was to try and stop Mike and Pat before it was too late.

He shook a finger sternly at Tim. “You stay here, you understand?”

“Yes. I am waiting for the show to go on. I want to do what is right.” Larry patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Good boy,” he said. “I wish the others were like you.”

He switched off the light and hurried back through the library and up the stairs. The upper floors were dark and he had to feel his way along, but he remembered Gloria saying that the colonel’s room was across the hall from his own, and that made his job simpler.

He hesitated at the door of the colonel’s room. He had a normal amount of courage but there was something about invading the sanctity of the old boy’s boudoir that unnerved him. Still, every man has his Rubicon to cross, and Larry was no exception.

With a silent prayer he gently opened the door and eased himself into the darkened room.

Chapter IV

The only sound that disturbed the stillness of the room was the slightly asthmatic breathing of the colonel. This stertorous noise emanated from one corner of the room and Larry rightly presumed that the old gentleman was lying there in bed, enjoying his well-earned rest.

So far so good.

Apparently Mike and Pat hadn’t gotten this far.

This comforting thought was blasted an instant later as Larry heard a slight scuffling sound at the foot of the colonel’s bed, followed by a muffled snicker.

Pat and Mike were obviously on deck and up to no good.

Larry moved cautiously toward the looming shadow of the bed. Tim had mentioned that the two obstreperous puppets, Pat and Mike, were planning some shenanigans with the hot water bottle at the foot of the colonel’s bed.

Obviously the quickest way to circumvent their scheme would be to simply remove the hot water bottle. That, to Larry, seemed the essence of logic.

With this idea in mind he carefully lifted the covers at the foot of the bed and began a cautious search for the bottle.

He felt something bump against his foot and he heard a giggling laugh somewhere from the region under the bed. He swore softly and continued his search, trying desperately to locate the rubber bottle without awakening the colonel.

But the best-laid plans can go awry, as Larry discovered to his sorrow. His hand encountered a welling puddle of water at the foot of the bed and at the same there was an enraged bellow from the colonel.

Larry froze in his tracks. All of his common-sense instincts were screaming at him to flee; but he was powerless to move. He stood like a man in a trance as the bedclothes threshed about and the colonel’s bulky shadow loomed black against the darkness as he sat bolt upright in bed.

There was a snap of an electric switch and then there was light.

The colonel stared in apoplectic bewilderment at Larry. His white mustaches were bristling with outraged indignation. And in one gnarled hand he held a huge black pistol which was pointed unwaveringly at Larry’s midriff.

“What, sir,” he said, in a strangled, hoarse voice, “is the meaning of this?”

Larry made futile efforts to speak.

His mouth opened. His tongue went through the accepted motions but no words broke the silence. He waved his hands desperately and eloquently; but it takes a lot of hand-waving to explain anything, let alone a situation as complicated and embarrassing as that confronting Larry.

The colonel watched with the sort of disgusted interest a person might bestow upon a creature scurrying from beneath a damp rock.

“I presume you have something to say,” he said with icy deliberation.

Larry continued to flutter his hands helplessly. It was all he could do.

“If those are semaphore signals you may discontinue them,” the colonel said with terrible calmness.

He threw back the covers of the bed and stood up, towering like Biblical figure of wrath in his flowing nightdress and disordered white hair.

He inspected the condition of his bed with ominous quiet. His eye moved over the hot water bottle which was punctured in a dozen places with tiny needle pricks; his jaw tightened spasmodically as he viewed the soaked mattress and sheets.

Gleaming guiltily in the center of the spreading patch of dampness was a large darning needle.

The colonel picked up the needle between his thumb and forefinger. He extended it toward Larry.

“Yours, I believe,” he said stiffly.

Larry accepted the needle dumbly. His voice was beginning to return to normalcy.

“This is all a terrible mistake,” he said. The words popped out in a stuttering rush.

The colonel eyed him coldly from under lowering brows.

“You are absolutely right,” he said. “This is a terrible mistake for you, my young friend.” His tone of voice could have been used by a Judge sentencing an ax-slayer to life imprisonment.

“You don’t understand, sir,” Larry said desperately. “I came here to prevent someone from puncturing your hot water bottle.”

“So?” The colonel’s brows arched coldly. “And who is this ‘someone’ who was interested in doing that?” Larry sputtered and again no words were forthcoming. He couldn’t explain to the colonel about the animated puppets. The man would think he had lost his mind.

“I can’t say,” he blurted. “But you must believe me. I didn’t do this.”

The colonel laid aside his gun and there was a noticeable touch of regret in the gesture.

“One doesn’t shoot one’s guests,” he said quietly. He straightened and looked Larry coldly in the eye.

“Young man, I am a just and tolerant person. I do not believe that I am harsh or vindictive. Let us therefore review the facts as they stand. I am awakened in the middle of the night by a person to whom I have extended the hospitality of my home. I find that person standing at the foot of my bed with a darning needle in his hand. I find the hot water bottle, which I am accustomed to keep at the foot of my bed, punctured in a dozen places and myself, practically inundated by the contents of the aforementioned water bottle. I demand explanations. I receive a barrage of incoherent gibberish accompanied by wild gestures which should, in my considered opinion, be restricted in the future by a straitjacket. Those, briefly and with a commendable lack of profanity, are my conclusions. If you have nothing further to add—”

“Wait!” Larry cried. He had nothing further to add that would do him any good, but he didn’t want to be shipped off to the Siberian salt mines without raising a finger. “I’ll admit things look incriminating but—”

“Young man,” the colonel said in a dreadful whisper, “I am reaching certain limits in my capacity to endure your presence. I want you to leave my room. I want you to do without opening your mouth again. And in the morning I shall expect you to leave the premises of my home without a second’s delay. In my opinion, you are an addle-pated moron who would bite the hand that fed you, wear any man’s collar, desert a floundering ship™”

“You are mixing up your metaphors slightly, Colonel,” Larry said, in what he hoped was a gaily bantering spirit. He hoped this digression would get the colonel off on a less personal tangent, but he reckoned without the colonel’s military trained, one-track mind.

“And furthermore,” the colonel continued, gathering steam and pressure with each syllable and apparently not even hearing Larry’s diversion, “if you are not out of my sight in five seconds I shall forget my mother’s training and shoot you down like a dog!”

This seemed pretty definite. And Larry had no intention of giving the colonel the pleasure of drilling a few holes through him.

He broke for the door at a fast lope. When his hand hit the knob the colonel was reaching for his gun. Larry jerked open the door and closed it behind him with a relieved sigh.

He walked dejectedly to his own room. The fat was in the fire for good, now. On the morrow he would undoubtedly be thrown as far as the colonel’s retainers were able to pitch him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette.

Even the knowledge that Pat and Mike were still in the colonel’s room failed to disturb him. So what? he thought bitterly.

There was even a dry, bitter pleasure in speculating on what the little hellions might do next to bedevil the colonel.

“Maybe they’ll put sand in his shaving cream,” he thought.

The prospect brought a wan smile to his lips and he climbed into bed. In despair he went to sleep.

Chapter V

The next morning Larry was aroused from his uneasy sleep by a clamor of voices in the hallway outside his room. For a moment he lay in bed blinking at the ceiling, and then as the memory of the previous night flooded over him he groaned softly.

But his thoughts were distracted from his sorry plight for the moment by the babble and confusion that were audibly evident outside his door.

He got out of bed rather nervously. Maybe, he thought worriedly, the colonel had sent up a crew of strong-arm men to toss him out into the cold. But there was no attempt on the part of anyone to enter his room. Footsteps rushed back and forth outside his door; voices were raised and lowered, but through the discordant din Larry recognized one particular voice that surged over and above the others like the major theme in a symphony.

This predominant voice was unmistakable. Once having heard it the chances were good that a man would recognize it on his death bed.

For it was the voice of Colonel Manners raised in rage and anguish!

Larry listened for a few seconds with a sort of grudging admiration. The old boy really had a set of pipes! And he was surpassing himself this morning.

He wondered what had caused the outburst. For a while he toyed with speculations but finally his curiosity got the better of him and he put on his robe and slippers and headed for the door.

Half-way there he was arrested by the sound of a voice. A jolly voice which said, “You’d better keep away from the colonel for a while.”

Larry stopped in his tracks and then turned slowly.

Seated on his dresser were two small figures surveying him with bright, sparkling eyes. Larry recognized them instantly as Pat and Mike, the incorrigible puppets who had been missing from the booth the previous night.

They were fashioned the same as Tim, with cleverly jointed wooden arms, legs and bodies, but there was an unholy gleam in their button eyes that was lacking in Tim’s.

“What have you little devils been up to?” Larry demanded. “What have you done to the colonel now?”

Pat looked at Mike and a malicious grin split his mischievous features.

“He wants to know what we did to the colonel,” the puppet said to his companion.

Mike grinned too. “Tell him to go and ask the colonel,” Mike said. “And then tell him he’d better duck.”

Larry crossed the room in two quick strides and swept the puppets up in his hands. They struggled and kicked in helpless fury.

Larry glared at them. “I’m through playing around with you boys,” he said grimly. “I’m going to see to it that you behave.”

He jerked open the top drawer of the dresser and dumped them in on top of his shirts. Then he closed the drawer and locked it. He put the key in his pocket.

“That’ll hold you,” he muttered.

He could hear their faint cries from inside the drawer, but he hardened his heart and strode away. Opening the door of his room he stepped out into a scene of wild confusion.

Servants rushed back and forth with tense worried looks stamped on their faces. Larry noticed Dereck Miller pacing nervously in front of the colonel’s door.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Dereck chewed his lip anxiously.

“Hell to pay,” he said tensely, “the old boy’s lost his false teeth.”

“You don’t say,” Larry murmured.

Gloria appeared at that moment from the opposite end of the corridor. She was wearing a silver lace negligee and her bare feet were thrust into tiny silver mules.

“My maid just told me the bad news,” she said breathlessly. “We’ve got to do something.”

From inside the colonel’s room the wild bellowing was reminiscent of the trumpetings of a frustrated bull elephant. There was something terrifying and cosmic about the uproar issuing from the open transom.

Dereck put his hand on Gloria’s arm comfortingly.

“We’ll find them,” he said. His jaw was dramatically tense.

The door was suddenly flung open and the colonel appeared, a wild tragic figure. His hair was flying about his head and sparks of rage were shooting from his eyes.

The sight of Larry acted like a match touched to, gasoline on the colonel. He raised his clenched fists in the air and screamed like a denested eagle.

“This is your work,” he bellowed. “Where are my teeth?”

This appeal lost a bit of effectiveness since the colonel’s lips were writhing about loosely without the support of his store teeth. But the general idea got across.

“I don’t know—” began Larry.

“Get my teeth!” thundered the colonel.

Larry had a pretty good idea of what had happened to the colonel’s teeth. Pat and Mike had obviously copped them during the night. But Larry felt no particular desire to leap to the aid and succor of the colonel. In his opinion the old goat richly deserved whatever bad luck befell him and he was about to voice this sentiment when Gloria took his arm.

“Please,” she whispered, “If you can help him, I’ll be eternally grateful.”

Larry looked at her and his hardhearted resolve melted. With her hair sleep-tumbled about her face she was as lovely as a morning rose.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said.

“Get my teeth, you scoundrel,” bellowed the colonel, hopping from one gouty foot to the other in his rage.

Larry ducked back into his room and opened the drawer in which he had imprisoned the two puppets. He lifted them out paying no attention to their shrill accusing squawks.

“Okay,” he said, when they had exhausted their repertoire of abuse, “we’re through playing games. Where are they?”

“Where are what?” Mike asked surlily.

“Don’t play dumb,” Larry said sharply, “I want the colonel’s teeth. Give!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pat mumbled.

“Oh, yes you do,” Larry said grimly. “And you’re going to tell me where they are.”

“Supposing we don’t?” Mike said sullenly.

Larry picked up his cigarette lighter from the top of the dresser. He flicked on the light and watched the blue-hot flame lick greedily into the air.

The two puppets watched the flame also, and there was a sudden anxiety in their button-like eyes.

“I am not a monster,” Larry said calmly, “but I would have no scruples about giving each of you fellows a hotfoot, if necessary, to find out what I want to know. A hot-foot in your case would probably be fatal, but I can’t help that.”

Mike twisted uneasily in his hand. Pat did likewise.

“Who wants any old false teeth?” Mike said suddenly.

“I don’t,” Pat said promptly.

“Start talking,” Larry said.

“They’re in the top drawer,” Mike said. “Please put out that lighter. It’s giving me heart burn.”

Larry put out the lighter and tossed the puppets back into the drawer beside his shirts. He closed the drawer and locked it. Then he opened the top drawer and the first sight that met his eyes was the colonel’s very large, very white and very false set of teeth.

With them in his hand he returned to the excited group clustered about the colonel’s drawer.

Gloria saw him first. Her eyes lighted when she saw the teeth in his hand.

“Oh, you’re wonderful!” she cried.

The colonel stamped out of his room and when he saw his teeth in Larry’s hand he grabbed them like a wolf snatching meat from a trap.

He fitted them into his mouth and then he swung on Larry. His mouth opened and closed. His face purpled with his efforts at speech.

Finally he gave up.

He pointed toward the door.

“Go!” he hissed. The word seemed to seep up from the soles of his feet and it had collected plenty of venom by the time if passed through the colonel’s body and cracked out in the air about Larry’s ears.

“You said it more effectively last night,” Larry said dryly.

With an indignant wheeze the colonel padded back into his room. Larry was about to do likewise, sans the indignant wheeze when Gloria put her hand on his shoulder.

“Please don’t go yet,” she said hurriedly. “I’m sure I can talk Father out of his bad mood. We need you for the show tonight. I’ll be in a terrible mess if you don’t stay. Please, just for me?”

What could Larry do?

He shrugged. “Okay. But I’ll be packing just in case.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in the main hallway in a half hour,” Gloria said. “Everything’s going to be all right. Don’t worry.”

“I stopped worrying hours ago,” Larry said ironically. “It’s up to Fate now.”

Gloria smiled comfortingly at him and then went into her father’s room and closed the door. Larry shrugged and went back to his own room to begin packing. There was only one thing he was worried about.

The colonel might shoot Gloria.

The fact that she was his daughter would probably be only an extra inducement to the fire-belching, hard-headed, stiff-necked old goat!

Chapter VI

Larry was waiting in the hallway when Gloria came down the wide curving steps, smiling triumphantly.

“Everything’s all set,” she said. “I explained to Father that we simply couldn’t do without you tonight, and since the proceeds of the party are for Army relief, he couldn’t very well say no.

She had changed into a simple tweed suit, but he had never seen her looking quite so fresh and lovely.

“You look sweet enough to ration,” he grinned.

She looked at him quickly, slightly startled. Then she smiled. “Isn’t it a little early in the morning for pretty speeches?”

“In your case,” he said, “I don’t imagine it’s ever too early. The average girl doesn’t look quite up to par in the morning, but you look as if you’d spent the night sleeping in the bell of a flower.”

“If I had,” she laughed, “I’d be wrinkled and messy and have dew in my hair.”

She glanced out the window.

“It’s raining a little, but it’s still a nice morning. Would you like to take a walk before breakfast? You haven’t seen any of the grounds yet.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea,” Larry said. He felt his spirits not only rising, but soaring. That was what a few seconds of this lovely girl’s company did to him, he thought with a slight touch of wonder.

In spite of all the things that happened and were still scheduled to happen he felt illogically and gloriously happy. When Buggy Rafferty and the puppets got through with him this evening, he would probably be slated for free room and board at Atlanta for the next few years, but he didn’t give a damn. Right now he was going for a walk with the most beautiful girl in the world and it had been her suggestion.

Maybe he did have a chance. The thought that this glorious creature could ever return his affection was crazy and unthinkable but Larry, being human, felt hope kindling in his heart.

She got him an umbrella and they went outside. The air was bracingly keen and the misting rain transformed the grounds into a dewy fairyland. On the eastern horizon the sun was crawling sleepily from a blanket of soft clouds and the first long lances of light created a million diamond-bright sparklings in the wet trees and grass.

Larry breathed deeply.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” the girl said.

“Absolutely tops.” He grinned down at her. “Let’s take a look at the gardens. Maybe I can find that flower you slept in last night.”

“I hope you don’t,” she said. “I forgot to make the bed.”

They walked hand in hand across the smooth, landscaped lawn until they came to the riotously colorful gardens. Under the shelter of a lane of trees, they paused. She stood close enough to him so that when he leaned forward a soft strand of hair blew across his face.

She turned slightly and looked up at him, her eyes dark and serious.

“I was wondering,” she said softly, “why this has been so much fun. Is it just the garden and the rain, or is there some other reason?”

“I think there’s another reason,” Larry said. He knew that this was his moment of opportunity and it might never come again. He put his hands on her slim shoulders and smiled down into her eyes.

“What reason is that?” she asked, and her voice caught breathlessly on the words.

Larry started to say the things that had been in his heart forever, but before he could open his mouth he felt a sharp dig in his left ankle.

He winced involuntarily; but the girl didn’t notice. Her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted.

Larry glanced down and saw Tim standing on the ground between his feet, carrying a postcard which was bigger than he was. A sharp flash of panic stabbed him. This was no time for Gloria to find out about his animated puppets.

He shoved Tim away with his foot, but the little puppet returned doggedly and began pulling at his trouser leg.

“What were you going to say, Larry?” Gloria asked softly.

Larry shook Tim loose and kicked him as gently as possible into the bushes that bordered the trees.

“I was going to say we’d better be going,” he said hoarsely. “It’s raining. Might get wet.”

Gloria opened her eyes. A spot of color appeared in each cheek. She stared for an instant at Larry with eyes that were hurt and angry.

“I’m sorry I’ve kept you out,” she said evenly. “Forgive me.”

She turned and walked quickly away through the rain toward the house. Larry started after her, but a small voice checked him.

Tim was crawling out of the bushes still carrying the postcard.

“What’s the idea?” he demanded in an injured voice.

“I might ask you the same question,” Larry said bitterly. “You’ve just ruined the best love scene since ‘Birth of a Nation’.”

“I am determined to be useful,” Tim said doggedly.

“What are you doing with that postcard?”

“I am delivering it. Mail must be delivered and I am determined to be useful.”

Larry bent down wearily and took the postcard from the little puppet. It was not addressed to him. It was addressed to the colonel.

“This isn’t for me,” he said disgustedly.

“I don’t know much about mail yet,” said Tim, “but I can learn.”

“Stop trying to be useful,” Larry said. “Go back to the booth and keep out of trouble. I’ve got enough on my mind without having to worry about you.”

“Fine thing,” Tim said disgustedly. “There’s no room for private initiative any more. That’s what the WPA did.”

“Scat!” Larry said.

Tim trudged off moodily in the direction of the house and Larry was left alone with the misting rain and the garden. The rain got down his neck and the garden looked like a surrealist’s nightmare.

He shivered and went back to his room.

There he made another disquieting discovery.

Pat and Mike were gone. Somehow, they had gotten out of the drawer. There was no way of knowing where they were or what sadistic devilment they were planning.

“Nuts!” said Larry Temple, distinctly and loudly.

Chapter VII

Formally clad guests began arriving at about eight o’clock that evening for Gloria’s party. There was a bustle and stir in the big home as servants moved quickly about, passing drinks and answering the door. At the foot of the broad winding stairs stood the colonel and Gloria, greeting the guests as they arrived.

The colonel wore evening clothes and his left breast was decorated with silk ribbons and various campaign stripes. He looked very distinguished and every inch the great retired soldier as he bowed and smiled to the women and shook hands with the men.

Gloria, at his side, was a ravishing vision in a gleaming white formal that transformed her slender body into a flowing picture of perfection. Suspended from her slender throat was a magnificent diamond.

But while she smiled and chatted readily with the stream of guests that passed, there was sadness in the haunting depths of her eyes.

Larry noticed all this from the top of the stairs.

He was standing there in the semidarkness trying to work up enough courage to go down and face the crowd and Gloria and the colonel. Particularly the colonel.

The puppets were still missing; Buggy Rafferty had not yet disclosed what his plans were for the evening; and the colonel would most likely shoot on sight. But Larry had almost reached the saturation point as far as worry was concerned. He had been through too much. With a fatalistic shrug he decided to let the future take care of itself.

He descended the stairs slowly.

Gloria looked up at him and for an instant there was a strange light in her eyes. Then she composed her features in a polite mask and smiled coldly.

“Nice of you to come down,” she murmured. “The entertainment is scheduled to start at nine o’clock, you know.”

“I can hardly wait,” Larry said drily.

The colonel turned to him with a smile and extended his hand.

“Nice to have you with us tonight, sir. Please make yourself at home and feel free—”

He recognized Larry then and his hand fell to his side. The smile hardened on his craggy face. His mustaches bristled alarmingly.

“Will you be good enough to remove yourself from my presence,” he snarled. “I refuse to be responsible for the consequences if I am forced to endure more of your company, sir!”

Larry regarded the colonel for an instant with level eyes. He was getting thoroughly fed up with this pompous old goat’s domineering bluster.

“I suggest, sir,” he said courteously, “that you take a running jump in the lake for yourself.”

He turned and strode away, deriving some consolation from the startled, incredulous expression that had registered on the colonel’s seamy features.

He avoided the groups of drinking guests in the drawing room and went on through the library into the sun room. There he stared gloomily at his puppet booth. Tim was seated on the stage looking rather blue, but of Pat and Mike there was no sign.

A door opened and Buggy Rafferty appeared.

“Hiya, chum?” he said affably.

Larry looked at the man and winced. He was wearing a camel’s, hair sport coat and green slacks. A yellow tie stood out gruesomely against a red shirt. He was smoking his inevitable cigar and packing his inevitable pistol.

“Nice to see you again,” Larry said.

“Tonight’s the night,” Buggy said, cheerily. “I got everything set. Did you notice that diamond pendant the filly is wearing?”

“You mean Miss Manners, I presume?”

“Don’t get hoity-toity. It ain’t becoming. That rock is what I got my eyes on. And everything is set perfectly.”

“Fine,” Larry said despairingly. He left the sunroom moodily.

He wandered into the drawingroom and observed the antics of the guests with a gloomy eye. In a corner of the room, Dereck, sleek and immaculate in tails, was spellbinding an awed group of young girls with tales of his exploits on far-flung and perilous battle fronts.

They were listening in thrilled fascination.

Larry sauntered past and Dereck’s smooth effective words reached him.

“...the Messerschmidt, I dare say, thought I was a goner. And at that particular moment I would have agreed with him. But...”

Larry drifted on and Dereck’s voice faded out. He felt no curiosity as to how Dereck had escaped the Nazi trap. The fact that he obviously had, destroyed his interest in the story.

He was standing in a deserted corner of the room, wondering how his personal and professional problems would eventually work out when he saw Gloria walk to the center of the room and raise her hands for attention.

Her announcement was brief.

“We have an interesting surprise for you,” she smiled at the guests. “From Broadway, we have been fortunate enough to secure the services of a very talented young man and he is now going to amuse us as only he can.”

She waved her hand toward the sunroom and two servants appeared shoving the puppet booth into the center of the room. With a graceful gesture she pointed to Larry, who was standing miserably against the wall.

“I think the young man deserves a hand,” she said brightly. “After all, he’s had nothing to do all day but walk around in the rain and that can’t have been very interesting.”

Larry moved out from the wall and bowed as the guests clapped politely. Walking past Gloria he murmured, “Keep your punches legal, chum.”

He proceeded to the puppet booth like a man marching the Last Mile. There was no way in the world he could put on an act with only Tim and he had no idea of where the other puppets, Pat and Mike were. They hadn’t put in an appearance since escaping from the drawer in his room that morning.

Delaying the inevitable moment when he must confess to these people that there wasn’t going to be any performance, he inspected carefully the strings that led to Tim. They were all in order. He fiddled around a little longer and he was conscious of a murmur of faint impatience from the guests.

He felt the back of his neck getting warm.

Dereck’s smooth voice drifted to him. “Our puppeteer seems to be having trouble. Out of puppies, I presume.”

This didn’t help any.

Finally he quit stalling. There was nothing to do but tell them the truth and then get the hell out of here. He turned and faced the roomful of expectant guests.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but—”

He got no farther for at that instant the lights suddenly went out and the room was plunged into darkness. There was a startled scream from a girl and a babble of men’s voices, over which the commanding tones of the colonel rode easily.

“Don’t be alarmed!” he bellowed, in a voice which would have terrified the stoutest heart. “The lights will be on in a moment.”

There was an uneasy rustle of movement in the crowd of guests and excited whispers flitted through the darkness.

Then from the center of the room there was a frightened gasp and a voice cried, “Someone’s stolen my necklace!”

Larry recognized the voice as Gloria’s.

“Somebody turn those damn lights on,” he shouted. He moved as quickly as he could through the darkness toward the sound of her voice. Someone collided with him, but before Larry could recognize the dim shape, the fellow had slipped past and was gone.

Then the lights went on again, as suddenly as they had gone out, and the roomful of guests stared at one another, blinking in the bright illumination.

Larry was standing directly in front of Gloria and he saw that her hands pressed against her throat and that the diamond pendant was gone. She was staring at him with wide eyes, dark and troubled against the whiteness of her face.

The colonel charged into the scene at that moment and with him was a dapper little man in a tuxedo.

“Are you all right, child?” the colonel demanded.

“Y-yes, I’m all right,” Gloria said slowly. She was still staring at Larry. “The moment the lights went out someone stepped up to me. I felt his hand at my throat for a second — and then my diamond pendant was gone.”

The dapper little man stepped forward. His eyes were sharp and hard.

“I’m representing the Allied Insurance Company, Miss Manners. I was sent here when the company learned that you were intending to wear your diamond tonight.” He looked at her keenly. “Why did you say you felt ‘his’ hand at your throat. Did you recognize the thief as a man?”

Gloria nodded slowly. She turned her eyes away from Larry.

“I know it was a man,” she said.

“Did you recognize him?” the insurance detective asked.

Gloria shook her head. “No.” She said the one word in a low voice.

Larry happened to glance through the arched doors that led to the hallway and he noticed a glaringly conspicuous figure moving toward the front door.

The conspicuous figure was Buggy Rafferty and he was tiptoeing toward the door as if he were walking on eggs. No one else had seen him.

“Just a minute, Buggy,” Larry said in a loud, clear voice.

Buggy halted in mid-step, his hand on the doorknob.

Larry nudged the insurance detective. “There’s your man,” he said.

Buggy turned slowly and faced the roomful of guests. His red, wrinkled face wore a look of faint surprise.

“Did someone call me?” he asked innocently.

The insurance detective looked uncertainly from Larry to Buggy.

“You’d better come in here,” he said. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Buggy came slowly into the room twisting his hat in his hands.

“Is anything the matter?” he asked. His little eyes were wide with innocent surprise. Larry began to feel slightly uneasy.

“Miss Manners’ necklace has been stolen,” the detective said.

“You don’t say so!” Buggy said indignantly. He shook his head sorrowfully. “That’s too bad.”

Larry said, “You can stop acting innocent, Buggy. Hand over the necklace.”

Buggy looked at him as if he hadn’t heard aright.

“What an awful thing to say, Mr. Temple,” he said sadly. “I—”

“Search him!” Larry said. But he was beginning to feel that something was radically wrong. And a few minutes later, when the detective had gone through Buggy’s pockets and found nothing — he knew that something was wrong.

The detective looked at Larry with unconcealed irritation.

“You had better be more careful with your accusations,” he said sharply.

Dereck moved into the picture then, shoving Larry slightly as he stepped into the circle surrounding Gloria.

“Our puppeteer must be forgiven,” he said ironically. “The exciting nature of his work keeps him in a rather unbalanced state. I have a suggestion to make that should straighten this mess out without any more delay. No one has left the room since the lights went on. Therefore I propose that we search those present. I, for one, am willing.”

There was a general murmur of assent from the guests.

“A capital idea,” the colonel said. He cleared his throat importantly. “And I insist that I be searched first.”

No one cared to dispute this honor with him, and the detective searched him quickly and deftly. Nothing was found.

“You’re okay,” the detective said.

“I thank you, sir,” the colonel said, with the air of a man who had been exonerated in a dramatic jury trial.

The detective then began searching the others, and the colonel moved along the line with him, ready to pounce on the thief if he should be revealed.

Buggy was standing next to Larry.

“Nice little double-cross, chum,” he said from the corner of his mouth.

“I would rather not discuss the matter,” Larry said. His thoughts were on the missing diamond. If Buggy didn’t have it on his person, he must have hidden it somewhere. But where? He would have to find out before Buggy disappeared with a clean bill of health — and the diamond.

The colonel and the detective would be searching them in a few moments now. They were only two guests away from Buggy and Larry.

Larry was in a hurry to get the thing over with. Impatiently he shoved his hands into his coat pocket. There was a round hard object in his right pocket. His fingers closed around it slowly.

His face began to get hot. There was suddenly a cold vacuum where his stomach should have been. Cautiously he removed his hand from the pocket and peeked at the object nestling in his fingers.

And he almost fainted on the spot.

For the object in his hand was Gloria’s pendant necklace!

How the diamond had gotten there, he couldn’t imagine; but he knew that this was not the time to speculate on such academic questions. The colonel and the detective were searching Buggy now and in an instant they would be going through his pockets.

He had to get rid of the diamond and he didn’t have a second to lose. While he was casting about feverishly in his mind for something more practical than popping the damned thing into his mouth, he felt a tug on his trouser leg.

Glancing down, he saw the tiny figure of the puppet, Tim, standing next to his shoe peering up at him. Larry shoved him away impatiently. This was no time for irrelevancies. And anything not definitely relating to the speedy disposition of that incriminating diamond was damned irrelevant.

But he reckoned without Tim’s persistence. The tug was repeated, determinedly.

“I want to so something useful,” Tim’s tiny voice floated up to him. “I am tired of being idle. I want something to do.”

An idea born of desperation popped into Larry’s head. The detective was turning to him when, with a fervent prayer, he dropped the diamond pendant to Tim. He couldn’t risk a glance to see what Tim would do with it.

All that was left to him was hope.

He met the detective’s sharp gaze with what blandness he could muster.

The colonel breathed noisily as he regarded Larry.

“Search this man carefully,” he ordered the detective. “He looks like the criminal type to me.”

“Teeth comfortable?” Larry inquired pleasantly of the old man. The remark scored a direct hit. The colonel’s cheeks flushed a violent pink. His fists clenched spasmodically.

“I wish I had you in my company for one day, young man,” he fumed. “I’d teach you the meaning of respect to your elders.”

“A man who expects respect simply because of his age, is headed for the grazing grounds of senility,” Larry said pleasantly. “According to your theory, sir, an Egyptian mummy should be practically idolized.”

The detective completed his search and turned to the colonel.

“Nothing there,” he said.

The colonel controlled his disappointment manfully, but his attitude indicated clearly that if Larry were innocent it was only because someone else had beaten him to the diamond.

“Harrumph!” he growled and moved after the detective.

Larry looked up and saw Gloria watching him. She dropped her eyes quickly but not before he noticed the radiant light of relief that seemed to illuminate her face.

The detective was searching Dereck and Larry turned to watch the procedure. Dereck was smiling pleasantly.

“Look carefully,” he said. “I shouldn’t want you to overlook anything.”

“I won’t,” the detective said, and there was suddenly a grimmer note in his voice. He knelt quickly and fumbled at Dereck’s trouser cuff for an instant and then stood up. The smile was gone from his face.

In his hand he held Gloria’s pendant necklace.

“You weren’t so smart, after all,” he snapped.

There was an incredulous gasp from the assembled guests.

“There’s some mistake!” the colonel roared.

Dereck’s face was as pale as ivory.

“I agree with you, Colonel,” he said smoothly. “There has been a mistake made and our clever detective has made it. He should have drawn his gun.”

A short, ugly revolver appeared magically in his own hand. He snatched the necklace from the detective’s hand, backed away a pace, swinging the gun about to cover the entire room.

“You stupid fools,” he said mockingly, “you fell for my charming line without hesitation, didn’t you?” His eyes were cool and dangerous as he backed toward the archway leading to the hall. “I shouldn’t advise any of you to attempt to follow me. It won’t be healthy.” He smiled ironically. “And you can spare yourself the effort of phoning the police. I took the precaution of cutting the wires before I turned the lights out.”

Larry listened in dazed disbelief. Dereck had stolen the diamond in the first place, not Buggy. Then he had planted it on him, when the search started, probably intending to recover it somehow. But Tim had deposited the pendant in Dereck’s trouser cuff, thus reversing the situation again.

And now Dereck was about to make his getaway. Larry tensed himself and moved forward instinctively, but Dereck’s gun swung around to cover him.

“Don’t try to be a hero,” Dereck said coldly. “Frankly I would enjoy shooting you.”

Larry stopped in his tracks and Dereck backed toward the hallway.

“Au revoir, my stupid friends,” he smiled.

A figure stepped out from the hall behind Dereck and rubbed his knuckles carefully. This figure was dressed like a rainbow and there was an expression of scientific detachment on his wrinkled face as he measured the distance to a spot just back of Dereck’s ear.

His arm came down in a swift chopping stroke and on the end of that arm there was a clenched fist, as hard as rock and twice as effective.

Dereck’s eyes spun crazily at the moment of impact. The gun slipped from his fingers and he toppled slowly to the floor.

“Neat, eh?” Buggy Rafferty smiled at the guests.

Larry stepped forward quickly and his hand closed over the diamond pendant a split second before Buggy’s. Buggy drew back and straightened up sheepishly.

“Too late again,” he said mournfully.

“You aren’t a crook at heart, I’m afraid,” Larry grinned.

“That hurts,” Buggy said, sighing heavily. “I guess I’ll go now. I was just making my exit when they found the diamond on this lug. I couldn’t let him get away with it.”

“Why not?” Larry asked.

Buggy shrugged. “I don’t know. Professional jealousy, I guess.”

Larry turned and handed the necklace to the detective from the insurance Company and then he looked for Gloria, but she was nowhere in sight.

Excusing himself, he hurried through the library and into the sun-room. On the veranda that bordered this room he found her. She was leaning against one of the wooden columns, regarding the moon with a rather belligerent expression on her small face.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello yourself.”

“They found the diamond.”

“I know. Go away.”

Larry moved around in front of her and put his hands on her bare shoulders. They were cold to his touch.

“Let me get you a wrap,” he said. “You’ll catch cold out here.”

“Never mind. I’m going up to my room now. Good night.”

“Please don’t go,” Larry said desperately. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“I am not interested,” Gloria said in a small voice. Her lower lip was trembling. “Take your hands off me. I’m going.”

Larry sighed. “All right,” he said, dropping his hands to his side. “Go ahead.”

A metallic snap broke the quietness. Gloria looked up at him suddenly, a startled, half-frightened expression on her face. She had been leaning against a veranda post and now she straightened up, a funny, scared look in her eyes.

“Larry,” she said, “I—”

“You were going to your room,” Larry reminded her coldly. “Please do not let me keep you.”

She leaned back, her arms behind her, around the post.

“What were you going to tell me?” she asked.

“I forget. Are you going or aren’t you?”

“I can’t,” she said in a muffled voice. “You can’t? You’re being silly.

What’s keeping you?”

“These.” She turned slightly and Larry’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw that her slender wrists were securely handcuffed behind the post.

And sitting on the veranda railing, legs crossed, was Tim.

“Did you do this?” Larry demanded. Tim nodded. “I had to do something to keep her from leaving. Do your stuff.”

The angry glint in Larry’s eyes faded slowly. There was good sense in what Tim said.

“Scat, chum,” he said. “I can take over from here.”

Tim moved away. “I found Pat and Mike, by the way.”

“Where?”

“In the garden.” Tim shook his head sadly. “A woodpecker got ’em.”

“Excellent,” Larry said contentedly. He took the girl in his arms.

“This is a terrible advantage to take,” he smiled, “but there’s nothing much you can do about it.”

He kissed her soundly and was not too surprised that she kissed him back. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“It’s too bad all prisoners aren’t treated as nicely,” she murmured.

“We’ll have those cuffs off in a jiffy,” Larry said, “I want to trade them for a smaller size that comes in the single model for the third finger, left hand.”

“Darling!” Gloria cried.

She was silent a moment for the excellent reason that her lips were engaged in another pastime. Finally she said, “Darling, who were you talking to a moment ago?”

Larry grinned at her. “One of my puppets.”

She laughed merrily.

“You say the funniest things, darling.”