Brady looked up at Peter with what could well be called a jaundiced eye. He said. "Did you think this would get you off the hook? How stupid do you think we are? Phony bills, a phony story, phony letter—Merton, you're just plain phony, all the way through. Come on along; it's back to the hoosegow for you. And this time, try—"
It is difficult to say what Brady might have suggested that Peter try, for he never finished the sentence. He was interrupted by a sudden roar of sound that reminded him of a broken steam pipe. Suddenly, the air was filled with books, magazines, papers, clothing, shoes, ash trays, cigarettes, pencils, pens, candy, sandwiches, and a thousand and one other things, all spewing from the safe like water out of a fire hose.
Irene gasped as her dress was snatched back into the other world.
Amid the confusion Peter saw Irene running for the door, clad only in the sheerest of bra and panties.
"Where is Brady?" shouted Brown. "Why did that girl run off? What happened?"
"I'm not sure what happened," Peter said, "but Irene had a perfectly good reason for running off. And as for Brady—"
He pointed toward the tremendous heap of stuff on the floor.