There was not time for Marc to answer this, for right on cue, with a blast from his whistle, Sergeant Feeney and his underlings swarmed at the head of the aisle.
"Duck!" Toffee hissed and, crouching down, vanished swiftly into the inner reaches of Imported Liquors.
Marc, followed this example, dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled behind the nearest counter in Sportswear. The official scufflings at the entrance grew louder.
"Spread out, men!" Sergeant Feeney thundered. "Check everybody!"
Behind the counter Marc settled back against the merchandise drawers. Then he jumped as a feminine voice sounded close beside him.
"May I help you, sir?" the voice inquired.
Marc, without thinking, looked around. A large, brassy blonde with circles under her eyes had hunkered down beside him. She smiled broadly at his glance.
"It's nice to get down here away from the noise and confusion, isn't it, sir?" she said throatily. "The customer is always right in this store—especially as far as I'm concerned."
As she spoke, the upper half of her dress slowly disappeared, revealing the most remarkably full net brassiere. Coloring prettily, Marc hastily snapped his eyes shut.
"Leave me alone!" he said in tones of anguish. "Please go away!"