There was a dense silence. Hotstuff shuffled out of the dimness and took up his place unsteadily at Marc's side.
"Okay, you crazy cats!" he hollered. "Which one of you pinched Mrs. Pillsworth's rocks?"
"Was she wearin' them at the time?" a female voice inquired.
"No, she wasn't," Marc said. "What has that got to do with it?"
"Plenty," the voice said. "If she was wearin' them there might have been a hell of a lot more pinched than just her jewelry." The speaker sighed with understanding. "Sometimes a girl likes to be pinched just for herself alone."
"You're gonna get slugged just for yourself alone if you don't shut up," Hotstuff snapped. He paused significantly. "Ain't no one gonna sing?" He turned back to Marc. "Was the stuff insured?"
"Yes," Marc said, "but it's not as simple as that." Resignedly, he launched into the story of his domestic problems. "So, you see," he concluded imploringly, "I have to have the original jewels back or I might lose my wife."
"And she's out two-timin' you with this Mario creep?" a voice said indignantly. "Disgustin'!"
"You gotta take your rod and blast the guy," another voice said hotly. "Defendin' your home, you could get off scot free."
"Hey!" Hotstuff broke in suddenly, "I got a great idea!" He grinned at his unseen audience with triumph. "Here we are, enjoyin' a healthful, restful day in the country, all at Mr. Pillsworth's expense. Well, now, don't it seem like we owe him some kind of token of thanks?"