"What happened to the silver that was here?" he asked. "A Wynant table is never left without silver."
"Oh, that," Toffee said. "We used all that up."
"For what?" the waiter wanted to know. "What did you do with it?"
Toffee pointed blandly to Marc. "He has it in his pockets," she said.
Marc shifted in his chair with musical unease and refused to meet the narrowed gaze of the waiter. There was a long moment of silence before the waiter turned back to Toffee.
"You mean he just picked it up and put it in his pockets?"
"Oh, no," Toffee said. "Of course not. We picked it up and put it in his pockets for him." She nodded to her dark-browed accomplices.
For a moment the waiter stood undecided. One could almost see the desperate churnings of his mind. Finally he bent low toward Toffee in a manner of great confidence. "Since you're so open about the whole thing," he murmured, "I trust you and your friends are playing some sort of game to amuse yourselves. I assume that you intend to take the silver back out of the gentleman's pockets and return it to the table. Am I right?"
"Certainly not," Toffee said. "We wouldn't think of it."