He switched on the ignition and started the motor.
The car was just pulling out from the curb when the Blemishes arrived in a grim dog trot and placed restraining hands on the edge of the door. Together they regarded Toffee and Marc with baleful hurt. And produced their revolvers. Marc braked the car to a stop.
"Golly," Toffee said, turning to Marc. "I forgot all about them."
"What do they want?" Marc asked.
"You remember," Toffee said. "They captured us up on the roof. They think we're their prisoners." She turned back to the pouting brothers. "Look, boys," she smiled like a patient parent with a pair of fanciful and rather dreadful children, "we just haven't got time to be your prisoners right now. We'd love to, really but we've got to leave. Why don't you call Marc up on the telephone some time and...."
The brothers shook their heads in doleful coordination.
"Now, why be difficult? We'd be just crazy to have you capture us some other time, but right now.... It's not that you're not perfectly sinister and all that.... Now put those guns away and go spy on someone else for a while."
"No," said Cecil. "Huh-uh."
"Huh-uh," Gerald echoed.
Marc leaned forward impatiently. "Look here," he said firmly. "I don't have time for any more of this nonsense. I've got to get home. Now either you get off this car or you don't, but I'm leaving."