Marc jumped back into the shadows completely by surprise. And not a moment too soon.
Instantly there was the sound of running footsteps and Gerald appeared around the edge of the scaffolding. He stopped, looked at Toffee, then glanced apprehensively upward. It was then, true to Toffee's promise, that Marc knew what to do with the pipe. Stepping forward, he placed it firmly on the back of Gerald's skull. With a small cry of surprise, the little man dropped to the floor. Quickly Toffee bent over him, put her hand in his pocket and brought out a key.
"Thank heavens we got the right one," she breathed. "Hurry!"
She and Marc sped for the door, dodging swiftly through the tangle of apparatus as they ran. Behind them there was the sound of running, exclamations.
Toffee reached the door first and quickly thrust the key into the lock. Marc joined her and helped her unlock the door and shove it open. They darted across the veranda, down the creaking steps, and out into the night.
"Stop!" they heard Cecil yell behind them, "Come back!"
They didn't stop running until they had come to the end of the drive and onto the tree-lined lane. And then they paused only momentarily, to get their breath. Then they started forward again as they saw an ancient car, some distance away, pull up at the side of the road and park.
Dalmer Boyde, a pimpled youth of negligible sophistication, switched off the ignition, leaned back, and glanced covetously at the voluminous charms of Floramae Davis. Inwardly he experienced a certain jolting sensation. Haltingly he reached out and placed an arm against the back of Floramae's neck in a sort of amorous strangle hold.
"Floramae," Dalmer said with passionate overtones, "I think you're just every bit as pretty as a striped snake."