One of the clerks, having miraculously escaped the ravages of battle, was streaking up the stairs to the mezzanine in a state of gibbering hysteria. Reaching Marc and the president who was now gasping at Marc's side, the fellow slowed to a sliding stop and began visibly to wilt with terror. The president grabbed him quickly beneath the arms and held him away from the floor.
"What is it?" he yelled. "What's going on down there? Tell me!"
The clerk shivered in his employer's arms. "I ... I don't know," he gasped. "I ... I was down in the vaults ... in the vaults ... making up the payroll for the Reedley Chemical Works ... and ... and...." His voice trailed off into a shuddering whine. "It was aw-w-w-ful!"
The president shook him energetically. "What happened?" he demanded. "Speak up, you ninny!"
The clerk's eyes rolled loosely in their sockets, fell inadvertently on the scene below and darted away. "Those two sacks of money ... they were behind me ... they went crazy all of a sudden. They flew up into the air and started singing and carrying on something terrible! Then ... then, they started out the door ... well, I tried to stop them. At first I tried being nice about it ... I tried to reason with them ... and ... and they struck me! And that isn't all! Those are the most foul-mouthed money bags in existence!"
The bank president promptly dropped the clerk to the floor. "The fellow's hysterical," he said. "It's a plot, a foul plot to rob this bank! Where are the police?" He stared over the rail and his question was promptly answered. The bank police, two of them, were trembling outside the enclosure, trying to nudge each other forward. "They practice the rhumba," he screamed, "while the bank is looted!"
At this point Marc left the president abruptly, vaulted over the collapsible clerk and made his way to the stairs. Half way down the flight he paused and prepared to take the second half in one heroic leap. There was no question in his mind that his suspicion had borne the deadly fruit he had feared; George had indeed followed him to the bank. Now the soulless shade, in a burst of misguided boy-scoutishness, was blithely playing fast and loose with the Reedley Chemical Works' payroll.
Marc made his appearance on the scene of strife in a confused sprawl that was far from heroic. Then, he sat up, bewilderment written into every line of his face. Not until this moment had he stopped to consider the course that he was about to take. Clearly, to be seen in close association with those demented sacks would be to invite disaster. The implication would be entirely clear to everyone, especially to the irate bank president. The only safe procedure, then, was to stay clear of the whole affair and let the money bags shift for themselves, which they seemed to be doing with remarkable agility from the sound of things behind the enclosure. Then he started with shock as a hand fell to his shoulder. He glanced up to find Toffee standing beside him.
"Don't do that!" he fairly screamed. "Don't scare me like that!"