"Go way!" Marc yelled desperately. "Beat it!"
But the bags were not to be put off so easily. They continued forward, dancing through the air in a sort of bottom-heavy samba.
"Let's take steps!" Toffee cried. "Lots and fast! Let's get the hell out of here before those fiendish bags put the finger on us!"
Physically, mentally and spiritually, Marc was in complete and utter accord with Toffee's suggestion. His whole being longed to its very depths to be away from those awful bags and the tailor-made life of crime that George so obviously meant to force upon him. Taking Toffee's arm he took as few steps as possible to the main entrance and swung the door open. Behind, the bags hesitated, seeming somewhat taken aback at this unfriendly gesture, then with a sort of shrug, started out in playful pursuit. The two policemen, their duties now engraved on their sluggish minds in letters of flame, joined the chase reluctantly.
Marc and Toffee headed instinctively toward the parking lot behind the bank, set on giving themselves every possible mechanical advantage in this mad race for respectability. Behind them, the bags steadily lost ground right from the start, probably because their weight held back their ghostly means of locomotion. Still further back, the two policemen, plugging along in their own flat-footed way, were hardly in the running at all.
Marc and Toffee reached the grey coupe at about the same instant and threw themselves on it like a couple of drowning sailors who had just sighted a lifeboat. In the midst of their frenzied activities the wizened attendant appeared at the door of the shack and watched with quiet interest.
"Wildest pair of young folks I ever seen," he murmured. "Leapin' around all over the place like they was crazy in the head or somethin'. Nervous type I guess."
Unmindful of the attendant's concern over their hurried activities, Marc touched the starter and put the car into rapid motion. There was a sharp hiss as the tires spit gravel into the air, and a second later a loud clatter announced the abandonment of the wrecked bumper.
But with the rapid exit of the grey coupe and its harried occupants, the little attendant's worries were destined to increase rather than diminish. No sooner did the car disappear down the drive than two bags, alarmingly on their own, flashed onto the scene and presented themselves before him in mid-air.
The little man looked at them, rubbed his eyes and looked again. For a long, tense moment he continued to stare at them. Then he turned about and stepped abruptly inside the shack, closing the door firmly behind him. He lowered himself into an ancient rocking chair, sighed deeply and closed his eyes.