Marc rattled off a list of words that will never be found in any dictionary. Then he started forward. It was a mistake that, in his anger, he leaped. His foot became ensnared in the wreckage of the shattered chair, and he shot head-first into space. He came down heavily against the floor, rolled partly over on his back, grinned foolishly, and lay still.
It was precisely at this moment that Julie drew abreast of the struggling redhead out on the stage.
"I'll lay you out so stiff," she grated, "people will think you're a pool cue!"
She reached out a slender, red-taloned hand and clutched a handful of grey chiffon. There was a sudden ripping sound, and then it happened. The redhead, dress and all, instantly vanished into thin air. Julie drew back with a startled cry.
The explanation of Toffee's disappearance was simple. Since she was projected into the world of reality only through Marc's full consciousness, the blow that had temporarily put an end to Marc's activities had simultaneously snuffed out Toffee's earthly existence.
To the audience, though, it was a matter of even greater simplicity. The vanishing girl was merely an excellent stage effect, excellently executed, and they applauded it with bountiful enthusiasm. They were still applauding when the curtain swung together to hide the confusion that followed.
Behind the scenes, George was briskly brushing the dust of the law from his hands as he returned to the wings where Marc still slumbered. Just why the ghost had chosen this particular moment to expend a portion of his limited ectoplasm on materialization was never quite clear; perhaps it had somehow aided him in his labors with the prostrated minion of the law. At any rate he strode, a full figure of a man, as it were, from the shadows, just as Julie emerged from the stage, the picture of pent-up rage. It was unfortunate that the paths of these two beings were fated to cross at this particular moment. Julie regarded the replica of her husband as a frost might look on a blossoming violet just prior to administering the chilly sting of death.
"You!" she seethed, unreason glowing in her eyes. "You were behind all that, Marc Pillsworth!" She gestured angrily toward the stage. "I feel it in my bones."
"I don't doubt it," George said amiably, a bit bewildered. "That dress you have on is terribly thin, isn't it?"