Immediately, arms closed around Toffee's waist and drew her closer. She drew back.
"Let me go, George!" she cried. "You're taking advantage of my mistake."
George released her. "How did you know?" he asked disappointedly.
"Don't be silly," Toffee laughed. "If Marc ever showed that much cooperation, I'd drop dead ... of sheer joy. I'd...."
"Holy smoke!" George broke in unexpectedly. He was looking fixedly at the clock on the opposite wall.
"What's wrong?" Marc asked.
"It's only five minutes to twelve," George replied uneasily. "My thirty-six hours are all but over. The High Council will be recalling me any minute now."
Meanwhile, the spectators had joined together in a general exodus. With a definite feeling of having been cheated, they were moving toward the doorway in a sullen, grumbling tangle. Some, however, were struggling toward Marc and his companions. These were reporters.
"Oh, Judas!" Marc cried. "If you fade out right here, where they can see you, we're cooked. Let's make a run for it!"