Toffee glanced at the ornamental clock on the bedstand. It was well after midnight, and she was still in the land of reality. That meant that Marc was still awake—and still worrying about Julie—and the bombs.
She crossed to the bed, sat down as before, and ran her hand absently over the lace coverlette. Something had to be done to help Marc before he became a nerve case. It was true that she had gained the attention of the law makers, but now it seemed that the law makers were as irresponsible a group as one could wish for. And there might not be much time left. Something had to be done ... something big ... and in a hurry. If either side could be made to see the sheer idiocy of the situation. If, for instance, You Know Where....
Suddenly Toffee stood up.
"My gosh!" she cried. "If I could only...!"
She stopped suddenly and a gasp came to her lips. Even as she did so her very being seemed to fade a bit.
"Oh, no!" she cried. Then slowly she became more completely materialized again; Marc had yawned. She ran to the door and threw it open. Instantly the guard, a youngish ape in a dark suit, appeared before her.
"Yes, miss?"
"I've got to see Mr. Pillsworth!" Toffee cried. "He's going to sleep and he mustn't! Not yet." She started forward, but the guard stood firm.
"Sorry, miss," he said. "You're not permitted to see Mr. Pillsworth tonight."
"But I must!" Toffee cried. "He has to stay awake until...!"