"Helpovitch," she whispered.
There was a moment, then the ear shuddered delicately, after which it turned red and withdrew quickly from sight. Here, Toffee realized, was the sort of ear that responded to a firm hand. She shoved the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. Then she turned about—and stopped short.
It wasn't so much the room which, large and marbled, was a gasping matter all in itself—but the room's occupant; the ear had been misleading for its owner was none other than You Know Who himself. Between the Great Leader and Toffee there wasn't much to choose for goggle-eyed surprise. Toffee, however, was the first to recover from the encounter.
"Well," she said, "just the old villain I'm looking for!"
The Great Leader, his eyes retreating back into their sockets, set his mustache atremble with a great sucking breath and launched into a series of resonant sounds.
"Knock it off," Toffee commanded. "You're making a fog in here. Besides, I can't understand a word of that juicy jazz."
"So!" the Leader exploded. "Who iss? How you got har, hah?"
"Well," Toffee murmured relievedly, "at least you can speak English—using the language loosely, that is."
"How come you har, hey?" the Leader insisted truculently. "Why not soldiers kill you forst?"