"Oh, yes," Chadwick smiled. "We did take the pills, didn't we? We're bullet-proof. To coin an expression, the world is practically ours."
Agatha took him by the arm. "Yes, dear," she said gaily. "Tax free, too. Shall we duck out and rifle a few banks just for a starter?" her voice was exuberant, almost giddy.
"Right-ho," Chadwick said agreeably. "And maybe a jewelry shop or two, eh? Just for good luck."
They started happily toward the door, too wrapped up in their gold-tinted dreams of the future to notice the fascinated, expectant gaze of their erstwhile adversaries. They were almost into the outer office when it happened. Unquestionably it was the shock of their lives.
They seemed to melt like popsicles in a furnace. They dwindled so swiftly there was the faint sound of disturbed atmosphere, a little rush of air. Suddenly their clothes were hanging loosely about them, the ends of their sleeves trailing on the floor. And they were still melting. Agatha screamed with terror; and even as she did her voice faded away into a thin, childish wail.
"Oh, heavens!" Toffee cried. "They took too much. They're disappearing entirely!" She buried her face against Marc's shoulder. "I can't look!"
Marc and Mr. Culpepper stared at the spectacle with open-mouthed amazement.
It was a long time before Toffee found the courage to turn away from Marc's shoulder. When she did, her eyes moved apprehensively toward the door, and then she made a little whimpering sound. Two forlorn little piles of clothing lay there, one on either side of the doorway.
"Ohhh, Lord," Toffee breathed. "They're gone ... completely gone. There's nothing left of them, not even a whisper."
"'Fraid you're right," Marc said. "Fixage fixed 'em."