ong shafts of sunlight split the obscure shadows that had hidden Jim Drake's room for the past twelve hours. Drake turned over carefully in bed, groaned and reached for the full glass on the table.
"Puffy!" His voice arose in shattering crescendo across the stillness of the rich apartment and crashed against the door. "Puffy—it's me. Take these damned rocks off my head."
Adams opened the door and came forward with a sly grin on his face.
"Okay—Okay." He was impatient. "I'm coming, Cinderella."
Drake swallowed the contents of the glass in a single gulp and stretched out with a sickly grin.
"That was a wonderful dream I had last night," he said weakly. "Remind me to call Walt Disney."
Adams went across the room and drew open the curtains. A two o'clock sun slipped into the room and Drake hid himself hurriedly in the pillow.
"Turn out that damned light," he shouted. "Now—about that fox woman. Walt Disney oughta' pay...."
Puffy had braced his feet and placed his stocky arms behind his back.
"It wasn't any dream," he said calmly.