"Please!" Marc cried as the doctors gripped him to the table. "Use that gadget of yours--anything! Please!" "Sorry, son," Toffee said. "I guess you'll remember after this never to forget a lady's name." Marc looked up and saw the mask bearing down toward his face. "Toffee!" he yelled. "For Pete's sake!" * * * * * The mask miraculously paused in its descent, stopped. The action around the table came to a sharp halt. Eyes swiveled toward the door. Marc turned on his side just in time to observe Olliphant Gunn lumbering into the room under the weight of George's upper quarters. The nurse, her blonde hair in a state of dishevelment, followed bearing the feet and legs. Arriving at a position inside the door, they deposited their burden on the floor where it instantly curled over on its side and emitted a sodden snore. "It's Mr. Pillsworth," the nurse said breathlessly, shoving back her hair. "We brought him straight down without waiting for the orderlies." She looked up into the stunned faces staring back at her from around the table. Then her gaze fell to Marc. "My God!" she gasped. "Good Lord!" Marc groaned, taking in the stupid, smiling face of George. "Jesus!" breathed the doctor. "Amen," Toffee put in glibly. "Who's taking up the collection?" Marc turned to Toffee. "It's that gosh-awful spook again!" he breathed. "He would have to show up now!" "Actually," Toffee said, "he could not have shown up at a better time. I really was going to help you out, but now we have George." Marc's eyes brightened with slow realization. "Of course," he said, then turned as he felt the doctor's hand on his shoulder. "Yes?" "Mr. Pillsworth," the doctor said tensely. "You _are_ Mr. Pillsworth, aren't you?" Marc smiled with hypocritical innocence. "No," he said. "That's what I've been trying to get through your thick skull." He pointed to George. "That's Pillsworth there on the floor. And if you ask me he's in a pretty critical condition. You'd better start sawing away at him right now before he pops off of natural causes and robs you of the sport." "Oh, my word!" the doctor gasped. "How can I ever tell you...!" "Come," Marc said grandly, turning to Toffee, "let's leave this blood-splattered slaughter house." "I'm all for it," Toffee said gaily. "Let's flee." "I thought you didn't know that woman," the doctor said confusedly. "I begin to recognize her now," Marc replied urbanely. "It was my horror at the crass brutality of the medical profession that drove her tender memory from my mind." "But, I ..." the doctor began hopelessly. "Say no more," Toffee said airily. "You can tell your side of it in court." * * * * *