In response, George merely dissolved his head to a grinning skull. "Gotta go now," he chortled hollowly. "Gotta be corking off." He turned to the others and clacked his teeth menacingly. Olliphant Gunn was the first to snap. "There's just so much that human flesh and blood can stand," the poor man wailed, and leaping to the operating table he snatched up the anaesthetic mask and plunged it over his face. "Come on," Toffee said urgently, tugging at Marc's sleeve. "Let's get out of here before that cheap ghost sticks us with an operation." Marc jolted into action. Under Toffee's guidance, he lunged out the door and started down the hall. "Let's leave this place," Toffee said. "Let's go somewhere where we can have fun." "We can't leave like this," Marc said, indicating their brief attire. "We can't go out on the street half naked." "We can say we're artists' models on our way to work," Toffee said. "Come on." Marc didn't pause to debate the point as a cry from the operating room indicated that the doctors had recovered from their dismay with an urgent sense of loss. Together, he and Toffee began to run. They proceeded swiftly around a corner and down a flight of steps to the floor below. Suddenly Marc stopped. "What's wrong?" Toffee asked. "Listen," Marc said. "What's that?" Toffee listened. Descending footsteps sounded on the stairs behind them. She whirled about. The stairway was unoccupied. "George," she said disgustedly. "He's following us." The footsteps stopped guiltily. "Okay," Marc said, addressing himself to the empty stairs. "It's no use pretending you're not there. You might as well show yourself." A subdued hiccough echoed out of the emptiness, but that was the extent of George's communication. "If you're entertaining any notion of bumping me off so you can stay here," Marc warned, "just forget it. I'm alive and I intend to stay that way." "Just ignore him," Toffee said. "He's bound to get bored and go away if we refuse to pay any attention to him." * * * * * The discussion went no further, for suddenly there were sounds of approaching pursuit from above. Grabbing Toffee's arm, Marc raced ahead, down the hall and around another corner. A third set of footsteps continued to sound in their wake. "He's still with us," Toffee panted. "The vulture," Marc said. "He's just hoping they'll catch me. Run faster." Renewing their efforts, they left behind another stretch of corridor, turned another corner. There they stopped abruptly. Ahead a group of orderlies loomed before them. "That's them!" a young athletic type yelled. "That's Pillsworth!" "To hell with Pillsworth!" a companion responded. "Get the dame! She's practically all skin, just like they said!" Marc and Toffee darted back around the corner. "Surrounded!" Toffee panted. "I think that sums up the situation." "What'll we do?" Marc asked confusedly.