"Nevertheless," Marc said, "we will have to face them with it." He led the way through the door and down the steps into the dim, musty sweetness of the cellar. As they descended, a second roar of laughter rose to greet them. "Hey!" a voice called roughly out of the shadows. "Mine host approaches--with vassals?" "Vassals of what?" another voice inquired woozily. "Or do you mean sea-going vassals?" Marc peered into the dimness and held up a hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, not without a note of irony. "Ladies and gentlemen, Busby, here, has just told me a most shocking story." There was a stirring in the dark. "Old Busby did that?" a voice said interestedly. "He hardly looks like he'd know any shockin' stories." "Shame on Busby!" a feminine voice giggled out of the distance. A form moved out of the shadows and proved to be Floss. "Let's hear this shockin' story," she said eagerly. "Ain't nothin' like a good shockin' story to get the party goin'." Marc put up his hand again. "No," he said, "you don't understand; it's not that kind of a shocking story." "A true confession, huh?" a voice said sullenly from behind the wine bins. "Don't sign it, Busby. Get a good shyster before you put your name to it." "Please!" Marc said. "Let me tell you...." "Not if it makes us accessories to the fact!" the voice came back. "I don't want to hear it. I'm putting my fingers in my ears!" "Let's all put our fingers in our ears!" a blonde-sounding voice tittered. "It tickles!" "Now, just a minute!" Marc yelled. "Listen! Someone here has stolen the silver and my wife's jewels, and I've got to have them back. The only thing I can do is appeal to you as a friend." "You'd appeal to me even as an enemy," Floss giggled tipsily. "Advance, friend and be recognized." "If he does," Toffee snarled, "he'll also be cauterized. Stay back, you two-bit lollypop!" But Marc was not to be distracted from the matter at hand. "Now, which one of you did it?" he asked. "There won't be any arrest if you will just return the things." * * * * * There was a dense silence. Hotstuff shuffled out of the dimness and took up his place unsteadily at Marc's side. "Okay, you crazy cats!" he hollered. "Which one of you pinched Mrs. Pillsworth's rocks?" "Was she wearin' them at the time?" a female voice inquired. "No, she wasn't," Marc said. "What has that got to do with it?" "Plenty," the voice said. "If she was wearin' them there might have been a hell of a lot more pinched than just her jewelry." The speaker sighed with understanding. "Sometimes a girl likes to be pinched just for herself alone." "You're gonna get slugged just for yourself alone if you don't shut up," Hotstuff snapped. He paused significantly. "Ain't no one gonna sing?" He turned back to Marc. "Was the stuff insured?"