Marc stopped, for his adversary, seemed suddenly to go mad. Blanching, the little man hurled himself forward, apparently out of control. Colliding with Marc, he grabbled wildly with him for a moment, then abruptly shoved himself away. For a moment Marc was completely at a loss to explain this startling performance; then he caught sight of the policeman approaching from across the street. "Sorry, man!" the purveyor of erotics said hastily and, with that, he darted off down the street. In almost the same instant, the policeman gained the curbing on the run. He cast Marc a swift glance but kept on rapidly down the street. Marc watched the chase bemusedly as it continued half way up the block, then out of sight into the entrance of an alley. He hoped the little peddler would be caught; a salesman of smutty pictures only added to the loose atmosphere of the day. He turned away, heading for the office. And then he stopped. * * * * * Actually it was the little man's remark about the wives of respectable married men that halted Marc's step. Suddenly it struck him that perhaps this message had been delivered to him, through Fate, as a sort of warning. He pondered for a moment with furrowed brow, then, resolutely, he turned again and started back the way he had come. He had definitely made up his mind. Julie had taken the convertible, but the coupe was still in the garage. If he started out now, he could be at the country house well before noon, and Mario could be fired, packed and sent on his way before sunset. Business, for this one day, would have to wait. His course of action set, Marc continued determinedly down the street. His only fear, now, was that he might be too late. Julie, quite extraordinarily, had taken her prized and priceless collection of jewels to the country, a fact which was so highly significant and disturbing. Julie was so inordinately proud of her jewels that she never removed them from the vault except for the most special of special occasions. Just what sort of special occasion she had been contemplating this time, Marc dreaded to think. By the time he had reached the alley, he had quite forgotten about the little man and the pursuing policeman. He started violently, therefore, when the policeman suddenly materialized from the mouth of the alley and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "Here you!" the policeman snarled. "Hold up there!" "Who?" Marc said weakly. "Me?" "Not your Aunt Fanny," the cop said sourly. His face was an angry crimson from running. "I seen you back there with Hotstuff." "Hotstuff?" Marc said. "Oh, you mean the pictures that...." "Don't give me that, mac," the cop growled. "Don't tell me you are just an innocent bystander. If you ain't that guy's confederate...." "Confederate!" Marc wheezed. "Now, do I look like the sort of person who...."