"And you're going to wait a great many more years as far as I'm concerned!" Marc said. "I was afraid you'd be narrow about it," George said dejectedly. Tears came to his eyes. "I've always had to take your left-overs. Your second name, even. I couldn't call myself Marc, because that was the name you wanted. I had to take George. It's unjust." "Well, don't go on about it," Toffee said. "There's no use blubbering." "You might just as well go away," Marc said firmly. "I'll be damned if I'm going to pop off, as you so picturesquely put it, just to please a spook with criminal tendencies." He glanced heavenward. "This, on top of everything else!" The tears welled larger in George's unhappy eyes. He looked at Toffee and Marc and flushed at making such an open display of his emotions. To hide his feelings he sadly dissolved his head. The thin air above his shoulders echoed with a moist snuffle. "Oh, Lord!" Toffee moaned. "He's up to his tricks again! Would you listen to that?" "I wouldn't if I could help it," Marc said. "Let's get away from this snivelling shade before he drives us crazy," Toffee said urgently. "I'm so upset I wouldn't be surprised if I walked out of here on my hands." "The way he is right now," Marc agreed, "he's the most haunting ghost I've ever seen. I'll certainly never forget him." Together, they turned and moved away from the phone booth and quickly down the corridor. "He'll have to shift for himself," Marc said. "I've got other things to worry about." As they moved away, out of the entrance of the building, several of the more curious spectators converged on the phone booth and glanced cautiously inside. It was empty. Outside, an officer showed Marc and Toffee to the green convertible which had been delivered there by the government men. Marc helped Toffee in, then crossed around and slid in under the wheel. With a look of determination, he shifted the gears and directed the car into traffic. The sound of the shifting gears obscured the muffled snuffling sound that emanated briefly from the back seat. CHAPTER VIII Marc braked the convertible to a stop at the signal and glanced worriedly in the rear-view mirror. "They're still there," he said. Toffee swung about in the seat and stared without subterfuge at the black sedan and it's occupants. "It's those filthy twins," she said. "Even their car looks subversive." Marc turned his attention again to the mirror. "They may be with the government," he said. "They've probably been assigned to watch us." He shrugged a dismissal. "Anyway, they're the least of my worries."