He released the brake and started forward again on the light. He did not mention the greatest and most immediate of his worries; an overwhelming attack of weariness had come over him in the last few minutes and it was alarmingly reminiscent of the one he'd suffered yesterday just before he'd begun to float. If he was about to become buoyant again he wanted desperately to reach home and Julie before it happened. He narrowed his eyes on the blur of the traffic ahead and tightened his grip on the wheel. He knew as he did it, however, that he was never going to make it. Marc managed the next block without incident, and the next, but in the middle of the third, he swung the car sharply to the curb and brought it to a quick stop. In the next instant, just as he switched off the ignition, his head slumped heavily to the steering wheel. It happened so suddenly that he didn't notice the irony of his location; he had parked almost exactly in front of the Wynant. Neither did he see the black sedan pull up behind. Toffee swung quickly toward him and gripped his shoulder. "Marc!" she called, shaking him. "What's wrong?" There was a moment of tense silence and then, just as before, Marc revived as quickly as he had succumbed. He lifted his head from the wheel, and looked dazedly around. "What happened?" he asked. But Toffee was not concerned with the events of the past. "Oh, golly!" she wailed. "Look! There you go again!" Marc glanced quickly down at the seat and suffered a thrill of horror. Toffee had spoken the truth; indeed, he was going again with all anchors cast off. He had already risen, still in a sitting position, to such a height that his knees were resting snugly against the steering wheel. "Grab me!" he yelled. "Pull me down!" "I am grabbing you!" Toffee cried, renewing her efforts on his shoulder. "Hang on to something!" Marc bent forward and took hold of the wheel. The action threw him into a curious doubled-up position, so that he seemed to have braced himself against the device with his knees so that he might pull at it with both hands. To the casual passerby on the sidewalk it presented a rather intriguing problem in logic. A pair of shop-girls turned away from a window, started away, then stopped to observe the activity in the convertible with baffled interest. "Why do you suppose he's so anxious to get that wheel off?" one asked, turning to the other. "I can't imagine," the second said thoughtfully. "He seems terribly mad about something, though. I pity his girl friend." "I should say. I wouldn't go out with a fellow with that kind of temper for a million dollars." * * * * * Meanwhile the state of affairs in the convertible was swiftly becoming crucial. Marc was beginning to realize that the upward pull on his body was even stronger than before. "Don't let me go!" he told Toffee. "Out here, it'll be the end of me!"