"Well," Dippy said with muted gloom, "here it is, lady." Toffee opened the door and started to get out. "You coming along?" she asked. Benny shook his head. "They'd never believe it if we told 'em even. We're goin' to open up a religious liberry instead." "Well," Toffee said affectionately. "I certainly want to thank you two for being so kind. I just hope I didn't interrupt anything for you." Frantically, Benny threw the car into gear and it fairly leaped away from the curb. Toffee stood for a moment staring after them; she could have sworn she'd heard a strangled sobbing sound echo back from the car as it sped away. She turned and started up the steps to the station. She walked to the door and was just about to shove it open when her gaze went to the stack of newspapers lying to one side of the entrance. She looked at the headline: PILLSWORTH DISAPPEARANCE SHROUDED IN MYSTERY! She picked up one of the papers, folded it quickly under her arm, and continued inside. Finding herself in a hallway, she paused uncertainly. Then a door at the end of the hall opened and a large man in a blue uniform moved into view. She ran forward. "Look!" she cried. "Maybe you can help me. I want to speak to someone about Marc Pillsworth. I know where he is." The officer swung about abruptly. "Marc Pillsworth?" Toffee nodded. "Come with me." "We'd better hurry, though," Toffee said. "I may not have much time." The officer led her rapidly down the corridor, up a flight of steps, along another hallway, and finally stopped before an unmarked door. "Come on in here," he said. He opened the door and held it back for her. But suddenly Toffee had stopped and a curious look of panic came into her eyes. "Oh, no!" she gasped. "Oh, Marc! Not just yet!" And then, as the officer's eyes grew wider and more frightened, she slowly faded away.... Back at the old house, Cecil watched with satisfaction as Marc sagged limply in his chair. He withdrew the hypodermic from Marc's arm and turned to Gerald. "Okay," he said, "let's go to work on him." CHAPTER XII Within the old house there was little evidence of the morning outside. Mr. Adams had boarded over the windows and now the daylight shone through only at the openings of the turrets where the tracks of the catapults reached for the sky. Even these openings, however, had heavy metal shutters which could be closed against bad weather. For the moment everything was quiet. The Blemishes were settled at a small table, poring over several sheets of paper. George slumbered loudly on his scaffolding, while below him Marc drooped limply in his chair, held there only by virtue of the chains about his shoulders. Then, as the patches of day at the turret openings grew lighter, Marc stirred. As he sat up, the chains made a small rattling sound. The Blemishes glanced up sharply from their studies.