But, at that moment, Marc was not the only surprised person in the theatre. Many an eyebrow was being simultaneously hoisted out in the audience. The chorus, having accomplished a brief change of costume, had returned to the stage, their number mysteriously increased by one. At the very end of the line a blazing redhead dressed in a seedy fur coat and a red jersey ambled calmly onto the scene, two large sacks and a wisp of filmy grey material clutched tightly in her arms. Moving quickly before a mirror that was part of the scenery, this new performer proceeded serenely about the intimate business of removing the coat and shirt, and wriggling into a light grey dress that was obstinately uncooperative. Slowly, her efforts became more and more vigorous and, from the audience's point of view, more and more exciting. This gaudy newcomer was doing a dance they hadn't seen since the days of Little Egypt, and doing it surpassingly well. In her efforts to get into the dress, she was putting her provocative anatomy through a series of gyrations and contortions that seemed beyond the limitations of mere flesh and blood. Also, to some, they seemed to outdistance the limits of ordinary decency as well. Julie, unaware of the performance in progress behind her, misunderstood the sudden enthusiasm of the audience. She thought they had at last caught on to her subtle style of singing and were showing their appreciation. Then, turning ever so slightly, she learned, from the corner of her eye, the awful truth. At the sight of the wriggling redhead, she stopped in the middle of her song and succumbed to a tremor of rage. She didn't know who this interloper was, but she did know the stage wasn't big enough to hold the two of them. Clenching her fists, she started toward center stage and the squirming dervish in the grey dress. A chorus girl, seeing that events were coming to a head, danced close to Toffee. "Better put up your guard, honey," she whispered. "Here comes the star with blood in her eye." Toffee's round eyes peered out at the girl through a chiffon fog. "What's she so upset about?" she asked innocently. "In case you haven't heard," the girl hissed, "what you're doing is called upstaging. Honestly, you didn't think you'd get away with it, did you? In a way I'm not going to blame that Pillsworth dame when she strangles you." "Stage!" Toffee shrieked. "Isn't this the ladies' lounge? I saw all you girls coming in here, all undressed and everything, and I...! Oh, my gosh!" Meanwhile, backstage, Marc was too busy watching his own troubles mount to notice Toffee's predicament. "Also, Mr. Pillsworth," the policeman was saying with maddening deliberation, "there is a certain restaurant owner that would like to have words with you. Do you want to come along quietly, or shall we mix it up a little first?" "Oh, no," Marc moaned. "Not now, officer. Can't you put all this aside for just a bit?"