As though by magic, the scene was suddenly filled with bounding, milling figures, most of which had a nasty, official-looking cut to them. They swarmed down on Marc and Toffee, forcing them back toward the taxi, which promptly streaked away from the curb, withdrawing its sanctuary. Apparently, the little driver had at last begun to see his new-found friends in a different light ... a prison grey, for instance. Marc and Toffee were promptly surrounded. "We got two of 'em!" a voice yelled. "You get the other one?" "No!" another voice answered bewilderedly. "We thought we had him but he got away somehow. Darned if I can figure out how he did it. One minute he was right here in our hands, next minute he was gone. He's a slippery rat, that one." A dull whack interrupted the voice briefly. "Ouch!" it continued. "Which one of you wise guys slugged me in the nose?" There ensued a whole series of whacking sounds, followed by accusations, counter-accusations and athletic retaliations. Departmental jealousies and prejudices suddenly flared into the open, and the result was a sort of policemen's brawl. Later, one of the participants was heard to proclaim, whilst nursing a black eye, that he had seen a disembodied fist flying about delivering blows willy-nilly in all directions, without any noticeable favoritism to any of the various contestants. For his very accurate reportorial work, the fellow was quickly hustled off to the police psychiatrist. George's little ruse, however, did not have the desired effect. Before the fight had effectively gotten under way, Marc and Toffee were rushed off to a police car that had screamed onto the scene with depressing promptness. Stepping into the car, Toffee nodded toward the field of battle. "George is still helping," she observed bitterly. "I'd like to help _him_," Marc replied dully. "I'd like to help him right through the gates of Hell." Justice Harvey was a bear with a gavel, and he was proud because of it. With only the most delicate twist of the wrist, he could produce a resounding smack that rivaled even the awesome clatter of heavenly thunder. When the good Justice laid gavel to stand, men, women, children and morons sat up and silently searched their souls. Promptly at eleven o'clock, A.M., the Justice displayed his talent with an even greater finesse than was common. The crowded courtroom became silent, and all eyes turned hopefully to the bench. Most of those in attendance, being either complainants or voluntary witnesses, were present in the interests in seeing a terrible justice done as speedily as possible. Many a face was alight with the fanatical gleam of vengeance. The Justice cast a hawk-like eye toward a nearby official. "Let the crim ... the prisoner ... be brought before the bar," he proclaimed.