As she glanced around, the walls began to bristle with bayonets. She appraised this nasty state of affairs with concern and decided to adopt the policy of the congressman and his colleagues. A song on her lips, if not in her heart, she fixed her eyes straight ahead on the center corridor and resumed nonchalantly in that direction--perhaps if she pretended that these bayoneted orangoutangs were beneath her notice they might go away and leave her alone. They didn't appear to be the friendly, informative type anyway. For one brief moment it seemed that the ruse, by dint of sheer boldness, was going to work. Toffee was almost to the corridor when one of the benumbed guards suddenly began to vocalize in an overwrought fashion. In a voice that slammed against the vaulted ceiling like a trumpet blast he shouted something that sounded loosely like, "Gamnovitch!" His tone did not convey the feeling of warm welcome. Toffee, sizing the situation up as the sort that only comes to a head with delay, bolted. She darted into the corridor and kept going at a pace that utilized her lovely legs to the utmost. A noisy clatter from the rear, however, told her that she was not in the sprint just for exercise. She renewed her efforts. Then suddenly stopped. It wasn't so much that the corridor terminated in a huge doorway only a few yards ahead--though that was bad news enough--the real thing was that before the door there stood not two but four enormous guards, supplied like the others with those ugly weapons. The guards and Toffee caught sight of each other simultaneously, but the really filthy part of it was that the surprise element in the incident shoved the guards into action while it only held Toffee motionless. * * * * * Toffee needed no one to tell her she was about to be surrounded. "I _would_ have to get into this place," she sighed. "It must be a barracks for guards." She watched with resignation as the bulky bayoneters formed a prickly circle around her. She chose the most likely-looking of her captors and smiled enchantingly into his sub-ugly face. But the favored one only reciprocated with a small jabbing gesture which was enthusiastically picked up and elaborated upon by his companions. Toffee was the first to realize that the situation was climbing toward that state which is often described as 'serious.' "Look out, you lumbering oafs," she said hotly. "You could play hell with a lady's dainties with that sort of thing." She considered her ring and the hoard of armed brutes around her; there were too many of them to deal with effectively. The situation called for help, and Toffee took her cue from the situation; though she didn't know the language she was willing to kick it around a bit. "Helpovitch!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Helpovitch!"