Resting her elbows on the table, Toffee cupped her chin demurely in her hand and leveled an accusing gaze on Marge. "Having a little larceny for breakfast, dear?" she asked. "Don't get smart," Marge mumbled. "I'm goin' straight." "To where?" "Say! I oughta chop you off at the pockets for a crack like that. You ain't no angel yourself. Why, if you ever showed up around headquarters in that dress you're wearin', they'd throw the book at you." "Which book is that?" Toffee asked with genuine interest. "Huh?" Marge said. "The book they're going to throw at me. Which one is it?" "Yeah, Marge," Pete put in from across the table. "Which book is that?" "How should I know which book!" Marge cried with sudden confusion. "Any one that's handy, I suppose. I don't care if they throw the whole library at her. I wish they would." "Now," Toffee said thoughtfully, "if this book was 'Forever Amber'...." "Skip it!" Marge cried distractedly. "For the love of heaven, skip it, can't you? I'm sorry I brought it up." "You should be," Toffee said sternly. "Besides, flinging books about seems a very loose way of upholding the law. I don't think you know what you're talking about." Marge winced, completely demoralized. Across the table, Pete dug an affable elbow into Marc's ribs. "You're plenty smart, Mr. Pillsworth," he said. "That business about the note is the nuts." He tapped his coat pocket. "It leaves Marge and me in the clear. Of course, I think the whole deal is kinda loopy, but if that's the way you want it...." He shrugged his beefy shoulders significantly. For a moment Marc was completely mystified ... but only for a moment. Plainly, Pete was confusing him with George. The best thing, in that case, was probably just to string along with the gag and find out what was going on ... what kind of a "deal" George had made. "Let's see the note," he said, holding out his hand. "What for?" Pete wanted to know. "You give it to me to keep." "I want to make a correction," Marc said quickly. A crafty look came into Pete's eyes. "Say, you ain't tryin' to back out, are you? You said I wasn't to let you, if you did. Remember?" Things, Marc could see, were going to take a bit of doing. Perhaps a little firmness.... "Give me that note," he ordered. "In front of her?" Pete nodded toward Toffee. "You wouldn't want her to know about it. It'd shock her somethin' awful. You wanted this all secret." Marc decided to drop the matter. Anything that would shock Toffee's rawhide sensitivities was better left in the dim regions of Pete's pocket ... for the time being, anyway. Uneasy thoughts of blackmail coursed quietly through his mind. Pushing her chair back, Marge got to her feet. "Come on, Pete," she said. "Let's get outa here and get some fresh air." "You ain't finished breakfast yet," Pete reminded her. "All of a sudden I got sour stomach." She glanced meaningfully at Toffee.