It wasn't so much that Toffee met the doctor's gaze unblinkingly. The real damage was done when she smiled and winked at him. That was too much. With a cry of purest despair, the doctor pivoted, threw open the door and bolted into the hall. A second later his footsteps echoed on the stairs with machinegun rapidity. Marc swung himself off the bed and impulsively crossed to Toffee and kissed her on the cheek. "You were wonderful," he said. "You certainly stewed his prunes." Toffee leaned back and giggled. "You only say that," she murmured, "just because I'm gorgeous. I wonder if Julie ever found...." "Julie!" Marc's eyes were panic-stricken. Perhaps Julie was a bit high tempered at times, but she was still his wife. It seemed, now, that he had been caught in a raging flood of madness and Julie was the rock of reality to which he must cling at all costs. Whirling away from Toffee, he raced toward the door. When Marc reached the foyer of the lodge, he was surprised to find it completely deserted, except for the little manager. Astonishingly, at the sight of Marc, the fellow clasped his hands ecstatically before him and ran to meet him. "Oh, Mr. Pillsworth!" he cried. "You don't know what you've done! You just simply don't _know_! You've absolutely rejuvenated my guests with that little riot of yours. They all said they didn't know when they felt so young. They've all gone out in the woods for a picnic ... with beer! They took up a collection for the damage in the dining room, and...." Marc wasn't listening. "Where's my wife?" he asked. "Where's Julie?" "The pretty blonde young lady?" the manager asked. "Yes, yes. Where is she?" "Out on the veranda, I believe. Down at the far end, around the corner. Poor dear, she was crying terribly when she went out." Marc turned and darted for the door. Then he stopped abruptly. A large hand had fallen over his arm and was holding him back. He looked up to see Pete standing beside him. "Let go," he said impatiently, "I've got to find my...." "Never mind," Pete said. "You just come along with me. Let's get it over with, huh? Marge and me, we want to get outa here." "Get what over with? What are you talking about?" "You know. Our deal." "What deal? Say, what is this all about, anyway?" "You know. The deal you said I wasn't to let you back out on. Remember?" * * * * * Subsequent development had completely banished the scene at the breakfast table from Marc's mind. "No. I don't remember any deal." He tried to pull away, but the big man held him firmly.