"You like my place?" the man asked, and his voice was the kind that crept up from behind and tapped you quietly on the shoulder. Listening to him, Marc wondered absently why Hollywood should bother with men like Peter Lorre when there were others, like the grey-haired little man, around. * * * * * Toffee, however, not so much interested in voices as what they were saying, gave the room a second appraising glance. "I don't think it's so screaming wonderful," she said with sledge hammer bluntness. "It might make a pretty fair dance hall, though, if you'd just tone down that silly light fixture up there." The prideful glint in the little man's eyes went cold to be surplanted by the colorless ash of disappointment. Obviously, he had expected this to be an impressive moment. "This," he said with battered dignity, "is a citadel of science." "This," Toffee corrected ruthlessly, "is as nutty as a peanut stand at a county fair." "And yet, there may be things here that will interest you intensely." Toffee turned briefly to Marc. "I don't like the way he said that." Apparently, the statement hadn't struck just the right note with Marc, either. He'd already turned to the little man. "Now, look here Dr. Herrigg...." "Miss Logan told you my name?" "Miss Logan?" "The deceased Miss Logan," the doctor elaborated. "... Whose body was planted in my closet," Marc completed angrily. "That was a shame," the doctor sighed. "I'm truly sorry about all that, but it did seem the only thing to do at the time. I couldn't find you on the beach, so I had to make some hasty readjustments. You had to be gotten out of the way, and the woman's body had to be disposed of. What could be better than turning the whole problem over to the police? It all dove-tailed beautifully. After all, I have a very good reason for not wanting the police curious about my whereabouts." "Just off hand," Marc said sourly, "I can't think of a better reason than murder. They're so apt to be high-handed about the thing." "Exactly," the doctor agreed. Toffee gazed disappointedly at the doctor's slight figure. "Killers, nowadays," she murmured unhappily, "just aren't what they used to be. Maybe it's the shortages." The doctor's eyes were heavy with exasperation as they turned toward her. "I do wish you weren't so preoccupied with murder," he said tiredly. "You mean you're not?" Toffee returned quickly. "Certainly not. I wouldn't have killed Mr. Epperson and Miss Logan if they hadn't forced me to. They got to prying into my private affairs, and I had to put an end to it somehow." "The method seems a little extreme," Toffee pointed out. "A good, old-fashioned talking-to might have been simpler ... or were you afraid of hurting their feelings?" The doctor waved an impatient hand through the air.