"Oh, nothing much. The usual collection of miscellaneous wires and wheels and tubes. There was just one thing, though. You remember that lighting gadget in the upper room?" Marc nodded that he remembered. "Well, there was another of those downstairs, only larger and nearer the floor. I walked right into one of those white beams that hold it up." "What happened?" "Nothing really," Toffee went on. "The ball stopped turning. I guess it would have fallen if I'd broken the beam entirely. When I stepped out, it started revolving again, just as before, only in the opposite direction. That's when that pie-faced gorilla grabbed me." It wasn't much of a revelation; it didn't leave much room for discussion, and at its conclusion the little cell block became very quiet. The heavy, dewy breathing of the little drunk gave the atmosphere a sort of sad, sighing quality. It was Toffee who finally put an end to it. "Oh," she said. "I forgot something." "Huh?" Marc grunted. "I forgot something," Toffee repeated, and immodestly she thrust a searching finger into the upper portion of her brief costume. She looked like a distressed woman who had falsified her figure only to discover that certain attachments, in spite of their manufacturer's claims, are not always trustworthy. It was a moment of breathless suspense. "Stop that!" Marc yelled. "What do you think you're doing?" "I found something in the laboratory," Toffee said, her curious search leading her into a series of writhing motions of a very suggestive nature. "I put it away for safe keeping." "In ... in your...?" "Yes," Toffee answered quickly. "After all, I don't have any pockets, you know." "What was it?" "Something small and white ... and cold, at first," Toffee panted, snappily shifting hips. "A capsule?" Marc yelled. "What's a capsule?" Toffee gasped impatiently. "Don't bother me with silly questions at a time like this. I know the thing is here somewhere." * * * * * The drunk turned eagerly away from the window. His eyes became brilliantly alight, and a grin of sheerest delight spread over his face. "Turn on the blue lights!" he chortled, then followed the exclamation with an offensively shrill whistle. "Keep your low notions to yourself," Toffee snapped, pushing back a mop of red hair that had fallen rakishly over one eye. "Things are bad enough without you getting smutty about it all. I'm only looking for something." "Ain't nothing missing that I can see," the drunk giggled. "Hit him Marc!" Toffee yelled. "Smack that evil-minded little ogre!" "Can't you get along without all that squirming?" Marc pleaded. "Where's your sense of modesty?" "I don't know," Toffee returned. "But wherever it is, I'll bet it's getting a darned good jolting around." Then suddenly the performance stopped. "It's no use," Toffee said. "I've got this thing on too tight, and the thing's hiding where I can't get at it. I'll have to loosen things up a bit."