As Marc closed the door to Gregory Reece's office, he saw Toffee waiting for him near the elevator, and scowled. Somehow, in the morning light, the black dress seemed to leave even more of her exposed than it had in the evening. Undaunted, Toffee smiled brightly at the sight of him. "Did he like the advertising campaign?" she asked. "Are you going to get the account?" Marc nodded wearily. "Yes," he said in a dead voice. "He was very enthusiastic." "What did he say?" "I don't know," Marc replied sourly. "I could barely hear him. My head was roaring like a lion cage at feeding time." He turned to her fretfully. "Was it absolutely necessary for you to drive my head half way through that wall? If that landlord's to be sore about that bullet hole, he'll fairly scream his head off at the chunk of plaster I knocked out." "I had to be sure," Toffee explained logically. "I had to be sure you'd lose consciousness, so I could return to your subconscious until you woke up. It was the only way I could get out of that straight jacket. You know that." "Well, you could have told me, so I could have braced myself," Marc argued unreasonably. "You nearly broke my neck." "With a gag in my mouth?" "No, I guess not," Marc admitted reluctantly. "But it seems that you could have tempered your blow a little, at least." He frowned as Toffee suddenly began to giggle. "What's so funny?" "I was thinking of the desk sergeant, down at headquarters. When I materialized, I miscalculated a bit, and faded in right on top of his desk. He nearly had me locked up without even listening to what I had to say. I don't know when he looked more mixed up, then or later, when he got a load of Miss Quirtt in those curlers." "Now that I've got the account," Marc sighed, "I wonder if it was all worth it." "Of course it was," Toffee said. "I thought it was loads of fun!" If Marc's eyes had really held the power that their expression suggested, the ceiling would certainly have been down around Toffee's flaming head without further delay. "Let's get a cup of coffee," he suggested helplessly. "My head's chiming like Big Ben at midnight." "All right," Toffee agreed, reaching for the elevator button. "No! Not that!" Marc yelled. "The way that young fiend in there operates that thing, I'd be lucky to get downstairs with the top of my head still on. Let's take the stairs." As together, they started down the carpeted stairway, Marc became pensive. Even if the matter of the brief case had been settled, his trouble with Julie was still as bad as it had been the day before ... probably worse, for all he knew. Then too, there was the problem of Toffee. Matters certainly wouldn't improve with her around. His troubled conjecture came to an abrupt end at the sound of Toffee's anxious voice. "Look out!" she cried. "Look out for that tear in the carpet!"