o the lawn.

Now, with all the danger past, people began fainting in wholesale lots.
Aunt Gretchen was resting comfortably with her head braced against the
brass rail of the portable bar. Those who didn't faint contributed
variously intonated screams to the general unrest. And over all this
brooded the dank clouds of acrid dust that had so lately been Cement
Mixer Zinsky and certain members of his mob. Indeed, the scene took on a
startling semblance to one of Dore's etchings in an old edition of
Dante's Inferno.

"I repeat," Bag Ears bleated plaintively. "Leave us blow this joint. It
ain't healthy here."

"He's right," Joy said. "A lot of explanation is wanting. There are some
people we've got to catch up with. Let's go."

With that, she drew Bag Ears and me toward the French doors through
which had recently passed some of the fastest moving objects in this or
any other world. We made the flag-stone terrace above the drive where
Bag Ears cordially grasped my hand and said,

"Well, it was a nice party, folks, and if I ever get spliced I'll sure
give you a invite and I sure had a swell time and remember me to your
aunt when she wakes up and--"

He was backing down the steps when Joy cut in with, "Bag Ears. Don't be
so rude. You're in no hurry."

Bag Ears slowed down and allowed us to catch up with him. He gave us a
sickly smile. "That's where you're wrong, babe."

"Bag Ears," Joy went on. "I heard you whisper to Homer that you know who
that blonde is."

"What blonde? Me? I don't know nothing about no blonde no-how."

"Don't hedge. I mean the girl who was assisting Uncle Peter behind the
bar. Who is she, really?"

"Oh--her. Everybody knows her. She's Hands McCaffery's moll. He likes
'em blonde and--"

Bag Ears was on the move again, striding in the direction of the gate.
We hurried to catch up. "That babe's poison," he told us. "Any skirt
that'd flock with Hands McCaffery is poison. I'll tell you kids what I'd
do. If she drives south--I'd drive north. Goodbye now."

Just at that moment a big blue sports roadster pushed a bright chromium
nose around the corner of the house. I took a firm grip on Bag Ears'
collar, grabbed Joy by the arm, and the three of us leaped behind a
bush. The car rolled past us. We saw the blonde behind the wheel and
Uncle Peter seated beside her, evidently still protesting the hasty
exodus.

* * * * *

But the girl looked very sharp and businesslike;