Toffee observed the dummy more closely. "Very dull," she said. "No sex appeal. Maybe it's those shorts she's wearing."

"Shorts?" Marc said. "You mean you can still see shorts—and things?"

"What are you babbling about?" Toffee said hopelessly. "What's wrong with that dummy, anyway?"

Marc stared at the manniquin wonderingly. "Good Lord!" he breathed, "I've developed X-ray eyes! As far as I'm concerned that dummy's as naked as a plucked chicken."

"But that's impossible!" Toffee said.

"Yes," Marc said, "but it's true. To me, that dummy is sheer unadorned plaster and nothing else. This is awful!"

"Maybe it will wear off," Toffee said uneasily.

Just then a bejewelled matron appeared at the end of the aisle. Inadvertently Marc glanced in her direction, then shudderingly looked away again; the woman's dress had melted away and she had been left strolling amongst the counters in only her girdle. Marc lowered his head and waited for her to pass.

"This is shocking!" he groaned. "I can't go around like this, seeing everyone without their clothes! It's indecent!"

"But how did it happen?" Toffee asked. "If we knew what caused it, maybe we could do something about it."

There was not time for Marc to answer this, for right on cue, with a blast from his whistle, Sergeant Feeney and his underlings swarmed at the head of the aisle.

"Duck!" Toffee hissed and, crouching down, vanished swiftly into the inner reaches of Imported Liquors.

Marc, followed this example, dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled behind the nearest counter in Sportswear. The official scufflings at the entrance grew louder.

"Spread out, men!" Sergeant Feeney thundered. "Check everybody!"

Behind the counter Marc settled back against the merchandise drawers. Then he jumped as a feminine voice sounded close beside him.

"May I help you, sir?" the voice inquired.

Marc, without thinking, looked around. A large, brassy blonde with circles under her eyes had hunkered down beside him. She smiled broadly at his glance.

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