"I don't suppose I should say it, sir," Busby said, "but I think I ought to slip inside and put the silver and Mrs. Pillsworth's jewels in the vault. As for amusing them, we haven't any dope or revolvers on the premises, but, then, perhaps they've brought their own."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Marc said.

"And while I'm about it, sir," Busby went on, "I think I'd better put the lock on the wine cellar."

"Wine cellar!"

It was Hotstuff, the ever-present eavesdropper, who spoke up. "Hey, gang, there's a wine cellar!" he announced. "Cool, huh?"

"Say," Floss drawled, sidling up to Marc, "you've really got class, huh? A wine cellar is right up my alley. The lower I get the better I like it."

Toffee stepped forward, eyes glittering. "You may get lower than you care to, doll, if you keep on like that. You may find yourself six feet under with a very dim out-look."

"Listen, sister," Floss said belligerently, "I'll tangle with you any time."

"You may never get untangled if you do," Toffee flared. "You may wind up wearing that fright wig of yours on your bustle!"

"I'll risk it, carrot-top!"

"There's no risk involved," Toffee said, doubling her fists. "I'll make you a money-back guarantee!"

"Well, well," Hotstuff said approvingly, "the girls are getting real well acquainted, ain't they?"

"Too well," Marc said. "We'd better separate them before they get downright intimate." He turned to Busby. "Show the guests to the wine cellar."

"But, sir...."

"I know, Busby," Marc said, "but they'll probably be quiet there—at least for a while."

"I suppose so, sir," Busby said dully. He started back toward the house, and the raucous little band fell in behind him. As they departed, Toffee stared after Floss malevolently.

"I may belt that kid one yet," she murmured.

Behind them, the bus started up, lurched crazily forward, shot through the hedge bordering the drive and took off drunkenly across the lawn and into the trees.

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