time of crisis to start their weak-minded cavorting."

"Who would want to keep you from having the Reece account?" Toffee asked.

"The Mayes Agency," Marc answered promptly, and then shook his head. "But Mayes wouldn't do a thing like this. He's hard as nails when it comes to business, but he wouldn't do anything criminal, and I might have been killed by that car this morning. What am I going to do now?"

His question was promptly answered by the shrill ring of the telephone. He picked up the receiver disinterestedly, and before he could give his name, a sultry feminine voice sounded over the wire.

"This Marc Pillsworth?" it asked.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Don't you mind who this is, Buster," the voice said evenly. "Just you listen to what I got to say, and don't interrupt. If you want your brief case back, you be at the Southlawn Cemetery at eleven sharp tonight."

"What!" Marc yelled. This was a great deal more than he'd expected.

"Yeah," the voice laughed. "It's just like a kidnapping. In other words, if you want to see your brain child, alive and healthy again, you be at the cemetery, like I said, with a million dollars in cash."

"A million!" Marc choked. "But that's impossible!"

"Yeah, I know," the voice replied conversationally. "It's the craziest thing I ever heard of, myself. I nearly died laughing when they told me. It's impossible to raise a million in one night—even with a full moon. I know. I tried."

"But—but—" sputtered Marc.

"No but about it, Buster," the voice said. "Them's the orders. And, oh yes, at the risk of soundin' corny, I gotta tell you to have the bills in small denominations and unmarked. Ain't that a scream?"

Suddenly the phone went dead, and Marc looked up dazedly. "I just can't believe it!" he groaned. "I must be dreaming."

"What's wrong," asked Toffee, "that isn't already?"

"I—I've been kidnapped," Marc said wonderingly. "I—I mean, they're holding my brief case for ransom."

"Who is?"

 Prev. P 15/38 next