William McGivern - The William P. McGivern Fantasy MEGAPACK™ - 25 Classic Fantasy Stories from the Pulps

Albert was beginning to comprehend. This was the banquet! George was really outdoing himself on this job. He turned and smiled smugly at the major who was staring at the food in open consternation.

“Wasn’t much,” he said condescendingly to him, “just a little something I whipped up myself.”

But the procession had not ended. Husky, brown skinned attendants came next, carrying huge trays brimming with glittering, sparkling, indescribably gorgeous gems of all descriptions.

“Well, well,” Albert murmured, “very, very pretty.”

“Very, very pretty,” the government agent, named Smith, said in a hard, precise voice, “very pretty indeed. Also very indiscreet.”

Before Albert could glean the meaning from this cryptic remark, another part of the procession arrived. A part which caused a sharp, shocked exclamation from Margot, and a gasp of pure dismay from Aunt Annabelle.

Albert looked, and his knees turned to rubber. For the room was filling with dozens and dozens of scantily clad dancing girls, who were wriggling and undulating their extremely provocative torsoes to the pagan piping of the turbaned musicians!

They were gorgeous, lushly beautiful creatures, with black lustrous hair and dark coquettish eyes that flashed slyly about the room. Their bodies were divinely fashioned and, except for a few insignificant wisps of lace, almost completely unclad.

“So,” Margot cried, “this is your idea of good, clean entertainment, is it? These creatures, these hussies, you think they’re just wonderful, don’t you? Well I’m glad I found out about you before we were married, Mr. Addin.”

“Darling,” Albert choked, “I had nothing to do with any of this. You don’t understand. You don’t—”

“I understand perfectly,” Margot cut in witheringly. She turned to Aunt Annabelle, who after her first shock had worn off, was staring in undisguised envy at the dancing girls. “Are you coming, Aunt Annabelle?” Margot asked in a perfectly calm voice.

“Y — yes,” Aunt Annabelle said flusteredly. She strode past Albert, drawing her skirts slightly to one side as she passed him, and the two women left the room, arm in arm.

“Amazingly irregular occurrence,” the major muttered, as if he doubted whether any of it had actually occurred or not.

“Very irregular,” the government agent snapped. “So irregular that we’re going to hold you, Major Mastiff, until we find out what the customs inspector has to say about this contraband jewelry. Not to mention the possibility that these aliens might have been illegally smuggled into this country.”

“Hold me?” the major bleated. “Why that’s preposterous. Utterly ridiculous.”

“Nevertheless we’re going to do it. Dick,” one agent snapped to the other, “search this house from top to bottom. There may be more loot lying around here!”

“You blithering nincompoop,” the major raged at Albert, “this whole blasted affair is your fault!”

“Tut, tut,” Albert said reprovingly, “that’s not the attitude for the condemned man to take. I wouldn’t say too much either till you’ve talked to your attorney.”

“You blasted—” Major Mastiff finished the sentence in a growl.

The G-man stepped to the major’s side and snapped a handcuff on his wrist. “Now relax,” he said, as the major began to resist, “this is just a precaution.” He snapped the other end of the cuff to the arm of a heavy chair.

The dancing girls were milling around uncertainly and, together with the food bearers and the jewel bearers, they formed quite a noisy crowd. The musicians had stopped their music and were staring vaguely about, like men gazing at unfamiliar scenes. The jewels and the food and the bales of silks and satins were piled helter-skelter in the middle of the floor. Everyone was present, Albert thought worriedly, but George, the creator, so to speak, of all this confusion.

Albert strolled back to the chair where Major Mastiff was cuffed.

“Sorry about this,” he said cheerfully, “but it’s not too bad. With luck you’ll get off with five or ten years.”

“Leave me alone,” Major Mastiff shrilled impotently.

The other G-man returned to the room, an atmosphere of suppressed excitement showing in his face. He whispered a few terse words to his fellow officer, then the two of them turned, suddenly grabbed Albert firmly by the arms.

“No tricks,” one warned, “we found the banknotes in your closet. All accounted for except those you bribed the cook with.”

Before Albert could raise his voice to protest, he found himself handcuffed to the same chair that the major was linked to.

“This is an outrage,” he sputtered, “I didn’t steal that money.”

“You can tell that to our inspector,” the Smith replied. “This thing is getting a little too big for us to handle. We’re going to phone the village, and in half an hour the case will be out of our hands. Our inspector is waiting there for our report and when we phone him the dope you can be sure he’ll be right out.”

The Smith found the phone in the dining room and in a few minutes they could hear his excited voice floating out to them.

“Yeah, Chief, it’s on the level. We’ve recovered the banknotes and we’ve discovered a lot of jewels and silks and stuff that looks as if it might have been slipped in illegal. Also there’s about two dozen dancing girls and a lot of oriental musicians and — what chief? No I haven’t been drinking. I haven’t touched a drop. Honest. They’re all here... O.K. We’ll be expecting you then... Good-bye.

The Smith re-entered the room and at the same second, from the opposite door, George, the genie, looking haggard and disillusioned, entered.

Albert turned to Major Mastiff.

“I hope,” he said critically, “that you’ll make an interesting cell-mate.”

“Bahhhh,” growled the Major, “this is a lot of ridiculous tommy-rot.”

“Yes,” Albert said softly, “but have you figured out how you’re going to explain all this?” His hand described a graceful circle that included the dancers, musicians and gems and silks.

Major Mastiff was silent for some minutes. Then he shook his head slowly and despairingly.

“No,” he said, “I haven’t.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Albert said hopefully, “but we’ve got to get that big baboon that just came in to cooperate with us.”

George was moving toward them, a woe-begone expression on his face. He slumped down in a chair opposite them and stared moodily at his large feet.

G-man Jones looked at him suspiciously.

“Who’re you?” he asked.

“He’s my valet,” Albert said quickly.

“Don’t get too close to those guys,” Jones warned George and then he turned away. He fumbled in his pocket for an instant and then he turned back. “Got a cigarette?” he asked George.

George handed a pack to him.

“Mind if I take a couple for my partner?” Jones asked.

George nodded dully and in a few seconds a blue wreath of sweetish smoke was wafting ceiling-ward from the cigarettes of the two officers.

“George,” Albert said desperately, “you’ve got to get us out of this jam. It’s all your fault, you know.”

“What kin I do?” George asked.

“Pip! Pip!” Albert said for moral effect. “Just a wave of the palm, a snap of the finger and send all these people back where they came from. Simple and neat.”

George shook his huge head glumly.

“I can’t, I yam not a genie. I yam a blundering, nonsensical s-something else.”

“Who told you that?” Albert asked uneasily.

“The old lady,” George said moodily, “I yam not a genie. I never was, I guess. Everything I do goes wrong. I yam a flop, I guess.”