He closed his eyes tightly and a despairing moan forced itself through his teeth. Then he opened his eyes and looked down at his feet.
His glassy orbs encountered the small squares of marble flooring. His shiny shoes, baggy brown pants were gone. His incredulous eyes traveled up his vanished nether extremities, widening in horror as they saw nothing but empty space where his body should have been.
Oscar Doolittle had become invisible![*]
“My God,” he groaned, “what’s happened to me? Where am I?”
A stout bank official who was hurrying past, paused and looked bewilderedly.
“Thought I heard something,” he muttered. “Must be my imagination.”
He turned and moved away, shaking his head and mumbling to himself.
Oscar stared after him, his mind tossing about on a raging sea of despair and chaos.
“He didn’t see me. I’m not just insane, this has actually happened,” he told himself incredulously.
A rumbling noise grew in volume behind him. He wheeled to face a heavy refuse truck that was bearing down on him. Under the impetus of a beefy maintenance laborer it covered the distance between Oscar swiftly, menacingly.
With a breathless squawk, he sprang from the path of the heavy refuse truck, hugging the wall as it rattled past him.
Now that he was invisible, he wasn’t safe. Others couldn’t see him.
Panting and harried, Oscar fled along the corridor, like a hunted thing, his breath searing his lungs. His way was finally checked by the back of a large, thick-set young man, who was built like a wrestler. Driven by a frantic impulse to flee, Oscar ducked around him, lunged ahead.
His shoulder collided with a soft, yielding substance and a piercing scream split the air, shattering the tranquillity of the Midland State Bank.
RECOVERING himself, Oscar stared horror-stricken at the beautiful, angry features of the young woman he had knocked to the floor. Her escort, a tall, muscular-looking fellow, wheeled about and shook a large fist under the surprised nose of the thickset young man with the wrestler-like build.
“What’s the idea,” he shouted belligerently, “of barging around knocking people over? I ought to bust you in the jaw.”
“Listen, chum,” the burly young man snapped, “nobody knocked your dame off her pins. She stumbled and fell, that’s all. If you still feel like busting me in the jaw, why don’tcha try it!”
An instant later a glorious free-for-all was raging in the normally peaceful domains of the Midland State Bank.
Shouts and catcalls filled the air as the quickly gathering crowd pressed forward hungrily to witness the spilling gore.
Women screamed at the top of their voices. Babies wailed in a shrill, ever-increasing crescendo. Terrified, completely bereft of reason, Oscar crowded back against the wall, staring wildly at the eruption he had caused.
A police whistle shrilled through the growing clamor. Forcing their way through the crowd, Oscar saw the grimly efficient, blue-clad bank guards. In their hands were long, vicious-looking night sticks.
“Who started this?” one of them roared. “I’ll break the head of the man that started this!”
Oscar trembled guiltily. With pounding heart, he slipped and wriggled his invisible body through the crowd until he reached open space.
Then with a wild prayer of thankfulness pouring incoherently from his lips, he fled hysterically from the scene.
AN hour later, Oscar stood dejectedly in a secluded comer, staring moodily at the people streaming by him. For the past hour since he had become invisible, he had roved from one end of the bank to the other, distractedly attempting to figure out what had happened to him.
He sighed heavily, deeply. If only he could regain his visibility, take his place again with normal, visible people!
His bleak musings were disrupted by a sight that made him cringe back against the wall, his heart leaping to his mouth like a startled rabbit.
Two girls were heading toward him, toward the corner in which he had taken refuge. And one of them was Ann Meade, his fiancée until a few short hours ago.
Desperately he peered about for some avenue of escape, but it was too late. The girls had stopped in front of him, so close that he hardly dared breathe for fear of disclosing his nearness. He cowered against the wall, a hot blush staining his invisible features as he realized that the girls were talking about him.
“Oscar is such a worm,” Ann was saying. “I actually feel sorry for him. I couldn’t respect any man who didn’t do things!”
Oscar cringed deeper into the comer, the words biting into his very soul. He could never win Ann back to him now. How could an invisible man “do” things?
IT was as he was contemplating his bitter future that he became conscious that something was happening to him. His head began to reel with a peculiar lightness and a strange buzzing noise filled his ears. Puzzled and apprehensive, he peered down at himself. A second later, before his outraged eyes, his body had suddenly become visible again. Baggy brown suit, black shoes, thin hair—they were all back again.
His relief and happiness exploded in one jubilant shriek.
“Wheee,” he cried, “I’m back!”
This ecstatic utterance had an astonishing effect on the two girls.
They wheeled about, their mouths dropping in amazement, their eyes widening incredulously.
“Sorry if I startled you,” Oscar stuttered jubilantly. “But I couldn’t help it. It’s so wonderful to be back again! Ann, don’t you see? I’m back again. You can see me!”
Ann was the first to recover her composure.
“You little snoop!” she blazed, not at all composedly. “Sneaking around, eavesdropping on private conversations! Well, I hope you got an earful.”
“But I wasn’t snooping around,” Oscar cried. “I was here all the time! Ann, you’ve got to believe me. Awful things have been happening to me.”
“Awful things are going to happen to you,” Ann returned grimly, “if you don’t get out of my sight this instant.” Oscar backed away before her indignant gaze, futile pleading noises sounding in his throat. Sadly he turned and staggered off to his tiny cubby-hole, despair and gloom riding his sagging shoulders.
Reaching the comparative sanctuary of his office, he ducked inside and collapsed in his leather desk chair. His eyes traveled over the neat array of rubber stamps, inkwells and ledgers that adorned the top of his desk. Under the steadying effect of these prosaic objects, reason returned slowly and he began to mull, moodily and morosely, over the events of the morning.
And then suddenly, with the force of a buckshot-stuffed eelskin at the base of the neck, the reason for his incredible transformation occurred to Oscar. Somehow the vanishing cream and his special formula had blended together into a weird compound that had the effect of rendering him invisible.
On top of this deduction came another horrible thought. Would it happen again? Would he go through life snapping on and off like an electric light bulb?
Oscar was not a profane individual but under the stress of the moment, the floodgates of his soul broke, and the torment and exasperation that was dammed there overflowed in one bitter explosion.
“Oh, darn it,” he groaned, “doubledarn it all!”
CHAPTER III
Skulduggery
WORK was out of the question.
Oscar’s eyes roved about the narrow confines of his office like a trapped rat. Some horrible premonition warned him that the surprises of the day were not over.
“What will happen next?” he sighed. “What will happen next?”
As if awaiting this cue, there came a sharp rap on the door. It was repeated again, loudly, authoritatively.
“Come in,” gasped Oscar.
The door swung open and the ominous bulk of Lester Mercer, efficiency expert, moved into the room. It was followed by the still more ominous bulk of Phineas Q. Botts, president of the bank. This procession was followed by two stern-looking policemen.
Phineas Q. Botts was not in the habit of dropping in casually on his lesser employees to pass the time of day. When he “dropped” in, it was a sure sign something was stirring. Oscar scrambled to his feet, joggling the inkwell on his desk.
“What’s the matter,” he squeaked, “is anything wrong?”
Phineas Q. Botts cleared his throat in a series of harrumphs! that sounded like an engine gathering speed for a long grade.
“For your sake, Doolittle,” he rumbled ominously, “I hope not.”
He inclined his portly figure in the direction of the efficiency expert in a sort of “After you, Alphonse” gesture.
“Mr. Mercer has a few questions to ask you. If—” Botts paused and waggled a finger sternly. “Notice I say ‘if.’ If you answer them to our satisfaction, you have nothing whatever to fear.”
Oscar’s frightened gaze turned to
Mercer’s sternly unpleasant features.
“Certainly,” he said nervously, “I’ll be glad to answer any questions I can.”
“First of all, Doolittle,” Mercer began with deceptive calmness, “you took a special, negotiable bond for the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars to the vaults this morning. Is that correct?”
“That’s right,” gulped Oscar, wondering what this was leading to.
“Then you locked the bond in a strong-box,” Mercer continued blandly, “and left the vaults.” He paused, and then added with suspicious politeness, “Is my reconstruction of the scene accurate, Mr. Doolittle?”
Oscar wavered. The conviction was growing in his soul that all was not well. His eyes traveled in a helpless circle to Botts, the policemen and finally back to Mercer.
“That’s right,” he quavered.
Mercer paused, letting the silence weave a cold blanket over the room.
“Then,” his voice was suddenly harsh, “perhaps you will tell us where the bond is now.”
Oscar’s eyes popped open like a hooked bass. His brain struggled to grasp the implication in Mercer’s words.
“You mean,” he gasped, “it’s gone?”
“As if you didn’t know!” Mercer snapped sarcastically. “It was a clever scheme you worked out, Doolittle, but it’s not going to work. No one has entered those vaults since you left.” His voice rose dramatically. “Oscar Doolittle, in the name of the Midland State Bank, I demand that you hand over that bond!”
“But I never took it!” Oscar wailed. “I don’t know anything about it! It’s all a terrible mistake!”
“Then you refuse,” barked Mercer. He wheeled to the policemen, his voice rising to a soaring baritone.
“As officers sworn to uphold the laws and statutes of this commonwealth, I demand that you do your plain duty.”
His arm shot out, pointed accusingly at Oscar’s trembling figure.
“Arrest this man for grand larceny and embezzlement!”
Oscar staggered back, his mind reeling under the accumulated force of these indictments. Through the hysterical fog that swept over him, he could hear Botts speaking.
“Not so fast now. We haven’t given Doolittle a chance to answer these charges. Come now, Oscar.” Botts’ voice had a kindly, mellow ring to it. “If you have anything to say in your defense, I, for one, will be happy to listen.”
UNDER the effects of these encouraging words Oscar opened his eyes and cleared his throat. He realized that he was facing the supreme test of his life. Now, if never again, he must prove himself a man of character and dependability. If he could impress Botts with his honesty and integrity, he knew that Botts would stick by him. It was now or never.
His spirit rose to the challenge. He squared his shoulders, grimly determined to force Botts to recognize his sterling qualities. He glared around the circle of eyes. Oscar Doolittle, mouse turned lion!
He opened his mouth—but the words that he had chosen were never uttered.
For the strange buzzing noise was booming in his ears again, and with horrible clairvoyance he realized what was going to happen.
“I’m going!” Oscar cried. “I can’t help it. I’ve got to go—but I’m not guilty!”
One of the policemen tugged at his gun.
“You’re not going anywhere, buddy,” he said grimly. “Grab him, Charlie.”
But he was too late. For before his astounded eyes the humble person of Oscar Doolittle melted into thin air for the second time that day.
He stood before them invisible, unseen to their eyes. A fine way to convince a man of your dependability, Oscar thought bitterly.
“Cripes,” ejaculated the officer called Charlie, “did you see that? He disappeared right in front of our eyes!”
“Nonsense!” bellowed Phineas Q. Botts. “Drooling, driveling nonsense. Expect me to believe a man vanished like a wisp of smoke? He slipped out of the room, right past you so-called policemen, that’s what he did. I saw him myself!” shouted Botts, who had seen nothing of the kind.
“Well, what are you standing there for?” Botts demanded. “He’s probably walking out of the building this minute.” The banker banged a meaty fist on the top of the desk. “Get busy, do you hear? I want action, not talk about disappearing men! Now by thunder, clear out of here and find Oscar Doolittle!”
Oscar Doolittle at the time was standing not six feet from the wrathful Mr. Botts. The two policemen, looking rather dazed, backed out of the room and pounded off down the corridor. In a minute or so the alarm was sounding throughout the building.
“That’ll fix him,” declared Botts. “Can’t say as I’m not a little disappointed, though. Didn’t think Doolittle was that type. But his attempt to escape leaves no doubt of his guilt.”
Oscar stifled a groan. He could never clear himself now.
Mercer looked uneasy. “Are you sure you saw him leave, Phineas? I can’t say that I did.”
“Certainly I did,” blustered Botts, who by now was certain that he had seen Oscar leave. “He ducked under the desk and slipped through the officers’ legs.” He chuckled heartily. “The old fox is getting along but he’s still pretty sharp, eh, Mercer? Still sees a lot of things you youngbloods overlook.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Mercer said dubiously. “I hope so, anyway,” he added under his breath.
Botts turned and waddled importantly from Oscar’s office, Mercer bringing up the rear.
Oscar Doolittle was left alone in his invisibility.
He sighed and slumped into his chair, buried his head in his hands. This was the last straw. Branded forever as a common thief! And no way to prove his innocence. It would have been difficult under normal circumstances, but now that he was invisible it was utterly hopeless, impossible.
But was it?
THE thought bounced into Oscar’s brain quite of its own accord. He was invisible; he could escape; or he could search for evidence to prove himself not guilty. The mere thought was enough to fan the fires of hope that blazed in his heart.
Excited, he scrambled to his feet. He was convinced that Mercer was connected in some way with the disappearance of the bond.
If he shadowed Mercer—Any chance, no matter how slim, was worth taking.
His heart fluttering with hope, Oscar hurried from his office, ducked through the stream of people and headed for the lobby.
Seconds later, entering the lobby, he saw clusters of uniformed policemen guarding every exit. Phineas Q. Botts stood in the center of the floor, his feet planted wide like an angry bull, his rumbling voice shouting orders to policemen, messengers and vice-presidents—anyone, in fact, that came within radius of the bellows.
Oscar spied Mercer talking earnestly to Ann Meade in front of the tellers’ cages. Dodging the traffic, he scurried across the floor until he stood directly behind Mercer’s broad back.
“I’m doing all I can for Oscar,” Mercer was saying smoothly. “But it looks like an open and shut case against him.” Oscar felt a swift, hot surge of anger. Mercer, the lying hypocrite, was attempting to get in solid with Ann, b
y pretending to be helping him.
“I don’t believe he did it,” Ann returned stoutly. “He may be a timid, helpless creature, but he’s not a thief.”
“Certainly not,” Mercer said heartily. “I like Oscar and I’m proud to call him my friend.”
“He was a nice little fellow,” Ann said wistfully. “Even if he was so futile.”
Mercer cleared his throat loudly. He could carry this thing too far.
“Ann, there’s something I want to ask you,” he said quickly. “The employees of the bank are holding their annual dance tonight and I want you to go with me.” He added hastily as Ann looked indecisive. “We could probably get some more information about Oscar there.”
“That will be wonderful,” Ann said, smiling. “It was lovely of you to ask me, Lester.” She glanced at her watch and gave a little cry of dismay. “Heavens, I’m late! I’ll have to fly. ’Bye-’bye until tonight.”
Mercer watched her out of sight, his face beaming smugly with the assurance of a man who has made a good impression and knows it.
Oscar walked around in front of Mercer, scratching his head. He was puzzled about what to do next. Suddenly he noticed Mercer start violently and turn pallid. He followed the direction of Mercer’s eyes and saw a slim, stylishly furred brunette approaching. She smiled brightly, displaying dazzlingly white teeth, as she stopped in front of Mercer with a swish of her short pleated skirt.
“Hello, ducky,” she said. “Didn’t forget me, did you?”
“Celeste, I told you not to come here!” Mercer hissed. “This might spoil everything, you little fool.”
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes roving the interior of the bank fearfully. Finally he turned back to the girl.
“Luckily we haven’t been seen. Follow me to my office. You can talk to me there.”
He turned on his heel and strode off. Celeste shrugged her slim shoulders and strolled after him at a more languid pace.
Oscar dogged her steps. Some instinct warned him that she was connected in some way with the disappearance of the twenty-five thousand dollar bond. In spite of her glamorous appearance, she looked as cold and business-like as a pearl-handled revolver.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 5