Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  Oscar shook his head. What a mess she had made for him. But he wasn’t going to stay licked. Reclaiming his job was only the first step in the battle. He’d keep fighting until he’d driven these unwanted ancestors of his completely out of his life.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He smiled in anticipation and squared his shoulders.

  “Come in!” he said sternly.

  The door opened and his blonde secretary entered. She stared at him in astonishment and then a frantic expression of worry appeared on her face.

  “Mr. Doodle,” she cried, “what are you doing here?”

  Oscar cleared his throat severely.

  “Where else would I be, Miss Brown?” he inquired dryly.

  “But you can’t stay here,” Miss Brown said, looking wildly about the room. “You’ve got to hide. I’ll help you. I won’t tell anyone I’ve seen you.” She crossed to his side with quick, anxious steps and took his arm in her hands and pulled him to his feet.

  “Please,” she said imploringly, “you can hide in the closet. Then tonight I’ll help you slip out.”

  OSCAR removed his arm from her grasp.

  “I don’t know what’s come over you, Miss Brown,” he gasped. He stared into her anxious, worried eyes and shook his head. “You’re talking nonsense. I think you had better take the rest of the day off and rest.”

  “But you’ve got to listen to me,” Miss Brown said pleadingly. There were tears of concern in her eyes and her pretty face was clouded with worry. “There’s no time to waste. They’ll be here any minute.”

  “Who will be here any minute?” Oscar demanded. “And why should I hide in the closet because some person or persons unknown are visiting me in my office? I have done nothing wrong, I don’t need to hide from anyone.”

  The door had opened as he was speaking and when he finished a hard, cold voice said, “It wouldn’t have done you any good to hide, Doodle, the game is up.”

  Miss Brown turned on slim ankles as three heavy-set men walked heavily into the office.

  “I tried to tell you,” she wailed, turning back to Oscar.

  Oscar stared at the three men with dazed, uncomprehending eyes.

  “What’s all this about?” he asked. “Don’t pull the innocent act,” one of the men said sarcastically. He flipped his coat lapel aside, displaying a gleaming police shield. “I’m Higgins from Central. We want to have a little chat with you down at the station. Get your coat.”

  Oscar sat down heavily. He felt as if he had been struck at the base of the skull with a stuffed eel skin.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said weakly.

  “You will soon, then,” Higgins said. “Forty thousand bucks was stolen from here last night and we’ve got three witnesses from the bank who say you’re the man who pulled the job.”

  Comprehension dawned on Oscar and he felt his mouth going dry. A cold hand of terror was closing over his heart. His twin, his pilfering ancestor, who had impersonated him yesterday, had stolen forty thousand dollars from the bank. And the police thought that he was the one who had committed the robbery.

  He stared wildly at the grim faces of the three policemen.

  “No, no,” he cried hysterically, “you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t steal the money. It was someone who looked like me. I’m innocent.”

  “You’ll be given a chance to prove it,” Higgins said. “Now get your coat.” Miss Brown was sniffing into a handkerchief in the corner.

  “Oh, Mr. Doodle,” she wailed, “why did you do it?”

  HIGGINS smiled sardonically.

  “So you’re innocent, eh? You’d better start talking, Doodle. Where’s the money?”

  “I don’t know,” Oscar said wildly. “I haven’t got it.”

  “Then where did you hide it?”

  “I didn’t hide it,” Oscar cried. He looked entreatingly at the grim circle of faces. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  “All right,” Higgins said, “you’re going to be tough. We can play that game, too. Get your coat and don’t make me ask you again.”

  Oscar staggered to his feet and put on his coat.

  “This is all a mistake,” he bleated. “Sure,” Higgins said, “and you made it.”

  Miss Brown caught his arm as he walked to the door.

  “I’ll come and see you, Mr. Doodle.” Oscar swallowed and walked through the door, too dazed to answer. He wondered vaguely if Alcatraz was air-conditioned in the summertime.

  CHAPTER IV

  OSCAR sat in a small grim cell with his head buried in his hands. This was his blackest hour. Three witnesses from the bank had just left, after testifying with some reluctance that they had seen Oscar the previous afternoon cram cash into a black leather bag before leaving for the day.

  The case against him was air-tight. He was doomed unless he could, somehow, find his impersonator and make him return the money. Oscar raised his head and stared gloomily at the solid bars of his cell. There was no chance of getting out of this place, and unless he did, there was no chance of ever proving himself innocent.

  He sighed and dropped his head back to his hands. A few minutes later he heard a footstep outside the cell. He looked up and saw Higgins, the detective, standing outside the cell, hands in his pockets and a large cigar in his mouth.

  “Still ain’t talking, eh?” Higgins murmured.

  “I tell you I’ve got nothing to tell,” Oscar said. “I didn’t steal the money, so I don’t know where it’s hidden.”

  Higgins took the cigar from his mouth and stared reflectively at its glowing tip.

  “I’ll be frank with you, Doodle,” he said, “you haven’t got a chance of escaping conviction with your yam. The judge will instruct the jury to convict and that means your worries will be over for the next few dozen years. But a conviction like that doesn’t do us any good. We want the money. The insurance company is already raising hell with the chief. They want the money and they don’t give a damn about the thief.” Higgins leaned closer and blew a slow smoke ring into Oscar’s cell. “Now if you play ball with me, give the tip on where the stuff is hidden, I’ll see to it that the judge goes light on you. You’ll be a free man in a few years. But,” he shrugged, “if you don’t want to talk we’ll make it as tough on you as we can. We’ll try you for everything on the book and give you life. Now what do you say?”

  Oscar swallowed miserably.

  “What can I say? You won’t believe me when I tell you I didn’t take the money. You won’t believe me when I tell you I don’t know where it’s hidden. But I am telling the truth.”

  “Okay,” Higgins’ face hardened. “Play it your way, Doodle, but don’t expect any favors from now on.”

  He turned and strode down the corridor. Oscar stretched out on the cot and stared despairingly at the ceiling. He was through for good.

  A few minutes later there was a light tap of feminine heels on the floor and when he looked up his secretary, Miss Brown, was standing outside his cell with a guard.

  Oscar rose quickly to his feet.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I had to see you,” Miss Brown said. Her pretty face was worried. “You aren’t angry at me for c o m i n g, are you?”

  “No, not at all,” Oscar said. He felt very glad that she had come. It made him feel, somehow, less alone.

  The guard opened the door and closed it when she stepped inside the cell.

  “You got about six minutes,” he said and moved down the corridor.

  OSCAR led Miss Brown to the cot and they sat down, hands clasped together.

  “Now tell me why you came, Miss Brown,” Oscar said.

  “I know you aren’t guilty, and you can call me Betty,” Miss Brown said, on one breath.

  “Thank you—Betty,” Oscar said, rather hesitantly, and then the full impact of her words hit him. He grabbed her shoulders tightly. “You what?”

  “I know you aren’t guilty,” Miss
Brown spoke in a tense, conspiratorial whisper. “I didn’t realize it until after you’d gone. But that man who worked at the bank yesterday wasn’t you. I know that for certain.”

  Oscar felt a flood of relief that left him weak and shaky.

  “How did you know?” he asked eagerly.

  “Well,” Miss Brown dimpled, “he tried to kiss me.”

  “Oh,” Oscar said flatly. He looked at Miss Brown and saw that she was pretty in a soft, pleasant sort of way. And her eyes were a fascinating shade of blue. “What makes you sure I wouldn’t try to kiss you?” he asked moodily.

  “Oh, I just know,” Miss Brown said, “and I wanted to tell you I’m going to do everything I can to help prove your innocence.”

  “Thank you,” Oscar said. He wanted to say more but he couldn’t. There was a lump in his throat that made talking difficult. He patted her hand awkwardly. “Thank you,” he said again. The guard reappeared at the door. “Time’s up. Got another visitor for you, Doodle,” he said.

  “I wonder who this can be,” Oscar said, as Miss Brown walked to the door. He shook hands with her and said, “You will try to come again, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” Miss Brown nodded, “I’ll come again. And I’ll be working for you on the outside.”

  She squeezed his hand and then stepped through the door and was gone. Oscar walked back to the cot and sat down, but there was a vision of blue eyes still before him. What a blind bat he was! She had worked for him for years and he had never once realized how wonderful and loyal she was.

  The guard opened the door again and a medium-sized man wearing dark glasses and baggy, nondescript clothes walked into the cell. Oscar had never seen him before in his life. The stranger’s face was concealed by a bushy red beard and mustache and a slouch hat was pulled down over his eyes.

  “You got six minutes,” the guard said, and moved down the corridor again.

  Oscar stood up and regarded the stranger uncertainly.

  “You are Oscar Doodle?” the stranger asked, and Oscar found his voice strangely familiar.

  He nodded.

  “But who are you? You have the advantage of me. Have we met before?”

  “Yes,” the stranger said, “we met last night.”

  HE STEPPED to the barred door and peered up and down the corridor. Satisfied, he swung back to Oscar and smiled.

  “Maybe you will recognize me now.”

  He tugged at his red beard and it came away from his face. It was attached to his ears by rubber bands.

  Oscar drew a surprised breath. The red-bearded stranger was one of his twins from Time, one of his impersonators who had gotten him into this terrible mess.

  “Which one are you?” he asked indignantly.

  “Sssssh,” his twin said warningly. He glanced cautiously over his shoulder and let his beard slip back into place. “I am Oscar the First, remember? I took over your apartment and Chico.”

  “I remember,” said Oscar bitterly. “And how are you enjoying yourself these days?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Oscar the First said in the same cautious voice.

  “We’re in a spot.” He glanced about the barred cell and shuddered. “Nothing but the utmost urgency would make me step willingly into one of these confounded jails. You remember I told you I was behind bars at the time I was whisked to this time level by your medium.”

  “Yes, I recall that,” Oscar said stonily, “and it didn’t endear you to me. What is it you want now?”

  “Help,” Oscar the First said. “We’re desperate. The police are camping at the apartments of both yourself and your hag.”

  “Where is Chico? How is Agatha?” Oscar asked.

  “Chico is gone,” Oscar the First said, “and your precious Agatha has issued a statement to the press breaking her engagement to you. Of course you shouldn’t feel badly about that.”

  Oscar sat down on the edge of the cot, stunned. Chico gone and Agatha—he paused and examined his emotions. No, he didn’t feel bad about Agatha, but Chico—

  “Where do you suppose he’s gone?” he asked.

  Oscar the First shrugged.

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s pulled out. Now there are two of us left. There’s been no trace yet of our light-fingered relation. But we’ve got to have money and a place to go. You’re our only contact. You must have some funds stacked away for a rainy day. And we thought you might have a lodge or a cottage somewhere in the country that we could use until all this unpleasantness has blown over.”

  “You mean until I’m sent up for a life term in prison,” Oscar said grimly.

  Oscar the First smiled behind his red beard.

  “I didn’t want to be so blunt,” he said. “Now be a good chap and help us out. You certainly can’t use money where you’re going.”

  “No, I can’t,” Oscar said.

  HE REGARDED his twin with narrowed eyes. An idea had popped into his head that ordinarily his logical cautious mind would have shunned with horror. But Oscar’s personality was undergoing a subtle change. This situation called for radical measures and Oscar had reached the point where he was jumping at straws.

  “It so happens,” he said musingly, “that I have got a bit of money tucked away, and, as you say, it won’t be doing me any good.”

  “That’s the spirit” Oscar the First said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “And,” Oscar continued thoughtfully, “possibly you could use part of the money to help me obtain a pardon, not right away, but say in four or five years.”

  “The very thing I was thinking of,” his red-bearded ancestor said enthusiastically. “Now the money. Where is it? Where have you got it hidden?”

  “It’s right in this cell,” Oscar said. He leaned closer and whispered, “right under this cot.”

  “No?” his twin whispered incredulously. His eyes brightened behind the dark glasses. “Why, that’s wonderful! It’ll save us all so much time.”

  Oscar glanced cautiously at the door. “I’ll watch for the guard,” he whispered, “and you get the money.”

  Oscar the First was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Excellent, excellent,” he said, “watch sharply now.”

  He dropped to his knees and put his hand under the bed.

  “I don’t feel it,” he said.

  Oscar stood up and rubbed his fist carefully.

  “You will,” he said sweetly.

  He swung downward with all his strength at the other’s beautifully exposed jaw, and the sound of his fist meeting bone echoed in the cell with a satisfying smack.

  Oscar the First sagged to the floor without a moan.

  Oscar surveyed his efforts with a deep, welling sense of triumph. There was something primeval and joyous about striking an enemy to the floor with one blow of a fist.

  But he didn’t linger long with his sense of satisfaction. He took one look down the corridor to see that the coast was clear and then returned to the still form of his ancestor and went quickly to work . . .

  IN THREE minutes he stood up, attired in the other’s baggy clothes and wearing his red stage beard, dark glasses and slouch hat. His own clothes he had put on the still unconscious form of Oscar the First. He was smiling as he lifted the limp body from the floor and stretched it out on the cot. The man on the bed was his physical twin, identical in every respect, and attired in Oscar’s discarded clothes. No one would ever suspect that he was not the real and original Oscar Doodle.

  He finished the transformation not a minute too soon.

  The guard returned and opened the door.

  “Time’s up,” he said.

  “All right,” Oscar said. “I’m ready.”

  He bent down and gripped the unconscious man by the shoulder.

  “Don’t give up hope, son,” he said. Shaking his head somberly he left the cell and walked down the corridor with the guard.

  “Doodle’s taking it pretty hard,” he said regretfully. He glanced sideways at the guard. The man was walki
ng along stolidly, chewing a wad of tobacco with slow movements of his jaw.

  “That’s the way with them thieves,” the guard said, without breaking the rhythm of his chewing. “Don’t think about that when they’re puttin’ other folks’ money in their pockets. Get all sad and pious though when they get behind bars.” He spat forcefully. “Too late then.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Oscar said tactfully, as the guard let him through the last gate.

  “ ’Course I’m right,” the guard said, chewing steadily.

  “Yes of course, good night,” Oscar said.

  He walked down the steps of the police station trying not to hurry. He forced himself to walk casually, carefully, until he was a block from the building. Then he began to walk rapidly, but he hadn’t taken a dozen steps before a hand grasped his arm.

  He stopped and turned guiltily to a man of his own height, who wore a black beard and dark glasses under a floppy slouch hat.

  “What luck?” this man asked tensely. “Did he have any money?”

  Oscar tried to keep his relief from showing in his face. He realized that this bearded, dark-glassed fellow was his other impersonator, the one who had moved in on Agatha; and he also realized that this man was mistaking him for his confederate, Oscar the First.

  “Well?” the fellow repeated impatiently.

  Oscar was thinking rapidly. He knew now that the only person who might help him get rid of his impersonators was the person responsible for bringing them here in the first place—Madame Obary.

  He couldn’t let this twin get out of his hands. He had one locked securely in jail and that meant there was only one at liberty. If he could somehow find that one—the one who had absconded with the money—he’d have them all, and then maybe Madame Obary could do something to send them back to their own times.

  “Come with me,” he said to his black-bearded twin.