“Did he have some money?”
“Yes,” Oscar said. “He told me where to go to get it.”
He hailed a cab and hustled the other inside and gave the driver Miss Brown’s address. This last was like an inspiration from Heaven. He hadn’t a friend in the world, except Miss Brown. If she wouldn’t help him, there was no hope . . .
CHAPTER V
SHE answered the door herself, and her pretty face clouded as she saw the two bearded strangers standing in the hall.
“What do you want?” she asked. “You aren’t selling cough drops, are you?”
“We came from Oscar Doodle,” Oscar said. “He said you were a friend of his.”
“Come in,” Miss Brown said quickly. She closed the door hastily and led them into her small, daintly furnished living room. “What about Oscar?” she asked.
Oscar hesitated. He couldn’t reveal himself or Oscar the Second would be suspicious. So he said, “I can’t tell you everything right now, but we are his friends and he wants us to stay here for a few days with you.”
Miss Brown looked helplessly about the small apartment.
“Well, certainly,” she said, “but I don’t know where I’m going to put you. Maybe you can take my bedroom and I’ll sleep here on the couch.”
“That’s fine,” Oscar said. “Could you show us your bedroom now? We’d like to get to sleep.”
“But it’s only eight o’clock,” Miss Brown said, looking at him in astonishment.
“I know,” Oscar said, “but we’ve had a long day. And we need our rest if we’re going to help Oscar.”
“Come with me then,” Miss Brown said.
She led them into her bedroom, which was prettily furnished in pink and blue. There was one single bed.
“One of you will have to sleep on the floor,” she said.
“That will be fine,” Oscar said, shoving her gently toward the door. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Miss Brown said dubiously. She closed the door and left them alone.
“What was the reason for this?” Oscar the Second said. “And where’s the money?”
“We need a place to stay, don’t we?” Oscar said. “The money,” he lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, “is under the bed.”
“Under the bed?”
Oscar nodded impressively.
“You get it and I’ll keep a watch for the girl.”
Oscar the Second smiled enthusiastically and dropped to his knees.
“This is wonderful,” he said, sticking a hand under the bed.
“It’s going to be,” Oscar said.
“I don’t feel a thing,” Oscar the Second said plaintively.
“Don’t worry, you will,” Oscar said. He gazed tenderly at his fist and swung mightily . . .
FIVE minutes later he opened the door and walked quickly into the living room. He had removed his wig, glasses and hat.
“Oscar!” Betty cried. She scrambled from her chair with a flash of silken legs and ran to his side.
“Betty,” Oscar murmured, taking her in his arms awkwardly.
“How did you get out of jail?” Betty asked wonderingly. “And who are those two men in the bedroom?”
“Sit down, my dear,” Oscar said, “and I’ll tell you everything.”
When he finished his story Betty’s eyes were shining.
“I think you’re just wonderful,” she murmured. Her face suddenly sobered. “But how about the other man in the bedroom? The other twin you’ve been talking about?”
“I bound him securely with the cord from your bathrobe and locked him in the closet,” Oscar said. “He’s on tap until we need him. Now we’ve got to find the one who absconded with the money and then locate Madame Obary. It’s a big job and I haven’t the faintest idea where to start.”
Betty chewed vigorously on her lower lip.
“I think I can find Madame Obary,” she said. “Agatha would know, wouldn’t she?”
Oscar slapped his thigh.
“Of course she would. I hadn’t thought of that. You’re wonderful, Betty.”
“I’ll get her address from Agatha and go to her, tell her you’ve got to see her and bring her back here tonight,” Betty said. “Will that be all right?”
“That much is all right,” Oscar said, “But we still are missing one of the twins. And he happens to be the most important one of the bunch because he has the money.” He shook his head gloomily. “He’s probably a thousand miles from here now.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “Remember he’s a stranger here. He wouldn’t know where to go.”
“By gosh, you might be right,” Oscar said. “But where can I go to look for him?”
“How about your apartment?” Betty asked. “That’s the only place he knew in the city other than Agatha’s. And he certainly wouldn’t go back there.”
“But the police are watching my apartment,” Oscar protested. “I’d be picked up if I went there.”
“Maybe the police have gone. Remember the police think Oscar Doodle is in jail. Possibly they’ve relaxed their watch.”
“It’s worth a chance,” Oscar said, with sudden determination. “I’ll get started immediately.”
“And so will I,” said Betty. “If everything works out all right we’ll be back together, all our problems solved in a few hours.”
“That’s right,” Oscar said brightly, then his cheer faded and he added gloomily, “if everything works out all right.”
CHAPTER VI
HE reached his apartment a half-hour later. To his intense relief the police had gone. They had torn the place upside down, looking for the missing money, but the disrupted apartment was like a glimpse of Heaven to Oscar.
The place was completely empty. He checked through the four small rooms, even looking under the bed, but he found no one.
His thoughts were churning helplessly as he sat down in his easy chair and tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t just start looking for his pilfering twin. That would be like trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack. The man might be anywhere, and in spite of Betty’s optimism, he still felt that the fellow had left the city and was miles away by this time.
His nerves suddenly jumped as he heard the sound of a key in the door.
He was sitting in the dark and when the door swung open an oblong of light fell across the carpet from the corridor and two figures were silhouetted in the doorway.
One figure was small; the other medium-sized. And the smaller figure had his arm about the other and was half-carrying, half-dragging him into the apartment.
Oscar stepped to the wall and snapped on the light switch. In the sudden glare Chico, his brown-faced, smiling house boy, stood blinking uncomprehendingly at him.
“Chico!” Oscar said sharply.
Chico looked at him in foggy bewilderment, then he lifted the head of the man he was carrying and peered into his features. He stared a long time before he let the head fall soddenly against the man’s chest.
Oscar’s pulses were hammering with excitement! The man with Chico, obviously drunk as a lord, was the third and missing twin, the absconder.
“Who you?” Chico asked abruptly of Oscar, but his voice lacked conviction.
“Chico,” Oscar said sternly. “I am Oscar Doodle, your employer. Where have you been?”
“Hah?” Chico said stupidly. His ever-ready smile had deserted him. He glanced uneasily at the drunken man he was supporting. “Him Doodly,” he said plaintively.
“No,” Oscar said with gentle firmness, “I am Oscar Doodle. That drunken bum is an impostor.”
“Impsstoter?” Chico struggled with the unfamiliar word. He shook his brown head anxiously. He was obviously working desperately to make sense out of the situation. He glanced down again at the man he was supporting. “Him not Doodly?”
“That’s right,” Oscar said. “He is not Oscar Doodle. I am Oscar Doodle.”
“Oh,” Chico s
aid and there was relief in his voice. “You Oscar Doodle.”
His smile returned to his face and his black eyes were cheerfully relieved. He dropped the man he was supporting to the floor and nodded to Oscar. “You want warm milk now?”
“No, not now,” Oscar said. “I want you to tell me how you met this fellow.”
CHICO frowned and collected his thoughts.
“I come back here,” he said, “find police gone. You in jail.”
He smiled to show that he had a tolerant view of Oscar’s incarceration. “I start to clean up apartment. Then,” he pointed to the sodden figure on the floor, “he come. He drunk. I think him you. He want to go out, get drunk some more. I go along, bring him back when get much drunk. That’s all.”
“Now think carefully, Chico,” Oscar said, “when he came here did he have anything with him? A package or a grip of any sort?”
Chico nodded brightly. He opened the door of the hall closet and lifted out a small black leather bag.
“This,” he said proudly.
Oscar took the bag with hands that were suddenly trembling and opened it. Inside lay a half-dozen stacks of crisp green currency. He counted the money rapidly. Thirty-nine thousand, five-hundred and fifty dollars. The loot was intact except for four-hundred and fifty dollars his pilfering ancestor had squandered during his drunken debauch.
His problems were solving themselves wonderfully. Now if he could just get rid of these two twins everything would be rosy. But that would depend on Madame Obary.
“Get him on his feet,” he said to Chico, pointing to the limp figure on the floor. “We’re taking him for a little ride.”
On the street he hailed a cab and helped Chico to shove their drunken burden inside; then he and Chico clambered in and gave the driver Betty Brown’s address . . .
BETTY met them at the door and Oscar almost fainted with relief as he saw the huge, slovenly figure of Madame Obary over her shoulder. The Madame was seated on the couch, hands clasped loosely in her lap and her bovine features were solemnly expressionless.
She looked up and nodded when she saw him.
“Madame Obary,” Oscar said, when Betty had closed the door and Chico had stretched his burden on the floor, “you’ve got to help me. You got me into this mess and you’ll have to get me out. You brought three of my ancestors to this time level and they’ve completely disrupted my life. Can you send them back where they came from?”
Madame Obary pursed her thick lips thoughtfully.
“I do not know,” she said somberly, “I have never tried. Maybe I can, maybe I can’t.”
Chico suddenly tittered and pointed at the Madame.
“Crystal ball woman,” he giggled. He spread his arms wide. “Blimp. Hah, hah, hah!”
“Chico!” Oscar cried.
Madame Obary turned a slow ominous eye on Chico.
“And who is this creature?” she thundered.
“My valet,” Oscar said apologetically.
“Remove him from my presence,” she said with an imperious wave of her hand.
Oscar led Chico to the bedroom.
“Stay in here ’til you’re needed,” he said, and closed the door. “He meant no harm,” he explained to Madame Obary.
The Madame sniffed.
“I do not like ridicule.”
“Now please,” Betty said cajolingly, “Chico was just trying to amuse you. Don’t hold that against him. You will help us, won’t you please?”
Madame Obary deliberated for an instant and then stood up from the couch and gestured at Oscar.
“Lie down,” she said, “I will see what I can do; but do not be too hopeful.”
“Thank you,” Betty said fervently. Oscar lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. His heart was hammering with excitement and hope. Madame Obary sat beside him and put her large, soft hand on his forehead.
“Sleep,” she commanded in her powerful, resonant voice.
Oscar felt the familiar sensation of drowsiness crawling over him, but before he could drift into slumber, there was a sudden violent interruption.
The bedroom door swung open and his black-bearded twin strode into the room. Chico followed him, looking bewildered and confused.
“Found man in closet,” he said, glancing apologetically at Oscar’s black-bearded ancestor, who was standing in the center of the room, glaring angrily at Betty and Oscar.
“Man tied up,” he said. “Man mad.”
“YOU bet I’m mad,” Oscar’s twin snapped. “What kind of a game are you trying to pull?”
Oscar had struggled to a sitting position on the couch and he saw that his ancestor held a large, ugly pair of scissors in his hand and he looked as if he might start using them on the slightest provocation.
“This is unfortunate,” Madame
Obary said, wagging her head solemnly. “There is no chance of sending a subject to another time level while he is consciously resisting.”
“You bet I’m consciously resisting,” Oscar’s ancestor said belligerently.
“Oh,” Betty cried, “why don’t you be a good sport? Why don’t you let Madame Obary send you back where you belong? We’d appreciate it ever so much.”
“Isn’t that just dandy,” Black-beard said sarcastically. “Well just get that idea out of your heads. I’m not going to let myself be sent back to my own time. This place isn’t my idea of Heaven, but it’s a darn sight better than my life in the past, so I’m staying right here.”
He glanced down at the drunken, sodden figure of the third impersonator and a bright gleam of cupidity appeared in his eyes.
“So you found the absconder, eh?” he asked. “And I suppose you found the money too?”
Oscar prayed that he wouldn’t see the small black bag in the corner.
“Yes,” he said, “we found it, but it’s not going to do you any good.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” his ancestor said. “Where is it?”
“Don’t tell him, Oscar!” Betty cried. “I don’t intend to,” Oscar said firmly. His black-bearded impersonator stepped suddenly to Betty’s side and swung her about, twisting her arm behind her cruelly. She gave a low cry and her teeth bit into her lower lip. “Don’t tell him!” she gasped.
Oscar came to his feet.
“Let her go!” he shouted.
“Not until you tell me where the money is.”
“All right,” Oscar said, “I’ll tell you. It’s under the couch.” His ancestor looked suspicious, and he added, “I’ll get it for you.”
“No you don’t, I’ll get it myself. I’m not going to fall for any of your tricks.”
He shoved Betty to one side and waved Oscar away from the couch.
“I’ll get it myself,” he said.
He dropped to his knees and felt under the couch with his hand. One side of his jaw was perfectly exposed.
“Where is it?” he growled.
“It’s pretty far back,” Oscar said, stepping forward quietly.
His ancestor grunted and shoved his arm still further under the couch.
“I don’t feel it,” he said.
“You will this,” Oscar said, and slugged him on the side of the jaw with all his strength.
His ancestor flatttened out on the floor with a low moan.
“Now,” Oscar said to M ad a m e Obary, “get to work.”
He stretched out on the couch and again the Madame laid her hand on his forehead. . .
WHEN he awoke Betty was at his side. The apartment was empty. He sat up and looked around dazedly.
“What happened?”
“Everything’s all right again,” Betty said happily. “You’ve been sleeping for an hour or so. Madame Obary left a little while ago, and I sent Chico back to your apartment to get your clothes.”
“And the other two?” Oscar asked.
“They’re gone,” Betty said. “They’re back on their own time level now.”
Oscar sighed with relief, but then a frown appeared on
his face.
“What is it?” Betty asked.
“How about the other one?” he said reflectively. “The one the police are holding in jail as Oscar Doodle, the embezzler. What’s going to happen to him?”
Betty shrugged her slim shoulders helplessly.
“I don’t know,” she said, “I hadn’t really thought about that.”
Oscar Was silent a minute, staring intently at the floor, then he looked up at her and smiled.
“I know what’s going to happen to him,” he said, “he’s going to stay right where he is. He told me he was serving a jail sentence in his own time, so it is altogether fitting and just that he complete it here. Anyway if we sent him back to his own time he’d land in jail so it doesn’t make much difference.”
“But what’s going to happen to you?” Betty asked. “You’re Oscar Doodle, but if they send your ancestor to jail for embezzlement, where will that leave you? All your friends will think you’ve been sent to jail. You won’t be able to live as Oscar Doodle again.”
“Yes,” Oscar said, smiling, “I’ve thought of that.” He stood up and he felt a glorious sense of relief. “My friends,” he said, “who are they? They don’t exist. I never had a friend except you and Chico and in my new existence I’ll be able to keep both of you close to me forever.”
“Oscar,” Betty said gently.
HE sat beside her and put his arm about her shoulders.
“Don’t you see, darling,” he said, “the Oscar Doodle who slaved at the bank and lived like a mole wasn’t a person at all. He was just a stuffed shirt and I’m heartily glad to be rid of him. There’s only one thing that is worrying me.”
“What is that?” Betty asked.
“My appearance. I still look like Oscar Doodle. People I know might recognize me.”
Betty drew back slightly and studied him with appraising eyes.
“No,” she said, “they’ll never recognize you as that Oscar Doodle. You’ve changed. Something has happened inside you and it shows in your face.
There’s a light in your eyes that was never there before, and when you smile you look almost reckless. You’re another person.”
“I feel like another person,” Oscar said wonderingly.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 188