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

First published in Fantastic Adventures, August 1943.

Chapter I

Oscar Doodle arrived at his modestly furnished apartment every evening at six o’clock and by six ten he would be resting in his favorite chair sipping a glass of light sherry and reading the evening papers.

The sherry was brought to him by his Filipino houseboy, Chico, Oscar’s one extravagance.

This particular evening was no exception to the inevitable pattern. He was seated comfortably enjoying his sherry and Chico was busy in the small kitchen, preparing dinner.

Oscar Doodle was not a remarkable man. In fact if anyone was interested in making a catalogue of the prosaic, colorless, unimportant people in the country, Oscar’s name would be certain of inclusion. He had never made Who’s Who; he would have been, however, a candidate for Who Cares?

His life was bounded on three sides; his job, as a minor executive in a small bank, in whose service he had slaved for sixteen years, was his chief interest. Second to this came his well-ordered and pleasant apartment, dominated by the marvelous efficiency of Chico. And last and least was the not-too-young lady with whom he kept fairly steady company, Miss Agatha Prim.

Miss Prim was a quiet, cultivated sort of person and he found her company restful. What she found in him no one ever bothered to ask.

Chico came into the room as he finished the last of his sherry.

“Dinner is ready,” Chico said quietly. He was brown and moon-faced with a quick flashing smile that displayed a mouthful of large white teeth.

Oscar rose to his feet and burped gently, another of his punctual habits.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m going out tonight, Chico, I wish you’d set out my gray suit.”

All of Oscar’s suits were gray but he and Chico never mentioned this fact. When he switched suits he simply asked for his gray suit. Chico understood.

“I’m going to a party at Miss Prim’s,” Oscar said, “so I’m afraid I may be a little late.”

Chico nodded.

“You play crystal ball games tonight?” he asked. His bright smile lit up his face.

Oscar winced. Chico’s question was in reference to his Agatha’s almost fanatic preoccupation with various mediums, fortune tellers and the like from whom she derived the vicarious thrill of peering into the future lives of her friends.

“I’m afraid we will,” he said, sighing. “Agatha met some woman at a party recently who told her of a medium who has made an intensive study of reincarnation.” Oscar glanced at Chico, almost apologetically. “That’s very interesting, of course,” he said.

Chico nodded brightly.

“This medium will be there tonight,” Oscar said, “so I suppose we’ll spend the night listening to her discuss reincarnation.” He coughed slightly. “Stimulating evening.” He shook his head and went into the dining room where he ate an excellent meal before showering and dressing for Agatha’s party.

Chico followed him to the door of the apartment and helped him into his coat.

“I will leave glass of warm milk on stove,” he said.

“Thank you, Chico,” Oscar said. He picked up his hat, set it squarely on his balding head and left for the party...

Agatha met him at the door of her apartment with a glad smile. She was taller than Oscar by several inches and put together at rather sharp angles. She wore a quiet dark dress and no make-up. Her eyes were large and bright in the pallor of her face.

“You must come right in, Oscar,” she said excitedly. “Madame Obary is here and she is simply fascinating!”

“I’m sure she is,” Oscar said drily.

He was led into the apartment, his coat and hat were taken by Agatha’s colored maid, and then he was introduced to the assembled guests.

Most of them, he reflected gloomily as he dutifully smiled and shook hands, were not worth meeting. Then he was escorted across the room to a large divan, where an even larger woman was holding court.

“Madame Obary,” Agatha said breathlessly, “I want you to meet Oscar.”

The creature on the couch turned her solemn, bovine eyes in Oscar’s direction and nodded slowly, sending a tremor down her many chins that was like the effect of a stone tossed into a quiet pool.

She was dark with oily black hair in a bun on her neck and her arms were circled with dozens of weird bracelets. Her plain dress fitted her like a sagging circus tent.

“How do you do?” she murmured, in a quiet throaty voice. “I am always pleased to meet new disciples.”

“Well, I’m hardly that,” Oscar said with an uneasy laugh.

“You will be,” Madame Obary said.

“Madame Obary,” Agatha said, turning to Oscar with breathless animation, “has been telling us the most incredible things. Really the things that go on are simply amazing.”

“Things?” Oscar said blankly.

“I mean incidents in the occult,” Agatha said a trifle impatiently. “You’ve simply no idea!”

“I guess I haven’t,” said Oscar, feeling somehow that his reaction was a bit inadequate.

“Madame Obary,” continued Agatha with a rush, “is one of the four people in the world who completely understands the theory of reincarnation.”

Madame Obary cleared her throat impressively.

“One of the three persons in the world who understands it,” she corrected severely.

“Isn’t that marvelous?” Agatha said, turning an enraptured face to Oscar. “Just think! One of the three!”

“Well, well,” Oscar said.

“Madame Obary’s theory,” Agatha went on with a breathlessness that paid high tribute to the importance of Madame Obary’s theory, “is that our ancestors are alive today, but living on another time plane, and—”

“Please!” Madame Obary said, raising one hand sternly. “I will explain.”

“Yes, of course,” said Agatha chastened.

“All life is simultaneous,” Agatha said in her rich booming voice, “the terms of Past, Present and Future are inaccurate misnomers. Such categories do not exist. The lives of our ancestors and our grandchildren are being lived this moment, but on a separate time plane from our own. Do you understand?”

She directed the question at Oscar and from her stern features and beetling brows it was obvious she would brook no nonsense. Oscar, her tone and manner clearly implied, had damn well better understand.

“I get the point,” Oscar said. “It’s a little vague,” he added apologetically. “The main idea is clear enough, but the business about the grandchildren—” his voice trailed off weakly. He couldn’t go on. The whole damn, nonsensical theory was more than a little vague. It was as cloudy as an opium smoker’s dream and not half so attractive.

“Naturally,” Madame Obary said, with a superior smile, “you will not be able to understand the more subtle implications of the theory. A trained mind is needed for such comprehension.” She turned to Agatha. “Is this young man to be our subject for this evening?”

“What?” said Oscar blankly.

Agatha put her hand anxiously on his arm.

“Now don’t get excited, Oscar,” she said, smiling nervously at him. “I didn’t tell you before, but Madame Obary needs a subject for her demonstration and I told her that you wouldn’t mind. Please be helpful.”

“Just what is required of me?” Oscar asked warily.

Madame Obary said, “You will be put into a trance and I will explore your subconscious mind. It is my hope to establish contact with your ancestors through your subconscious and, if the séance is successful, you may be able to communicate with them also. This is done by bridging the time planes that separate you from your ancestors. The success of my undertaking will depend completely on the sensitivity of your receptive powers.”

Oscar reflected with a definite bitterness that if Madame Obary’s ridiculous experiment should happen to work she would get all the credit; but if it failed, which was by all odds the more certain probability, the blame would fall on his shoulders. It didn’t seem fair.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

Madame Bovary had struggled to her feet and was already making preparations. She ordered him to lie on the divan and then asked that all the lights, with the exception of one dim lamp, be turned off. From an enormous handbag she drew forth a sheaf of papers on which were inscribed designs that looked as if they were results of a drawing class of morons.

She sat down on a chair beside the couch and spread these designs over her ample lap.

“Empty your mind of everything,” she said to Oscar, as if she were referring to a garbage hopper. “Your consciousness must be a complete blank.”

One of the guests in a dark corner of the room chuckled and remarked that that shouldn’t be too hard for Oscar. There was a general laugh.

Oscar squirmed angrily on the couch. Was he brought here to be mocked, humiliated, insulted? He decided that he was and, having reached that conclusion, closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest with icy deliberation.

Agatha and the guests were in the shadows of the room and they watched tensely as Madame Obary laid one plump hand on Oscar’s forehead.

Oscar felt as if a damp fish had been suddenly dropped across his eyes, but he said nothing. For he was conscious of a peculiar sensation of drowsiness. Darkness seemed to be drifting in on his mind and his eyelids were heavy. He stirred slightly on the couch and tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too much. He breathed heavily, rhythmically and the last sound he heard was Madame Obary’s voice saying,

“Sleep and let your mind rest.”

Oscar drifted off to sleep.

Chapter II

When Oscar awoke the lights were on in Agatha’s apartment, but the guests were gone. Agatha was sitting on a chair beside the couch looking at him with what appeared to be a disappointed expression.

“What happened?” Oscar asked blankly, struggling to a sitting position.

“Nothing!” Agatha said sharply. “You were a complete washout, Oscar. Madame Obary was quite disappointed. And so were all the guests.”

Oscar put both hands to his temples and shook his head slowly. There was a funny sensation in his head, a tired, dazed feeling. As if a legion of pygmies had walked over his brain with spiked shoes.

“Nothing happened, eh?” he said.

“Madame Obary tried for an hour to establish contact with your ancestors through your subconscious, but you were thoroughly uncooperative.” Agatha pursed her thin lips in irritation. “I was humiliated.”

Oscar put his hands to his head again.

“How do you know nothing happened?” he asked. “My head certainly feels as if something had.”

“Madame Obary said the attempt was unsuccessful,” Agatha said.

“Who are you going to believe? Madame Obary or my head?” Oscar said belligerently. He stood up and straightened his coat carefully. “I’ll be going now. I think this whole thing has been completely ridiculous.”

“All right, if that’s the way you feel about it,” Agatha said. “I’ll get your coat.”

“Thank you,” said Oscar coolly.

He didn’t sleep very well that night. And the next morning it took all of Chico’s gentle ministrations to bring him back to a fairly pleasant frame of mind. He breakfasted, dressed carefully and left his apartment, still feeling depressed.

He reached the bank on time and went directly to his small private office in back of the vaults. Oscar’s job with the bank entailed handling the records of the safety deposit vaults and he was daily in contact with large sums of money. He had been given the job because the president of the bank was of the private opinion that Oscar was too timid to steal and too stupid to know what to do with the money if he did steal it.

Oscar’s private secretary glanced up when he entered the reception room of his office. She was a very pretty blonde girl, efficient and careful, but at sight of Oscar her mouth dropped open in a very unbecoming fashion, And her blue eyes widened with astonishment.

“Close your mouth, please, Miss Brown,” Oscar said testily.

Miss Brown closed her mouth, but the expression of astonishment remained on her face.

“Whom did you wish to see,” she asked in a faint dazed voice.

“What’s the matter with you?” Oscar demanded. “I don’t wish to see anyone. I want to get to work and I’ll need you for dictation. Can you come right in?”

Miss Brown rose from her chair and backed slightly away from him, her eyes glassy.

“Mr. Doodle is busy now,” she managed to gasp. “You’d better come back later.”

“Mr. Doodle is busy?” Oscar cried. “What kind of nonsense is this? I’m Mr. Doodle. How could I be busy and talking to you at the same time?”

“You look like Mr. Doodle,” his secretary said, “but Mr. Doodle is in his office. He’s been here for an hour working.”

Oscar regarded his secretary severely.

“Miss Brown,” he said with quiet deliberation, “I am not amused by your joke. For some reason you are acting in a most irregular manner. I am willing to overlook your conduct if you can assure me it will not happen again. I am going to my office now and I will give you a half-hour to get control of yourself. Then I will expect you for dictation. Am I making myself quite clear?”

He started firmly for his office door, but Miss Brown stepped in front of him.

“You can’t go in there,” she said frantically. “I’ve told you Mr. Doodle is working. He’ll be terribly annoyed if you go in without an appointment. I don’t know who you are but if you wish to see Mr. Doodle you’ll have to phone for an appointment.”

“You’re fired!” Oscar yelled, losing control of his dignity. He shoved the girl aside, opened the door and strode into his office, shaking his head angrily.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” a voice from behind his desk asked quietly.

Oscar stared with bulging eyes at the man behind his desk. The man wore a gray suit, black tie and white stiff collar, identical with his own. And the man looked exactly like he did, scant, mousy brown hair, watery blue eyes, thin, pressed lips. All of Oscar’s physical characteristics were duplicated to an amazing degree by the man behind his desk.

As Oscar stared unbelievingly at this twin of his, the man tapped the top of the desk with nervous fingers — a gesture Oscar recognized as his own when irritated.

“And what is the meaning of this intrusion, may I ask again?” the man behind the desk inquired icily.

“Who are you?” Oscar blurted. “What are you doing at that desk?”

“My name is Doodle,” the man replied. “And this happens to be my desk.” He smiled and said sarcastically, “Is there anything else you wish to know?”

“You’re an impostor,” Oscar cried. “I’m Oscar Doodle and that’s my desk. You’d better clear out of here before I call the guards and have you thrown out.”

“Precisely my own idea,” the man at the desk said calmly. He punched a button and leaned back in his chair, “I don’t know what your game is, but I’ve stood as much of your insolence as I intend to.”

“Now just a minute,” Oscar said. He was experiencing a desperate, trapped feeling. Maybe this was all some wild dream! “I belong here,” he said weakly. “I’ve worked here for years.”

The door of the office opened and two of the husky, uniformed bank guards entered.

They glanced at both men in the office and their faces were surprised, but their attention was directed to the man behind the desk.

“Did you ring, Mr. Doodle?” one of them asked.

“Yes, I did,” the bogus Mr. Doodle said. “This gentleman here,” he waved a hand at Oscar, “broke into my office a few minutes ago and I think he might be violent. Please escort him to the door. If he gives you any trouble call the police.”

“Right, Mr. Doodle,” one of the guards answered respectfully. He glared at Oscar. “Come on, chum, you heard what Mr. Doodle said.”

“You can’t do this to me!” Oscar cried frantically. He glared at the man behind the desk who was impersonating him. “You’re a fraud! You know you are!” he shouted.

One of the guards grabbed him from behind and dragged him to the door.

“Shut up,” he said, “or we’ll call the wagon. I think you belong in a strait-jacket myself.”

“I demand to see Mr. Haskins, the president,” Oscar yelled. “I won’t be treated this way. It’s — it’s unAmerican, that’s what it is.”

The other guard opened the door and Oscar was hustled through the reception room, out into the main section of the bank and finally deposited on the sidewalk before the great bronze doors.

The two guards placed themselves in front of the door, arms crossed.

“Now be a good guy and beat it,” one of them said. “You’ve caused enough trouble already. Go home and take a nap for yourself and you’ll feel better.” Oscar stared mournfully, despairingly at the massive portals of the bank and then at the grim guards who barred the entrance. His world was collapsing about his head.

“But this is all a mistake,” he said tearfully, “I belong here, I’m Mr. Doodle, I—”

“Stop wasting our time,” the second guard said irritably. “If you aren’t on your way in ten seconds, I’m gonna call the cops.”

“But—”

“Beat it!”

Oscar winced at the harshness of the guard’s voice. He gazed wistfully at the doors of the bank and then, with a dispirited sigh, he turned and shuffled away, not knowing or caring what direction he took.

He walked for an hour, oblivious to the people he passed, dazed and numb. His brain wasn’t functioning. He couldn’t make any sense out of what had happened to him, nor could he figure out what he should do.

Finally he stopped at a small park and, from shear weariness, sat down. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Never had he felt so completely rudderless and helpless.

He glanced dully at his watch. It was almost ten o’clock. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t been away from his desk at ten o’clock on a weekday morning for over twelve years.

What could he do?

He decided, with a flash of his old invincible efficiency, to review the matter logically and calmly. Someone had decided to impersonate him, take over his job at the bank. That put him, Oscar, on the outside looking in. His task, therefore, was to expose this impersonator, turn him over to the authorities and thus reclaim his rightful position.

How was this to be done? He frowned and thought for a while without reaching any definite conclusions. What he needed was a confidant, someone with whom he could discuss the entire affair in all its various ramifications and then, through the discussion and in exchange of ideas he might possibly find a solution to this dilemma.

Agatha was the only person he could think of, and while she was not ideal, she would have to do. He hoped she had gotten over her annoyance of last night.

Armed with a definite plan of action he felt better. He stood up, set his hat at an angle that was extremely rakish for him and strode to the corner to wait for a street car...

He reached Agatha’s apartment building in about twenty minutes and went up, as was his custom, without ringing. He knocked on the door and took off his hat when he heard Agatha’s light swift steps approaching.

She opened the door and a blank expression of astonishment dropped over her thin features as she saw him. She opened and closed her eyes, as if she didn’t believe the evidence they were reporting to her brain.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “May I come in? I’m in trouble, Agatha, and I need your help.”

The flustered expression on Agatha’s face faded as she got herself under control. She straightened her shoulders and regarded him with eyes that were suddenly impersonal and haughty.

“You most certainly may not come in,” she said, “and my name happens to be Miss Prim to strangers.”

Oscar stared at her in bewilderment.

“What’s the matter with you, Agatha?” he demanded. “I’m no stranger. I’ve called you Agatha for the last ten years.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Agatha said grimly, “but if you don’t stop bothering me I’ll — I’ll call my fiancé.”

“Your fiancé?” Oscar echoed incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

Agatha turned and called over her shoulder.

“Oscar, please come here. This impertinent creature is annoying me.”

Oscar felt the bottom of his stomach suddenly drop about eight inches as a voice from behind Agatha said, “I’m coming,” and his heart almost stopped beating when the door was opened wide and a man who looked exactly like him appeared at Agatha’s side.

This new arrival was dressed in a gray suit, black tie and neat shoes — Oscar’s habitual costume — and physically he could have passed for Oscar’s twin. He looked as much like Oscar as had his impersonator at the bank. “Who are you?” Oscar blurted. “My name happens to be Oscar Doodle,” the man beside Agatha said coldly, “and who are you?”

Oscar put his hands to his head and stared wildly at the man in the door.

“You can’t be Oscar Doodle,” he said hysterically. “I’m Oscar Doodle. I’ve always been Oscar Doodle.” He pointed desperately at Agatha. “She’s my girl.” The man who called himself Oscar Doodle frowned.

“That will be enough of your impertinence,” he said sternly. “This woman,” he said, putting an arm about Agatha’s thin shoulders, “will soon be my wife.” He took her left hand in his and Oscar saw that Agatha’s third finger was adorned with a large, sparkling diamond engagement ring.

“No!” Oscar cried. “This is all some nightmare. Don’t you see? I’m Oscar Doodle!”

Oscar’s second twin studied him with a judicious frown.

“I do notice a slight resemblance between us,” he said slowly, “but that certainly is not sufficient justification for your coming here and claiming to be me. Now I’d advise you to clear out of here before I call the state insane asylum and tell them I’ve got a dangerous lunatic on my hands.”

He finished speaking and with a cold bow slammed the door in Oscar’s face. Oscar stood in the hallway several minutes, too stunned to move.

What wild web was he caught in? What was he to do?

This was the second twin that had bobbed up mysteriously to steal a phase of his existence. A sudden thought occurred to him. Maybe this chap with Agatha was the same one that had been at the bank. That seemed logical. For it would be too coincidental for two persons who looked so amazingly like him to exist. They just couldn’t.

But supposing there were actually two men who looked identically like him — one at the bank and another here with Agatha? That would mean he was cut forever from his job and from Agatha’s company! She had accepted a ring from his second twin, obviously believing him to be the real Oscar.

Oscar put his palms to his temples and groaned. Where would it all end?

He found himself on the street a few minutes later, walking aimlessly. When he could think logically again, he decided that he had better withdraw his small bank account before one of his impersonators had the same idea. Without a job, he would need money to tide him over until he landed something else.

But when he reached the bank where he kept his small account, he received another shock. The teller looked at his pass book with a frown and then shoved it back to him.

“Is this a joke, Mr. Doodle?” he asked, and it was obvious from his tone, that he, for one, didn’t think it was a very funny joke. “You were in an hour ago and withdrew your entire account. You said then you’d lost your pass book. We issued you a duplicate and gave you all your funds and you closed the account.”

Oscar gripped the bars of the teller’s cage with clammy hands.

“No!” he croaked hoarsely, “there’s been a mistake. That wasn’t me you gave the money to, it was a man who is impersonating me.”

The teller frowned again.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Doodle,” he said. “You see, we checked your signature as a formality when you closed your account and we have it on file right now. It was yours, all right.” His tone suddenly became severe. “Would you care to take the matter up with our auditor?”

Oscar backed slightly away from the cage.

“No,” he whispered feebly, “I guess not. It’s — it’s my mistake. I just remembered.”

He turned and ducked out of the bank. Spots were whirling before his eyes. His job, girl and money gone! Where would this insane comedy end? A terrible unnerving thought struck him then and he felt his face stiffen with horror as its implications swept over him.

Supposing he wasn’t Oscar Doodle!

Maybe he was an amnesia victim! Maybe he just thought he was Oscar Doodle. If that were true, he was out of his mind, a lunatic. Possibly he had escaped from an asylum and the authorities were scouring the city for him this instant!

He skulked past the policeman at the corner with his hat pulled down over his face and his heart beating painfully fast. What if the policeman clapped him in jail and he found himself to be a wife-slayer or an axe-murderer?

None of these things was beyond the realm of possibility because if he wasn’t Oscar Doodle, he might be anyone; and that “anyone” might be anybody!

His head started to ache. Everything was so bewilderingly confused.

And then he remembered Chico, his smiling, brown-faced valet, and felt a surge of relief. The fact that he remembered Chico should prove that he was actually Oscar Doodle, and he suddenly felt that if he could get to Chico, have a cup of his incomparable beef broth and relax quietly in his comfortable chair he would be able to think his way out of this mess.

His anxiety to see Chico was so urgent that he forgot his usual economic scruples and took a cab to his apartment. He trotted quickly up the steps, feeling better every second. In his own quiet apartment, relaxed and comfortable, he’d feel like himself again.

He let himself in with his key and walked happily into his familiar, comfortable living room. There was a man sitting in his chair, smoking, and reading a newspaper, and when he put the newspaper down and glanced up, Oscar’s jaw dropped foolishly and the triphammers of panic started thudding at his brain again.

For this man was another twin!

Chapter III

The third twin was wearing Oscar’s dressing gown and his feet were comfortably shod in Oscar’s felt-lined slippers. He was sipping a glass of sherry and one of Oscar’s cigars was in his hand.

“What are you doing here?” Oscar blurted, but he had the horrible conviction that the question was superfluous.

The man in the chair looked at him with well-bred surprise.

“Where else would I be?” he asked, “This is my apartment. I think the question should be put to you. What are you doing here?”

“This isn’t your apartment,” Oscar wailed. “It’s mine. I pay the rent.”

“My good fellow, I’m afraid you’re suffering a slight delusion. I am Oscar Doodle. This is my apartment. I started for work this morning, but returned to nurse a slight cold, which is why I happen to be here now. If you’re satisfied I wish you’d leave me to my paper. You’ll find the door just behind you,” he added dryly.

“You can’t order me out of my own apartment,” Oscar cried frantically. He stared wildly at the glass of sherry in the man’s hand. “What do you mean drinking my wine? and smoking my cigars? You’re the one who’s going to get out!”

“Pardon, what is trouble, please?” a soft voice said from the doorway of the adjoining room.

“Ah, Chico,” the third twin murmured, “will you please show this gentleman to the door?”

Oscar wheeled to Chico, who stood in the doorway, a smile of confusion on his round, brown face.

“You know me, Chico,” he said imploringly.

Chico smiled in bewilderment and turned to the man in the chair.

“Look much like you Mr. Doodly,” he said.

“Yes, I noticed the resemblance,” the third twin said, “but I’m not flattered. Will you see that he finds the door all right?”

Chico moved toward Oscar.

“Please go now,” he said. “Mister Doodly say you must leave.”

“Chico!” Oscar cried, “look at me. I’m Mr. Doodle, your employer.”

“Please go now,” Chico repeated implacably.

Oscar’s shoulders sagged and he felt the lead weight of despair pressing in on his brain. What was there for him to do?

He turned and stumbled toward the door. Chico followed him and held the door, smiling politely.

“Come again,” he said, and closed the door firmly when Oscar passed through to the hall.

The enormity of this last shock numbed Oscar to the point that he was unable to make even an attempt to think. He wandered dazedly down the steps and onto the street, hardly conscious that he was moving.

He felt like a man without a country. Everything in his life, everything cherished and familiar had been stolen from him by these damnable twins, leaving him a homeless, jobless, penniless derelict. There was no one to whom he could turn, no place he could go for comfort and solace.

He plodded along miserably, wondering vaguely what would become of him. He was even too old for the army. No one wanted him, and there was no place he could call his own.

He walked aimlessly the rest of that day, not stopping for lunch or dinner, and when it became dark, he found himself in a strange part of the city, miles from his apartment. He realized that he was hungry and tired. He thought of Chico’s excellent meals, his wide, comfortable bed and a groan of pure anguish passed his lips.

Gone forever!

He counted his money and found that he had almost ten dollars in his wallet. He had to sleep so he stopped at the first hotel he came to, registered defiantly as Oscar Doodle, went up to his room and fell asleep on the bed without removing his clothes...

Oscar slept like a dead man, until he was awakened by a sharp, imperious knock on the door. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness of the room, unable to imagine where he might be. Gradually the events of the day filtered into his mind and he struggled to a sitting position on the bed. The knock that awakened him was repeated; he turned on a light and walked to the door.

“Who is it?” he asked cautiously.

“Oscar Doodle?” a voice asked.

“Yes. What do you want?”

“We must see you. It is imperative. Please open the door.”

Against his better judgment Oscar unlocked the door, but before he could turn the knob, the door was shoved open and two men strode into the room.

Oscar fell back and stared at them with wide, astonished eyes. For they were two of the identically similar men who had entered his life the day before. They were his twins in every respect, except that instead of looking astonished, they wore expressions of grim anxiety.

One of them closed and locked the door while the other turned to him and waved to a chair.

“Sit down,” he ordered crisply, “we have quite a lot to say to you.”

Oscar sat down meekly, but his astonishment was fading and another emotion was replacing it — anger.

“I’ve got a lot to say to you, too,” he said grimly.

“That can wait,” the man who had done the talking said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Oscar’s other twin, after locking the hotel room door had taken the remaining chair and was staring intently at Oscar.

“Well, what do you want?” Oscar demanded. “Haven’t you messed my life up enough without ruining my sleep to boot?”

The man on the bed said, “Control your temper. We’re all in a bad spot. First, let me introduce ourselves. I am, as nearly as I can compute, your fourteen times greatgrandfather. By virtue of my seniority, and to simplify things, think of me as Oscar Doodle the First. My companion,” he said, waving negligently to the other twin, “you may consider Oscar Doodle the Second. He, incidentally, is my great-great-great-grandchild. You’ll have to take my word for these things.” He grinned wickedly. “And my word, as any of my cohorts of the fourteenth century could tell you, isn’t worth a tinker’s dam.”

Oscar stared at the speaker with unbelievingly eyes.

“You can’t be serious,” he gasped.

“I am completely serious,” Oscar Doodle the First said dryly. “We were brought to this time plane through the medium of a sorceress who used your subconscious mind to complete the transition. You had better accept that fact my much-removed grandson and stop staring at me with bug-eyes. I, for one, was delighted at the change. At the time of the good witch’s intervention I was languishing in an unpleasant jail. I find your apartment much more comfortable.”

“So you’re the one who took my apartment!” Oscar cried indignantly.

Oscar the First smiled. “Yes. Oscar the Second took your — ahem — beautiful damsel.”

Oscar the Second grunted sourly.

“I certainly got stung on the deal,” he said bitterly. He glared at Oscar. “I can’t say much for your taste in women.”

Oscar stared at his twins in bewilderment.

“What kind of a deal are you talking about?”

“I’ll explain,” Oscar the First said. “You see three of us were brought here to this time plane through the medium of your subconscious mind. We knew all about you, everything you did and thought, because we had been in contact with your mind for some time. When we arrived we were penniless, friendless in a great, strange city. Our only recourse was to move in on your life. We divided your existence, in a manner of speaking.” He spread his hands and smiled at Oscar’s obvious confusion. “It was really simple. I took your apartment, Oscar the Second here took your girl and Oscar the Third, the other member of our trio, appropriated your job. You see that gave us all a measure of comfort and security.”

“But what about me?” Oscar wailed. “I’m out in the cold. I haven’t got anything left.”

“That’s right,” Oscar the First said blandly, “I knew you’d catch on. And one other thing. We divided your bank account. It was the only fair thing to do.”

Oscar stared bitterly at his two twins from Time.

“And what do you want now? Did you discover I have some gold fillings you overlooked in your original inventory?”

“Nothing like that,” Oscar the First, who seemed to be the spokesman, said. “We’ve come to you about something which may jeopardize our pleasant little set-up. You see we made a rather unhappy choice when we put Oscar the Third in your job at the Bank.”

“Why?” asked Oscar.

“It so happens,” Oscar the First said, “that Oscar the Third was a notorious confidence man and thief in his own time level and we’re afraid that he might revert to type in the presence of all the money surrounding him in his new job.”

“Oh my God!” Oscar groaned.

“You see,” Oscar the First said quietly, “it’s no light matter. What would happen to all of us if our light-fingered relative decided to stuff his pockets with money and leave for parts unknown? The situation would become awkward. Descriptions would be broadcast, your apartment would be searched immediately, your girl would be questioned and,” Oscar the First paused eloquently, “the police drag-net would catch all of us.”

“I, for one,” Oscar the Second said moodily, “would relish a change.” He glanced disgustedly at Oscar. “That female of yours would make a man yearn for prison bars.”

“You didn’t have to give her an engagement ring, did you?” Oscar snapped.

Oscar the Second shrugged. “It wasn’t my money I was spending. And it made the deal that much more binding.”

“Come, come, now,” Oscar the First put in smoothly, “this is no time for trivial details. We’ve got to fix things so our thieving relation doesn’t get us all into trouble. Who has any suggestions?”

Oscar leaned back in his chair and smiled with sudden confidence. An idea had occurred to him that might get him out of this spot.

“I have nothing to suggest,” he said calmly. “This is your baby and you can spank it. I’ve been gyped out of my job, my apartment and my girl, so why should I want to help you anyway? Now I’m going back to sleep. Will you leave quietly or shall I call the house detective?”

His two twins stood up uneasily.

The first Oscar said, “Not a very sporting attitude, old fellow. But if you won’t help, you won’t. We can’t very well make you.”

When his twins had left Oscar stretched out on the bed again, but he was smiling contentedly. Before he went to sleep he put in a call for six in the morning. He’d show these intruders from the Past where to get off at...

Oscar was at the bank the next morning before the doors were opened. His plan was simplicity itself. He’d simply beat his twin to the job and then, when his obnoxious impersonator arrived, he’d have him thrown out.

He was so anxious to get to his desk that he failed to notice the rather peculiar look the watchman gave him when he opened the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Doodle,” he said carefully.

“Morning, John,” Oscar said and hurried past him to his office.

It was a little after eight and he was the first one at the bank. He settled himself at his desk brimful of confidence. He’d show ’em. At least he had his job back now and he was certain he’d be able to reclaim the other lost phases of his existence.

He worked for an hour, happily doing the routine work that he had done for years, and he kept one eye peeled on the door awaiting the arrival of his impersonator. While he was waiting he did a little thinking of his conversation the previous night with the men who claimed to be his ancestors. He wondered if there was any stock in their story. They said they had been brought from their own time levels through the medium of a sorceress. That would be Madame Obary. She had told him she was trying to communicate with his ancestors through his subconscious mind. Maybe her scheme had worked too well. Instead of just communicating with his ancestors it looked as if she had brought them to the Present in the flesh.

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 coming, 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 walking 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.

“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, daintily 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.”

“Impstoter?” 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 said 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 flattened out on the floor with a low moan.

“Now,” Oscar said to Madame 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.

“But what about the money?” Betty said. “That’s a real problem.”

Oscar frowned thoughtfully.

“We’ll have to keep it,” he said, at last. “It’s the only thing we can do. The bank has been reimbursed by the insurance company, so the depositors won’t suffer. If we returned the money now we’d risk upsetting the whole applecart. No, we’ve got to keep it.”

“But Oscar,” Betty said, “is that exactly honest?”

“I don’t see why not,” Oscar said. “We won’t squander the money on our own pleasure. We’ll invest it in War Bonds. That should certainly make it all right.”

“I see your point,” Betty said, “it’s the only thing we can do, isn’t it?” Oscar nodded solemnly and drew her closer to him and tilted her chin up with his hand.

“With the money that is,” he said, and kissed her firmly.