“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, b
rown 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.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 186
