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.