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.”