“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.