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.