Vanish in an Instant

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Cordwink said. “How long has he been with you?”

“Lived here? A year, almost a year.”

“You know him pretty well, then?”

“I... yes. We are friends.”

“He confides in you?”

“Yes, you understand, I’m not like a mother to him, the way I am to some of my boys. No indeed, Earl’s different, more mature. Our conversations are very stimulating. Why, he talks as mature as any man my — my own age.”

“I notice that he has his own telephone and mailbox.”

“Yes, this little apartment is completely separate from the rest of the house.”

“Then you wouldn’t, naturally, be able to keep as close track of him as you would of your regular roomers.”

Mrs. Hearst’s mouth looked pinched. “I don’t have to keep track of anyone.”

“What I meant was...”

“I know what you meant. You meant, do I snoop in on other people’s telephone conversations and examine their mail. No, I don’t. And in Earl’s case it wouldn’t even be necessary. He tells me everything.”

There was a brief silence before Cordwink spoke again, in a quiet, amiable voice: “He seems, on the surface, to be quite an exceptional young man.”

“Not just on the surface. He’s exceptional all through. Very intelligent, Earl is, and very polite and considerate, doesn’t drink or smoke or run around with women.”

“He’s married, isn’t he?”

“Married? Why, of course not. He would certainly have told me, and he’s never mentioned a wife. Just his mother. He’s devoted to his mother. She lives out of town, but she came to see him last summer. A very refined type of woman. She’s ill most of the time, that’s why she doesn’t come to see him oftener. Earl himself isn’t very — very well.”

“Yes, I know that.” Cordwink went over to the studio couch and lifted the lid of the suitcase. “I suppose you’re familiar with Loftus’ clothes?”

“His clothes? That’s a funny question. I don’t understand.”

Cordwink picked up the wrinkled bloodstained trench coat, quite naturally and casually, as if it was an ordinary piece of clothing. There was no indication, in his movements or expression, of his extreme distaste for the sight of blood, the feelings it gave him, of loss, futility, vulnerability. The blood on this worn and dirty coat had been the end of a man and might be the end of another.

He said calmly, “Do you, for instance, recognize this coat, Mrs. Hearst?”

“I... don’t know. It’s so wrinkled. I can’t... What are those marks?”

“Blood.”

She drew in her breath suddenly, gaspingly, like an exhausted swimmer. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it, I say. Where’s Earl? Where is he? You’ve got no right prying into his things like this! How do I know you’re policemen? How do I know you’re not a pair...?”

“Here’s my identification.” Cordwink took his badge out of his pocket and showed it to her. “Mr. Meecham isn’t a policeman, he’s a lawyer. As for prying into Loftus’ things, I’m doing it with his consent. Here are his own keys. He gave them to me.”

The woman sat down, suddenly and heavily. “What... what did Earl do?”

“He says he killed a man.”

She stared, round-eyed, glassy-eyed, into the corner of the room. “Here? Here in this house?”

“No.”

“Earl didn’t... couldn’t... it’s impossible.”

“He says he did.”

“But you can’t believe him. I’ve often thought, time and time again I’ve thought, that someday that terrible disease would affect his mind, would...”

“His mind seems clear enough,” Cordwink said.

“But you don’t know Earl. He could never harm anyone. He hated to kill anything. Why... why, once there was a mouse in his room — last fall — I wanted to set a trap but he wouldn’t let me. He said the mouse was so tiny and harmless...”

“Mrs. Hearst.”

“I’m telling you, Earl wouldn’t.”

“This is his coat, isn’t it?”

She turned her head away and stared at the wall. “Yes.”

“And this suit? The shoes? Please look at them, Mrs. Hearst. You can’t identify something without looking at it.”

She glanced briefly at the suit and shoes and then away again. “They’re Earl’s.”

“No question about it?”

“I said they’re Earl’s. Now can I go? I’ve had a great shock, a terrible shock.”

“In a minute,” Cordwink said. “The trench coat, and the serge suit — were these the clothes Loftus usually wore when he was going out in the evening, say?’

“Why?” she said bitterly. “Don’t you think they were good enough to go out in? Well, maybe they weren’t! But they were the only ones he had. He couldn’t afford any more.”

“When I saw him an hour ago he was wearing a new topcoat, new suit, new shoes. All of them looked expensive.”