“But why?” Blinney sipped, sighed. “Mr. Grant, you’re probably older than I am, but I should like to give you some fatherly advice. I’m afraid that you, as so many others who have deluded themselves before you, has worked out, or thinks he has worked out, some airtight, foolproof, elaborate—”
“Shut up!”
Blinney shrugged.
“Now let me tell you what this room contains, Mr. Blinney. Aside from these little personal effects that I showed you, there is a scissors, a razor, and shaving cream. There is also a blue suit, a white shirt, a blue tie, a pair of blue socks, and a pair of black shoes. There is also the attache case and these couple of bottles of whiskey and there is nothing else. Oh! Let me show you the shoes. You’ll like that.”
“Shoes?” said Blinney.
Grant brought a pair of black slip-on-type shoes from the closet He held them in one hand as he stood before Blinney, holding himself tall and erect. “First observe me now.”
Once more Blinney shrugged. He sipped, nodded. “I have observed you.”
Grant kicked out of the shoes he was wearing and slipped on the new ones. He stood straight “Now observe,” he said.
Blinney instantly noted the difference. “But... but... how... I don’t understand...”
“Vanity,” said Bill Grant. “The other shoes are custom-made, built-up. With those, I’m six feet. These are regular shoes. With these, I’m five feet ten inches. Two inches make a vast difference in the height of an individual.”
“You’re right,” said Blinney. “No question.”
“I’ll be wearing the built-up ones when I visit you tomorrow.”
“Visit? Me? Are you back on that...?”
Grant drank, then seated himself opposite Blinney. “Now you listen to me, pal. And listen real hard. Tomorrow morning, at about ten o’clock, Bill Brant shall leave his room at the Silver Crest Motel. He shall go to the office, ask to use the office typewriter, type out a note, and place this into his pocket. He shall be wearing these high-heeled shoes and a neat grey suit. He shall be carrying a large suitcase which shall be practically empty. He shall take a taxi to the railroad station and take a train to New York. He shall arrive, by train scheduled, at eleven-forty Have you followed that, Mr. Blinney?”
“Yes.”
“Arriving in New York, he shall purchase a box of cigars, and he shall ask to have that wrapped in plain brown paper. Then he shall come here to this flea-trap, rest, pace, prowl, whatever, until the proper time. At the proper time, leaving his large and empty suitcase here, he shall take up his box of cigars in the plain brown-paper wrapping, and his empty attache case, and he shall go to the First National Mercantile Bank.
“He shall arrive there at twenty-five minutes to one, a crowded hour, and he shall get on the line in front of the cage of Mr. Oscar Blinney. When his turn comes, he shall give Mr. Blinney the typewritten note. Mr. Blinney shall comply with the directions contained in the note. Won’t you, Mr. Blinney?”
“No. No, I won’t.”
“Yes you will. For a number of reasons. The first reason — the contents of the note. The note states that the bearer has knowledge of the payrolls waiting in your drawer. The note states that the bearer is carrying, under his left arm, a highly explosive bomb. If he drops it, it will wreck the bank, kill you, kill him, and kill at least fifty others. And you’ll do exactly what the note tells you to do, Mr. Blinney.”
“I won’t.”
“Oh, you will. And nobody can blame you, can they? A bomb threat, which is not only a threat to you and to the bearer, but to so many innocent people who are in the bank.”
Blinney said nothing. He finished the drink and set the glass on the floor.
“After you have complied, Mr. Blinney, I shall exit by the south door. Immediately, I shall enter into the subway, insert a prepared token into the turnstile, walk the ramp to an exit at Thirty-seventh Street, take a taxi to the East Side, and walk the rest of the way back to this flea-trap here. The rest is simple. Is it beginning to come to you, Mr. Blinney?”
Blinney made no answer.
“Once here, I work quickly and effortlessly, for the remainder is so charmingly simple. I shave off the beard. I change into the clothes that are here: the blue suit, the normal shoes, all. Then everything — everything — attache case and all, gets dumped into the big suitcase. There shall be no trace whatever of any living soul in this room. All fingerprints shall be wiped away. That was done also up at Silver Crest, and done to the note that was handed to you. You leave that to me. I’m an expert at that.
“And then I depart, clip out the name grant from the bell downstairs, and take a taxicab to the airport. And then, what have we, Mr. Blinney? What have we? What’s the matter? You look a little green around the gills? What have we, Mr. Blinney?”
Blinney was silent.
“I’ll tell you what we have, Mr. Blinney. We have a sensational bank robbery. We have police scurrying around, headlines in newspapers, detectives detecting, experts deducing, excitement, runaround, statements from officials, viewing of rogues’ gallery pictures, and a round-up of all known criminals using that modus operandi for a bank heist. That’s what we have on one hand.
“On the other hand, we have the complete disappearance of an individual known as Bill Grant. We have, while the police are searching for a six-feet-tall bearded man who might be pin-pointed as one Bill Grant, a small, simple, clean-shaven fellow wearing glasses named William Granville taking up his reservation on a plane bound for London, and taking with him Bill Grant into oblivion. The bearded man will never be found. The crime, as other major crimes of which we have heard, will never be solved. Period. There we have it, Mr. Blinney. Who’s crazy now?”
Oscar Blinney said not one word. He could feel the perspiration upon his face and his scalp itchily crinkled with sweat.
“We’re going to swing it, Mr. Blinney. The — perfect — crime!” He was silent for a moment, standing motionless in front of Blinney. “Do you know why you’re going to co-operate?”
“Why?” Blinney rose, towering. “Why, why — why, damn you?”
“Because your problem is insurmountable. Because you married a psychopathic witch who’ll drag you into filth and then drag you deeper. Because there is no out for you, Mr. Blinney, no escape — except one, and it’s so perfect, it’s beautiful.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your release from Evangeline Ashley, your one release, your one escape. I’m talking about the death of a nothing, a cockroach stepped on, an insect squashed — and freedom at last — clean, clear, sweet, final freedom at last — for a poor sucker that got in so far over his head that he’s drowning.”
“No!” The room was hot. Spots whirled before Blinney’s eyes.
“She’s leaving you, pal. And that would be more scandal, wouldn’t it? She’s running out on you, baby. She’s running away. With — guess who? With me.”
“What the hell?” said Blinney. “What the hell?”
“Not with William Granville, Mr. Blinney. She’s never heard of William Granville. She thinks she’s running away with Bill Grant. It’s all fixed. She thinks she’s leaving with me tomorrow morning. She thinks Bill Grant is going to London to make the big score. She thinks she’s going to London with Bill Grant. That’s why I have two plane tickets; you remember, I showed you two tickets. Do you remember, Mr. Blinney? Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow morning she comes, bag packed, to the Silver Crest Motel. She thinks she will be leaving with Bill Grant. She will not be leaving with Bill Grant. Bill Grant will leave on schedule, but she’ll remain in the room, and she won’t be going anywhere or saying anything because she’ll be dead, Mr. Blinney, very dead.”