Free Vanish in an Instant by Margaret Millar

hasn’t many friends and he usually tells me things. I—is any­thing the matter? Where is Earl? Where is he?”
    â€œI can’t say, definitely.”
    â€œI knew something was up. He always has supper with me Monday nights. Tonight he didn’t come, didn’t phone. I waited an hour. Everything was ruined. Where is he?”
    â€œIn jail.”
    â€œIn jail ? Why, that’s crazy. Why, Earl is one of the quiet­est, most refined . . .”
    â€œThe Sheriff is in his room now. He wants to talk to you.”
    â€œTo me? A sheriff? Why I—I don’t know what to say. This isn’t some kind of trick one of my boys put you up to? They play tricks on me sometimes, not meaning to be cruel.”
    â€œThere’s no trick,” Meecham said. “I’m a long way from college.”
    â€œA sheriff,” she repeated, in a strained voice. “I’ll talk to him, if I must. But I’ve nothing to say. Nothing. Earl is a perfect gentleman. And more than that, too. You only see him now, when he’s sick.” She hesitated, as if she would have liked to say more about Loftus, but decided this was not the time or place. “All right, I’ll talk to him. Some mistake has been made somewhere, of that I’m sure.”
    She preceded Meecham down the hall, wiping her hands nervously on her apron and casting uneasy glances up the staircase to her left, obviously afraid that one of the “boys from good homes” would come down and see her talking to a policeman.
    Meecham followed her into Loftus’ room and closed the door. “Mrs. Hearst, this is the Sheriff, Mr. Cordwink.”
    Cordwink acknowledged the introduction with a brief nod. “Sit down, Mrs. Hearst. I just want to check up on a few things about Earl Loftus.”
    The woman didn’t sit down. She didn’t even advance into the room, but stood rigidly with her back against the wall, her hands clenched in the pockets of her apron. “I don’t understand why you’re here. Earl hasn’t— done anything?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m trying to find out,” Cordwink said. “How long has he been with you?”
    â€œLived here? A year, almost a year.”
    â€œYou know him pretty well, then?”
    â€œI—yes. We are friends.”
    â€œHe confides in you?”
    â€œYes, 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.”
    â€œI notice that he has his own telephone and mailbox.”
    â€œYes, this little apartment is completely separate from the rest of the house.”
    â€œThen 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.”
    â€œWhat I meant was . . .”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œNot 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.”
    â€œHe’s married, isn’t he?”
    â€œMarried? 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