Free Vanish in an Instant by Margaret Millar Page A

oftener. Earl himself isn’t very—very well.”
    â€œYes, 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?”
    â€œHis 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?”
    â€œI—don’t know. It’s so wrinkled. I can’t . . . What are those marks?”
    â€œBlood.”
    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 . . .?”
    â€œHere’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?”
    â€œHe says he killed a man.”
    She stared, round-eyed, glassy-eyed, into the corner of the room. “Here? Here in this house?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œEarl didn’t—couldn’t—it’s impossible.”
    â€œHe says he did.”
    â€œBut 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 . . .”
    â€œHis mind seems clear enough,” Cordwink said.
    â€œBut 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 . . .”
    â€œMrs. Hearst.”
    â€œI’m telling you, Earl wouldn’t .”
    â€œThis is his coat, isn’t it?”
    She turned her head away and stared at the wall. “Yes.”
    â€œAnd 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.”
    â€œNo question about it?”
    â€œI said they’re Earl’s. Now can I go? I’ve had a great shock, a terrible shock.”
    â€œIn 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?’
    â€œWhy?” 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.”
    â€œWhen I saw him an hour ago he was wearing a new topcoat, new suit, new shoes. All of them looked expen­sive.”
    â€œI don’t care! I don’t know what you’re implying, and I don’t care !”
    â€œDid you ever lend him money, Mrs. Hearst?”
    â€œI—no! Never! He’d never have taken it, never have borrowed money from a woman, never!”
    â€œAll right,” Cordwink said. Privately he wondered how much, and when. “Then you didn’t lend him any money, say, this morning?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œDid you see him this