Free Vanish in an Instant by Margaret Millar Page B

morning?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œWhen I was shoveling off the walk, about seven-thirty.”
    â€œWhat exactly did you say to him?”
    â€œI said—I said, ‘Earl you can’t go like that, in just a sweater and slacks, it’s winter, you’ll catch cold.’ “
    â€œAnd he said?”
    â€œThat he’d sent his coat to the cleaner’s and that anyway he wasn’t cold. I asked him where he was off to, so early. And he said he was going downtown to see about selling his car. He said it wasn’t working so well, it was just a nuisance in the winter, so he thought he’d sell it, and then, in the spring, maybe he’d—he’d be feeling better and could work more and buy a—a new car. I said, just joking, how about a Cadillac, then you can take me for a ride. And he said there—wasn’t anyone he’d rather take for a ride in a Cadil­lac than—than me.”
    She looked toward the window as if she was trying to see, not the dark of a winter night, but a morning in spring, with Earl well again and at the wheel of his new car.
    â€œAs you know now,” Cordwink said, “he didn’t send his coat to the cleaner’s. It was here all the time, locked inside the wardrobe. He had approximately forty hours to dispose of it, but he apparently made no attempt to. That’s curi­ous, don’t you think, Mrs. Hearst?”
    â€œCurious,” she repeated dully. “Yes. It’s curious. Every­thing’s curious.”
    â€œDo you clean Loftus’ roo——apartment?”
    â€œGo on, call it a room. It’s not an apartment, it’s just a room. I know it’s just a room, and Earl knows it and every­one . . .” She stopped, holding the back of her hand to her mouth. “I clean it twice a week, Tuesday and Saturday. I don’t have to do it, it’s not included in his rent. I do it for—because I like to,” she added defiantly. “I like to clean.”
    â€œTake another look around now, Mrs. Hearst. Is this the way his room usually looked?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat’s different about it?”
    â€œA lot of his things are gone.”
    â€œClothes?”
    â€œNot clothes. Personal little things, like his desk set, for instance. He had a very nice desk set, onyx, quite expen­sive. His mother gave it to him. His mother’s picture is gone too, it was in a silver frame. And his radio—he used to keep his radio on the table over there.”
    â€œHave you any idea what happened to the missing ob­jects?”
    â€œThey could have been—s-stolen.” But she stumbled over the answer. It was fairly obvious, both to Meecham and to Cordwink, that she didn’t believe the articles had been stolen.
    â€œOr pawned, maybe,” Cordwink said. “Was he in the habit of pawning things?”
    â€œHe—when he had to, when he was desperate. He had such terrible expenses. And then there’s his mother, he sends her money. Last fall he scrimped and saved to send her some and when he did she blew it all in—went out and bought the desk set I told you about, and mailed it to him. It was a nice gesture, of course, only it was such a foolish thing to do. But then, she’s very refined, she doesn’t realize that people have to scrounge around for money these days.”
    â€œYou think, then, that Loftus pawned this stuff of his that’s missing?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAny idea where?”
    â€œThere’s a little place in the east end, right next to the bowling alley. Devine’s, it’s called.”
    â€œDid Loftus tell you that’s where he usually went?”
    â€œI—no. No, he didn’t.” Her skin looked flushed. “I found a pawn ticket once when I was dusting his bureau. It was for his wrist watch. He never got the watch back. He told me he’d lost it. It