Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 8, No. 6, May 1961

“Which is tomorrow. And tomorrow is a Thursday. Flight time, by the way, is three o’clock in the afternoon.” He slipped the tickets into his pocket, handed Blinney another object. “You know what that is, don’t you, Mr. Blinney?”

“Passport.”

“Well, look at it, please. Examine it. Don’t be bashful.”

Blinney examined. He saw a passport, in perfect order, made out to one William Granville. He saw a photo of a smooth-shaven young man wearing glasses.

“Did you ever meet William Granville?” said Bill Grant.

“No,” said Oscar Blinney.

“You’re talking to him,” said Bill Grant.

“You?” said Blinney, looking up. “But, but—”

And now Bill Grant placed the last object in his hands, a pair of glasses, upon the bridge of his nose. “Clean-shaven and with my specs, I’m William Granville. And you have the signal honor, Mr. Blinney, outside of official-stuff, official documents, you know — you have the signal honor of being the first person in my adult life to have become acquainted with Mr. William Granville.”

“I tell you you’re crazy, Mr... Mr...”

“Stick to Grant, Mr. Blinney.”

“You’re crazy, Mr. Grant.”

“You’ll change your mind before I’m through, Mr. Blinney.” He removed the glasses, took the passport from Blinney, brought them to the mantel, deposited them. He sipped his drink, smiled. “I’m still up at the Silver Crest, you know.” He waved a hand. “I retained this princely abode about three weeks ago — as Bill Grant, of course. I paid a month’s rent in advance. Nobody knows about this place — except you, now. I’ve probably been here three times before today.”

“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.”