Miss Shumway Waves A Wand

Ansell shook his head, “It isn’t, if you know about these things. If I told you that the dog would talk, you wouldn’t have believed it. Now, you admit you accept it as a fact.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking again of what happened last night. “So you really think she can become two people or rather possess two different bodies when she wants to?”

“I think so. Perhaps not when she wants to, but when she’s not aware of what’s happening and is off her guard. Let’s put it that way.”

“That would account for what happened last night. They’ve become one again.”

“But what has the other one been doing?”

“That’s something we’ve got to find out. That’s where Myra’s danger lies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s go back to first principles,” Ansell said. “We have all latent evil in our make-up. Some of us haven’t the same control over this instinct as others. It depends on our training, our environment and our strength of character whether this instinct gets the upper hand. If the evil in us is segregated without the restraining influence of our instinct for doing good, then something entirely primitive has been created and may cause a lot of destruction. I’d hate to see Myra suffer for something she hasn’t done.”

This was beyond me. “Something she hasn’t done?” I repeated.

“Yes. Suppose now, the other Myra, the Myra in the photograph, takes it into her head to commit a crime. Might not the Myra we know get the blame for it?”

“Why should she?”

“It depends if the other Myra is seen while committing the crime,” Ansell returned.

“They’re exactly alike. The finger prints would be the same. Both girls are easily recognized. Can’t you see what danger there might be in all this?”

I drew a deep breath, “You’re looking for trouble,” I said. “This business is too much for me. What we’ve got to do is to get after Shumway. Now, come on, I smell breakfast.”

“Wait,” Ansell said. “What about this fellow Kelly? Maybe, we can get on to him.”

“Maybe, we can,” I said. “We’ll talk it over at breakfast.”

In the living room, Bogle was setting the table “All ready, Bud,” he said to me. “Pried ham and eggs, whaddayssay?”

“Sounds fine,” I said. “Isn’t Myra coming down?”

“Naw,” Sam said, going into the kitchen. “A dame like that likes to lay around in bed. Besides, it takes her half the morning to get up. I like to get breakfast over with.”

When he had gone, I said to Ansell, “Old Sam’s getting like a gawdamn housewife. Do you think he’s going soft or something?”

Ansell shook his head absently. “He always wanted to have a place of his own,” he said.

“Many a time, in the desert, he’d talk about setting up home. Funny thing, isn’t it? Yet he’s mixed with the toughest thugs of Chicago. And now look at him, running around, keeping the house clean, cooking and waiting on Myra.”

Just then Sam came in with a tray and put the food on the table. He then shot back into the kitchen, came out again with a smaller tiny and carried it off to Myra’s room.

“Kelly,” I said, with my mouth full. “That’s an idea, Doc. I wonder if we can get a line on him.”

“Maybe your paper would know,” Ansell returned, pouring out the coffee. “Anyone there you can ask?”

I thought for a moment, “Yeah, Dowdy’s the guy. He’s sort of secretary to Maddox. He ought to know something.”

Sam came back, whistling cheerfully and pulled a chair up to the table. He sat down, “That dog murders me,” he said “Jeeze! You never seen anything like it. He’s in with the kid and they’re talking away like a couple of professors. What they find to talk about, beats me.”

“Never mind about them,” I said, pushing the plate of fried ham over to him. “So long as they don’t fight, what does it matter? I admit I don’t find Whisky too easy to talk to. Maybe, it’s because he kind of embarrasses me.”

“He’s a smart guy, that dog,” Bogle said, spearing the ham with his fork. “He’s got a political mind.”

“You wouldn’t know this fellow Kelly?” Ansell asked. “The one who’s helping Shumway.”

“Kelly?” Bogle repeated. “There’s millions of Kelly’s. I know two or three of ‘em, but unless I saw the guy, I couldn’t say.”

“Don’t worry about it, Doc,” I said, helping myself to more coffee. “I’ll go down to the Recorder as soon as I’ve finished. Maybe, I’ll get something.”

“Yeah,” Bogle broke in, “ain’t it time we found this Shumway guy? When we do get him, he’ll have spent all that jack.”

“We’re doing our best,” Ansell said. “You don’t seem exactly full of ideas, Sam.” He pushed his plate away and wandered over to an armchair. He sat down and began to read the newspaper.

Whisky wandered in, “Hey-ho,” he said, with a flick of his tail “What’s buzzin’, cousin?”

“Don’t,” I said, pushing back my chair and lighting a cigarette. “Try to speak pure English if you’re going to speak at all. I think Sam’s accent is affecting you.”

“Don’t be a prig,” Whisky returned, wandering over to Sam, “Well, my old,” he went on to Sam, resting his long muzzle on Sam’s knee, “What have you got for my breakfast? That ham looked a little fat to me.”