The Man Who Changed His Skin by Harry Stephen Keeler

Author:Harry Stephen Keeler [Keeler, Harry Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fantasy
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2009-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XXXI

“Well,” said Button firmly and authoritatively, “you go to the police station. And you tell them your story. Not mine, but yours. Yours, yes, designed to make mine—stick. You tell them simply—it must be very simple, remember this—you tell them that you were just coming home here after having been at a card game, or crap game, or something, at some friend’s, and there, right out on the street—some street—any street you want to name—you passed a man sleep-walking—in his nightshirt. Yes, describe him as having his arms straight out in front of him—his eyes protruding unseeingly from his face. Say you saw all this because you were carrying one of these lanterns with a reflector on it. Say you pointed your light squarely on him—that he didn’t even blink. Kept on majestically trudging. Tell them he proved in this light to be, however, not just a man, but a man you work for, occasionally. Run errands for, do odd jobs for. Press his suits and so forth. In short, he was, tell them, Mr. Clark Shellcross, of 222 Cabot Street.

“Tell them—rather him, the captain,” drove on Button, “you didn’t dare try to halt this man—or even waken him—lest he have a fit or something. Tell him you didn’t dare to even try to hold him back. You could only tramp along by his side for a moment or two. A thing you didn’t want to keep up. For sooner or later, tell him, you’d have to restrain the walking man—and then you’d be responsible if something happened—something serious even perhaps, since—

“Tell the captain you sped away from the chap finally, but came, panic-stricken, to the police station.

“After hearing your story, they’ll know then I wasn’t drunk or anything when I told mine. Yours will confirm my story, you see. And to the extent of 100 percent—no less than twenty ways across the board. Believe me, they’ll be sorry—I mean that son-of-a-bitch of a captain will be sorry for his insulting treatment of me. For if the man you saw sleep-walking along on the street was Shellcross, then the man found in Shellcross’ bed tonight wasn’t Shellcross at all, as per all the confused identification given it in the Jungclaus house and all, and the whole suicide theory blows up. As appertaining to Shellcross himself, I mean. Well, will you do what I have outlined? Confirm my story?”

Clark with arms waving wildly now, was springing to his feet.

“Ah go raght now dis minut. Quick’s Ah kin mek it—quickah Ah go, quickah Mist’ Shellcross is sabed f’m walkin’ round into dangah—o’ death. Soon’s Ah co’plete mah story to dem, an’ dey puts out dat netwuhk, quickah Mist’ Shellcross git plucked afo’ he becomes a floatin’ co’pse in de hahbor, o’ what. An’—”

“You’ll confirm my story now, as I’ve outlined?”

“Not quite ’zackly,” said Clark. “But will confuhm it od’wise. But fully. You see, Mist’ Button, dey mought tangle me up on any story dat Ah gib whut de way yo’ outline.

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