TWINS

Auckland Star, Issue 18, 22 January 1940, Page 11

TWINS

Short Story By . ..Stanley Clark..

T WAS sitting on the Yacht Club verandah at Townsville, idly watching the yachts listing on the mud banks left by the ebb tide, when Crawford and Jones pulled chairs up to my table. It was almost dusk. The last of the sun's raye lit up the gaunt bulk of Castle Hill, and the corrugated iron roofe of Townsville would, I knew, soon plunge blessedly out of sight for a few welcome hours of darkness. "Been out to-day?" Crawford asked ae he sat down. I shook my head. "Xo. I've juet j arrived. Have to work for my living, Tom. Have you been out!" "Xot I," he jrrinned. "I've spent the day helping young Simpson to bear up. Hβ was worried out of his life, poor devil. Wife having a baby. It's O.K. now, though. She presented him with twins not half an hour ago."' "Poor devils," said Jones. "Who, the twins?"' I aeked. "No, Simpson and his missus," Jonee grinned. "They can't really afford one, let alone two." "Oh. It's like that, is it?" "They'll be a handful for his wife," said Jones. "Twins are difficult to rear, so they say. And from now on everything will be counted in twos. Two sets of clothes, two meals inetead of one. Even when one's ill the other will get it." { I laughed with Jones, but Crawford I nodded his head. I "There's a lot in that," he said serij ously. "Sort of eingle personality in two bodies." "Xonsenee, Tom," I protested. "Surely you don't believe that bunkum?" "I do, indeed, Bill," he answered. "What's more, I've had it brought home to me rather forcibly." "How was that?" "I'll order some drinks and you can have the story. I know you'll find it interesting." He beckoned to a waiter and gave the order. Then he was eilent until the drinks were placed in front of us. "It was nearly 20 yeare ago, before I came out here.V Crawford began. "I had a little place in Leicestershire, and a man named Hearst lived next door. Hβ had twin boys, Peter and Paul, and I used to see a lot of the youngsters when they were home from echool. "They were as like as two peas, but ae far apart as the poles otherwise. Peter was a young devil, always up to some michief, whilst Paul was inclined to be the studious type. "Well, the first time I noticed anything of this single personality business was when I took Paul up to London to the South Kensington Museum. During the afternoon he complained of feeling ill, so I rushed him home ae quick as I could. When we got back there was Peter in 'bed. Both of 'em had meaeles." "Surely that's eaeily explained," I interrupted. "They'd "been playing together and sleeping together, and naturally what one caught thg. other would." Crawford nodded. "That's a likely explanation," he agreed, "'but can you j explain how it came about that, six i months later, both boys broke a leg on I the same afternoon and, what is more, in each case it was the left leg." He looked first at Jones and then at me, and grinned triumphantly. "Coincidence, you were going to eay," ( he eaid before Jones could speak. "Well, I I can give you plenty of other evidence. j When the boys left school one went into a bank, the other into an insurance office. "One afternoon Peter put on his hat and coat and left the bank and went home to hie father. Fed up, so he said. ; And Paul arrived home by the next ! train. i "That was another strange thing about the whole affair. It always seemed that Peter was the leading spirit in- everything that happened. It wae lie that broke hie left first, he it was who threw up his job. Poor Paul seemed I destined to follow hie brother in ev*ry- ; thing he did. I "Their father sent them off to Australia soon afterwards, and I lost fiight i of them for a couple of yeare, until I J came out here myself, in fact. "Then I got into touch with them through a newspaper report. Both' of them had been captured breaking into houses. Peter in Adelaide and Paul in L Melbourne. They were both sentenced to eix months' hard labour, and I had to wait before I could see them again." Crawford sighed. "I'd never have thought that two 'boye could have changed eo much," he said. "I got them jobs when they came out of prison 'but they did mot keep them long. And again it was Peter who gave up first, I began to hate that boy." He was silent for a while. "Finally came their last adventure. I took pains afterwards to get as complete a story ae possible.

"Peter went up to Brisbane from Melbourne, and while there heard about the station owners' bank.

"It was an important concern numbering most of the big sheep station owners ae its depositors. But it was an old-fashioned firm, and no doubt Peter wae confident that the strongroom was not particularly modern.

"He mapped out hie ground carefully. The 'bank really was old-fashioned, even to the extent of not troubling to employ a night watchman. An old man who lived in the rooms above used to go round the bank once every night. "Sharp at 11 p.m. the old fellow would leave hie room, come down the back sta-irs into the bank, walk carefully through each room and test the strongroom door. Then he would lock up ajrain and go back to bed. "On the chosen night Peter got into the bank safely and without noise. I can almosfc see his sneer of amusement ♦as his flashlight lit up the strongroom door. I can picture what he did, knowing him as. I did. "He lowered his bag eoftly to the floor and opened it slowly. He was always methodical when he had work to do. I bet he stood there in the darkness turning away at his drill, his lips pursed in a soundless whistle. And as the work progressed hie breathing would be getting more hurried. He could never resist a thrill of excitement when any job was approaching completion. "The nearer he came to finishing the job the more careless of noise did he become. It was unlike Peter to be like that, but fie was confident that he had nothing to fear from the caretaker above. " 'I'm dead to the world ten minutes after getting into bed,' the old caretaker had told Peter over a pint of beer only three days before, 'and an earthquake wouldn't wake me before my proper time. , " Crawford smiled at Uβ. "If I tell this story as if I'd been on the eeene it's, only because I soaked myself ifi the case afterwards," he explained. "As his drill bit deeper into the door Peter emiled at the thought of the garrulous old man snoring away upstairs at that moment. "But that's where he made a terrible error. He would not have been eo carelees of noise if he had known that the old caretaker had been taken to hospital and that his place had been taken by a younger man. "The new watchman was in bed. He had received no instructions as to what time he should make his rounds of the bank. And he had fixed hie alarm clock to wake him at 2 a.m. "Here again Peter's luck was out. If the alarm had gone off at 2 a.m. he would have been on his guard. But the new watchman woke on hie own at 1.45 a.m. "He eat up in bed drowsily, glanced at the clock, and mechanically switched off the alarm. And then he was wide awake on the instant. He listened with breathless eagerness, and a moment later clearly heard the clink of metal from •below. "The watchman got hastily out of bed, and, not troubling to drees, caught up an electric torch end' hurried down the stairs that led to the bank. '"He went silently now. Slowly he opened the doors into \the bank, and paused for a moment to watch the dim shadow that was Peter at work on the strongroom door. "Then the watchman flashed Ms torch. For a brief moment he saw Peter's back, the rough suit, and the felt hat tilted over the back of his head. "Then Peter dived eidewaye out of the ray, and, twisting at the same moment, fell flat on his stomach. His hand came out of hie pocket with a revolver clasped in it. He pulled the trigger twice, aiming a little to the right and a little above the torch. "The watchman dropped with a groan, and Peter, not waiting to collect his tools, rushed out of the bank and away. "They found the watchman an hour later, and he was just able to gasp out a few details before he died. The police were soon on the trail, but they hadn't much to follow. Probably Peter would have got away with it, but when he saw that the watchman had died lie gave himself up. "He pleaded guilty at the trial and was hanged." Crawford paused and raised his glass to his lips. We sat silent, waiting for him to go on. Then, at last, I burst out : "Come now, Tom. You're not telling us that Paul also robbed a bank on the same night, shot a watchman to death,- and was hanged for the crime." "No, I'm not saying that," smiled Crawford. "But, even so, that strange singleness of purpose that had followed the twins through life held good up to the last." "What do you mean?" asked Jones. "Panl was the night watchman. He had chosen that-method of getting into the bank to rob it."