Her voice trailed off. She turned to Horner. "While you—you're just a boy. You don't look anything like my husband, but you know all the things he knows."
Quickly, Horner told her. Overman tried to confound the incredible story with acid comments on its impossibility, but Jane heard Horner's words and, when he had finished, she went to him slowly and untied him. She looked at him and said, also slowly, "You—you're my husband. I know you are. I know it now. But you're young. I can't keep you, saddled—"
"That's just what he said," Horner said.
"But you'll want your freedom, won't you?"
"Hell," said Horner, "no. I have a better idea. Bring the car around, Janey. We have a lot to do."
"But this man who looks like—"
"He comes with us," Horner said. He chafed his wrists and ankles and went inside quickly and soon returned with a Luger pistol, a memento of his Army days in Germany during the Second World War. "Get up," he told Overman, then realized he could not. "Untie him," he told Jane.
She did so. Overman got slowly to his feet. "Try anything and you'll regret it," Horner said. "Don't go for the car, Janey. We'll all three go for it together, Overman in the middle."
Horner rammed the Luger into his jacket pocket and took hold of Overman's arm, steering him for the door. They went into the hall together, and into the elevator. Jane flanked Overman nervously on the other side. The elevator was not empty. A couple named Shapiro from the sixth floor was in it and Jane smiled at them. Horner jabbed the Luger against Overman's ribs and Overman gave them a weak smile too. Horner nodded at them in a friendly fashion.