Oscar never complained about his boring life. I knew he had a hob- by. He had a very good collection of stamps and was happy only
when he worked on his stamp collection. He was a real collector. His
children took no interest in their father's hobby. But I, his nephew,
did. Uncle Oscar showed me some stamps and explained that they
were really very expensive.
Then on the 14th of October 1951 Uncle Oscar got up as usu-
al at 6.45 (six forty-five), made his own breakfast (Aunt Agatha,
Elizabeth and Julian were still in bed; they never got up before 8),
left the house and went to the bus stop. Some people who were at
the bus stop that day didn't see him at all. The others were not so
sure. They couldn't say anything definite. But that was the kind of
person Uncle Oscar was. Other people seldom noticed him. One thing
was certain: he never got to the bank that morning.
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