She was lying on the bed, smoking and staring up at the ceiling. She didn’t look at him as he came in.
‘Are you a
ll
right?’ he asked, pausing at the foot of the bed.
‘You’ve nearly crippled me, you d
evil,’ she said, still not look
ing at him. ‘I can scarcely walk.’
‘You’ve got to walk to the bank,’ he said. ‘Don’t lie there. Move around or your muscles will get stiff.’
She didn’t move.
‘Leave me alone.’
‘There’s no turning back now. We’re both in this thing up to our necks. I’m going to change. Get off the bed and move around.’
He went into his room and sitting before the dressing-table mirror, he carefully began to gum the black crepe sideboards to his face. Ten minutes later, his disguise complete, he went into Kit’s room again. She was still lying on the bed. He stood over her.
‘Leave here at twelve,’ he said. ‘Be careful. If you see any car coming, get off the road. When you get to the car park, drive the L
in
coln to the back of the bank entrance and wait. Don’t get out of the car
…
just wait. Do you understand?’
She
stared at him, her face wooden.
‘Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course, I understand.’
‘All right. I’ll get off. Everything now depends on you
…
so watch it. And keep off the bottle.’
He left her and paused for a long moment at the head of the stairs, listening. There was no sound in the darkened house, and satisfied both Miss Pearson and the major were in bed, he silently descended the stairs and let himself out the back way.
It was a fine clear night: no moon and dark
.
He walked with long, swinging strides, his eyes searching the road ahead, his ears cocked for the sound of any appr
oach
ing car.
He reached the back entrance to
th
e bank a few minutes after midnight, sure no one had seen him during the long walk from the rooming-house. He pushed open the door and paused to listen. He heard nothing, entered the dark bank, closed and bolted the door.
There were ten electric light bulbs to remove. He set about removing them quickly and efficien
tl
y. The ceiling lamp caused him some difficulty. The opaque white cover was only just within
h
is reach when he stood on the counter and the fixing screws had rusted in. He had brought tools with him and he wrestled with the screws, humming tunelessly under his breath.
From where he stood, he could look through the bank window at the lighted windows of the Sheriff’s office. From time to time he saw Travers pass the windows as he paced slowly to and fro. Finally, C
al
vin got the cover off and removed the lamp. He had been working in semi-darkness. A faint light came in from the street lamp some twenty yards away. He counted the lamps, making sure he had removed them all, then he turned on the light switch. He knew a light had come on in the vault.
He went down into the vault, entered, quickly closing the door. For some moments, he stood looking down at Alice’s dead body that lay on its side, blood by her nose and mouth.
Calvin took hold of one of her ankles and dragged her body away from the vault door. He had already taken her key of the vault from her handbag. He had brought with him a tyre lever. With this, he attacked the locks on one of the wooden boxes. In less than ten minutes, he had broken open both boxes. He had already found a deed box that contained only a few papers. Into this box, he packed the neat bundles of money, until the box was full. He then put the deed box against the wall and stacked on top of it the other boxes.
He looked at his watch. It was now a quarter to one. He went upstairs and groped his way into the washroom. He soaked the swab in hot water and then returned to the vault and got rid of the bloodstains on the floor. He returned to the washroom and washed out the swab which he stuffed into his hip pocket. Going back to the vault once again, he shut the door and turned both keys in the locks. Then he picked up Alice’s body and carried it up the stairs and laid it on the floor by the back entrance.
Once more he returned to the vault and looked around to make sure he had left nothing behind, satisfied, he turned off the light and went up the stairs to wait for Kit.
PART TWO
James Easton,
the Federal agent at Downside, a short, fat, balding man on the wrong side of fifty had begun his career in the Federal Bureau of Investigation during the gangster period. At that time, fired with a youthful ambition, he had had great hopes of a spectacular career, but it hadn’t worked out that way.
In his first gun fight, Easton had learned the bitter truth that he was a coward. This, he tried to console himself, was something he couldn’t do anything about. It was, he told himself, a matter of glands. You either had the right glands that enabled you to face an armed gangster or you hadn’t. From then on he took every possible opportunity to avoid any kind of danger to himself with the result he was finally transferred from San Francisco to Downside and he became lost to the general activity of the Bureau, for Downside had the lowest Federal crime rate in the
co
untry.
He had a one-room office and a secretary. Her name was Mavis Hart. She wasn’t pretty, but she was young, and Easton was grateful to her because she allowed him a lot of liberties which at his age he found necessary to lighten an otherwise drab existence. His home life depressed him. His wife had long ago guessed what was going on between Mavis and himself and she retaliated by nagging him continually during the brief hours he was at home. Besides being inflicted with a spiteful, jealous wife, Easton had an ulcer that gave
him
constant pain and that frightened
him
.
This day, around
nine
-
t
hirty a.m. as Easton was glancing through an unimportant mail the telephone bell rang.
It came as a severe shock to Easton when Sheriff Thomson of Pittsville told
him
that the payroll lodged at the Pittsville bank had been stolen.
Easton listened to what the sheriff had to say,
his heart con
tracting and the flesh of
his
fat face sagging.
For years now he had coasted along in a dull, uneventful routine and now, suddenly, he had a major crime on
hi
s hands and he knew the spotlight of publicity would be mercilessly focused on his inefficiency.
‘For Pete’s sake!’ he exclaimed. ‘You mean i
t’s
gone?’ His voice was so loaded with alarm that Mavis who was pouring Easton’s two-hourly glass of milk turned quickly to stare anxiously at
him
. There was more talk from the sheriff, then Easton said, ‘Okay, okay. I’ll be right over,’ and he hung up.
His fat, weak face was now shining with sweat. He was aware
of the frightening pain in his stomach.
‘What is it, honey?’ Mavis asked.
‘Some sonofabitch has grabbed the Pittsville payroll!’ Easton said hoarsely. ‘Three hundred thousand bucks! This is my pigeon and I’m stuck with it.’
Mavis turned pale. She knew that Easton couldn’t cope with anything out of his routine. For a moment she panicked, then she rallied to his support.
‘It’ll be all right, honey,’ she said soothingly. ‘Here drink your milk. You’ll have to call the S.A.’
‘I know what I’ve got to do,’ Easton snapped. He took the glass from her and drank h
al
f the milk. ‘What a break? Eighteen months from now I’m due to retire and this has to happen!’
Mavis was dialling the number of the special agent at San Francisco. When she got him on the line, she handed the receiver to Easton.
Easton reported the robbery, trying to keep his voice steady. He listened to the crisp, efficient voice of his Chief, then he said, ‘Yeah
…
yeah
…
sure.’ He listened some more, then went on, ‘I’ll fix it. If I need any help, I’ll let you know. Sure
…
yeah
…
Thomson will work with me. He’s a good man. I’ll get over to Pittsville right away. I’ll report as soon as I’ve got anything.’ He replaced the receiver and taking out his handkerchief, he mopped his face and looked helplessly at Mavis who smiled at him.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’ll work out all right, honey. You see
…
it’ll work out all right.’
He held out his hand helplessly and she c
ame over to him, putting her thi
n arms around him, cradling his balding head against her immature breasts. They remained like that for several moments, then she gave him a gentle pat on his fat shoulder and drew away.
‘You’d better go, honey. They’ll be waiting for you.’
He straightened his crumpled jacket and smoothed his thinning hair. With an effort, he got to his feet and gave her a weak grin.
‘So long, chick,’ he said and reaching around her, he let his hand slide over her flat behind. ‘I don’t kn
ow what I’d do with
out you. Yeah
…
it’ll be all right.’
Two hours later, he was sitting in Sheriff Thomson’s office. The sheriff was at his desk and Ken Travers leaned against the wall, facing Easton.
Neither the sheriff not Travers had any time for Easton. They both knew he was inefficient, but there was nothing they could do about it. A bank robbery was a Federal responsibility and Easton was automatically in charge.
Easton was suffering from the nagging pain of his ulcer. His mind was only half on the robbery. He found himself thinking: this could be cancer. These quacks tell you mere is nothing
to worry about, but
they
haven’t got this thing in their stomachs.
It could be a cancer.
‘What’s the first move?’ the sheriff asked sharply, seeing East
on
’s mind was wandering. ‘We’ve got to get moving if we’re going to catch these two.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Easton said, swit
ching
his mind with an effort from the nagging pain of
h
is ulcer. ‘I’ll talk to the S.A. It’s his job to find the girl. We’ve got to get a description of her boy-friend.’ He levered himself out of his chair. ‘I’d better talk to Mrs. Loring and these old people.’
Sheriff Thomson glanced at Travers.
‘Do you want Ken to go along with you?’ he asked. ‘He knows everyone around here and he could make things easier for you.’ He gave a sly grin. ‘Don’t worry about offending me. If you want to work on this thing alone, just say so.’
That was the last thing Easton wanted to do. He felt unnerved by the magnitude of his task. He realised he would need all the help he could get if he wasn’t to make a fool of himself.
‘Sure,’ he said with what he hoped was a wide, genial smile. ‘You come with me, pally. We’ll work on this thing together.’
Travers straightened.
‘Glad to,’ he said and exchanged glances with the sheriff.
Easton called the S.A. He reported what had been found out so far and he gave a description of Alice Craig.
‘She was last seen wearing a mustard-coloured coat with a green collar,’ he said. ‘She wears glasses. She shouldn’t be hard to turn up.’ He then mentioned the boy-friend. ‘I’m getting a description of him as soon as I can. How about getting the girl’s description on the radio and television? That coat should be a
clincher.’
He listened, grunted, then said, ‘Yeah, I’ll need all the help I can get.’ He felt a knife-stab of pain in his stomach and he winced. ‘Okay, you don’t have to tell me
…
I know it’s important,’ and he hung up. He looked towards Travers. ‘How’s about talking to Mrs. Loring?’
‘The State Police are making inquiries along the highway,’ the sheriff said. ‘If they turn up anything, I’ll ca
ll you at Mrs. Loring’s place.
’
Easton
thanked him, s
hook hands and then went out to where he had parked his car with Travers at his heels.
As they drove down the main street, Easton said, ‘What do you think, Ken? I can call you Ken? You call me Jimmy. I like being pally when I’m working with guys. Do you think Alice took the payroll?’
‘I guess not,’ Travers said, lighting a cigarette. ‘I’ve known her some time and she just isn’t the type for a job like this. I guess it’s going to be a lot more complicated than it looks right now.’
Easton drove onto the highway.
‘I’ve been in this racket longer than I like to remember,’ he said gloomily. ‘I’ve found it’s wrong to think of anything as complicated. I’m always running up against investigators
w
ho
make things complicated by thinking they are. Now, the way I see it, the girl has been handling all this dough
for
years. She has probably been dreaming what she could do with such a lump sum of money if ever she owned it. Then suddenly she gets herself a boy-friend and he turns her dreams into a concrete fact. He shows her how between them they can grab the money. She has the keys, she knows about this alarm system, he has the nerve, so together they grab the money. It’s not complicated
…
it’s human nature.’