Iris listened to her mother’s stumbling steps as she climbed the stairs. She felt a cold chill crawl up her spine, and involuntarily, she shivered.
A little a
fter six o’clock the following morning, Kit woke with a start. She became aware that someone was tapping softly and persistently on her door.
She half sat up. Her head felt heavy and her eyes burned. She looked towards the bedside clock as she called out, ‘Who is it?’
‘Dave! Open up! I’ve got to talk to you.’ Calvin’s voice was pitched low. There was a note of urgency in it that alerted her.
She threw off the bedclothes, snatched up a wrap and struggled into it as she crossed the room and unlocked the door.
Calvin, his face set, a cold, bleak expression in his eyes, came in and shut the door.
‘What is it?’ she demanded, moving away from him. She picked up a comb from the dressing-table and ran it through her hair. ‘What is it?’
‘I tried to get you last night,’ he snarled, ‘but you were so drunk you didn’t hear me knocking.’
‘What is it?’ she repeated. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing the shadows under her eyes and the gaunt tightness of her skin. She grimaced and looked away.
‘Trouble.’
He paused, then went on, ‘Have you a typewriter?’
She stared at him, startled. Her head was beginning to ache.
‘A typewriter? Yes
…
why?’
‘Where is it?’
She motioned to where a battered portable stood against the wall. He picked it up, rested it on the bed and lifted the lid. It was an old Smith Corona.
‘Does it work?’
‘Yes
…
What is all this?’
‘I wrote that damned letter to Alice on the bank’s typewriter. The police have found out it was written
on a standard Reming
ton with faulty letters. If they find the machine, we’re in a hell of a jam.’
She stiffened, her eyes growing large.
‘You and your fool-proof plan!’ she said, her voice going shrill. ‘Now what are you going to do?’
‘Keep your voice down! I’ll get rid of the Remington and use this.’ He nodded to the portable. ‘If they ask, I’
ll
te
ll them
I found the machine in the bank. Lamb’s dying and can’t be questioned. Alice can’t answer questions either.’
‘How will you get rid of the Remington?’
‘I’ll hide it in the vault.’
She relaxed a little.
‘Then take the portable and get out!’
‘I haven’t finished yet. That letter you’ve sent to your attorney. You’ve got to get it back. You don’t seem to realise if anything happens to you, the spot I’
ll
be in,’ Calvin said, trying to make his voice sound casual. ‘At the rate you’re drinking, you could drop dead any time, then where would I be?’
She smiled jeeringly at him.
‘You tried to murder me last night
…
remember? Why should I care
what happens to you? Get out!’
‘I want that letter!’
‘You’re not getting it!’
They stared at each other, their hate white hot, then Calvin, realising there was nothing he could do to force her to give him the letter, suddenly shrugged. He would have to bring pressure on her somehow, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. He had more vital things to cope with.
‘You know Iris is working for me?’ he said. ‘You were so drunk last night I don’t know if you remember.’
‘I remember,’ Kit said, looking at him strangely. ‘I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. I’m warning you. If you try any of your tricks with her, I’ll kill you. I’m not warning you again.’
The cold baleful expression in her eyes made him uneasy. He remembered the gun.
‘Where did you get the gun from?’ he asked, watching her.
‘It was my husband’s,’ she said. ‘He taught me how to use it. I’m a good shot, Dave
…
remember that.’
He dismissed this with an impatient wave of his hand.
‘Give me the gun. In your condition, you’re not safe to own a gun. Come on
…
give it to me.’
She sneered at him.
‘It’s where you’ll never find it. Get out!’
‘I must have been crazy to have picked on you,’ he said, having to control the urge to take her by her throat and strangle her.
‘Think so?’ Sh
e laughed. ‘Well, you’re stuck w
ith me. When are we getting married? What a couple we’ll make! I want to get out of this hole and start spending some money!’
‘You’ll be lucky if you ever touch the money. They have this town sewn up tight. They’re even checking every parcel and every piece of luggage leaving town. We now may have to wait a damn sight longer than I thought before either of us touches it!’
‘I want some money now!’ Kit said, leaning forward and glaring at him. ‘I haven’t enough to last until the end of the week! I want that three hundred I lent you.’
‘Where do you imagine it’s coming from? It went towards buying the car.’
‘Then get it from the bank! I must have it! Take it from the payroll!’
‘Stop drinking and you’ll have enough,’ Calvin said and snatching up the portable typewriter, he went back into his room.
He stood looking out of the window for some minutes. He had passed a bad night. He felt limp and his head was heavy. This wasn’t working out the way he had planned, but he was thankful he had been called to the emergency meeting. If he hadn’t known about the typewriter he could have been in a hell of a spot. He rested his hot forehead against the glass of the window. He would have to be careful no one saw him take the portable into the bank. He would have to watch every move now that he made. One slip and they would be on to him.
He turned away from the window, opened his closet and took out his hold-all. He put the portable in the bag. On top of it, he put one of his suits. He looked at his watch. The time was ten minutes to seven. He would have to get to the bank before anyone arrived so he could take the Remington down into the vault. He would conceal it in yet another of the deed boxes.
Picking up the hold-all, he went down to the kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living-room. The house was strangely quiet. He sat down, drank the coffee and lit a cigarette. He considered his future plans. There was danger, of course. The Johnny Acres impersonation hadn’t been such a hot idea after all. Would they finally come around to suspecting that he had impersonated Acres? It would be a long shot. He thought it unlikely. But the fact they now thought Acres was a local man made him very uneasy. It might be necessary to lay a red herring for them, taking their suspicions away from him
…
but how? He thought of Iris, sleeping upstairs. He might use her. It was an idea he filed away in his mind. This bank reward made his situation even more dangerous. He had seen Travers’s change of expression when Marthy had announced the reward. Calvin was pretty sure what had been going through Travers’s mind. With sixty thousand dollars,
Travers would cease to be small-time
: he could marry Iris: he
could take her away from Pitts
ville. Calvin was suddenly thankful he had picked on Kit to help him. If Travers became dangerous, he would use Kit to protect himself. Travers wouldn’t send his future mother-in-law to the gas chamber. The sheriff and Easton were has-beens. If it came to a show-down, he could muzzle Travers. Thinking about it, Calvin gained confidence. He would have to be careful, but if things went wrong, he could put the screws on Travers.
He arrived at the bank a few minutes after eight o’clock. He parked his car, then carrying the hold-all, he walked up the main street towards the bank.
As he reached the short path leading to the bank entrance, he saw Travers come out of the sheriffs office and walk rapidly towards
him
. Calvin paused. He felt very confident. T
hi
s tall, rangy
young fellow
might be smart, but
Calvin
was now sure he had
him
where
he wa
nted him
. He walked towards him. The two men met
half
way between the sheriff’s office and the bank.
‘Hello there,’ Calvin said smiling. ‘Any news? Anything happening?’
Travers shook
his
head,
his eyes going to the hold-all.
‘Nothing right now. You’re early.’ He paused, then went on, ‘Are yo
u going away?’
Calvin laughed easily.
‘No such luck. I’m taking a suit to be cleaned. Yes
…
I’m early. We’re doing an audit. For the next day or so, I’ll have to work for my living.’ He looked steadily at Travers. ‘Iris has volunteered to help out. Did she tell you? She’s taking Alice’s place.’
Travers nodded.
‘Yes
…
she told me,’ he said curtly.
There was a pause. Both men stared intently at each other.
‘She’ll be a great help,’ Calvin said, paused, then went o
n
scarcely concealing a sneer. ‘Wish you luck with that reward. Sixty thousand! It’s money! Don’t let Easton beat you to it.’
‘I won’t,’ Travers said, his voice quiet. ‘I mean to get it.’
‘Well, good luck,’ and switching on
hi
s charming smile, Calvin turned away and began to walk back to the bank, aware that Travers was staring after him.
Suddenly Travers said, ‘Hey! One minute!’
Calvin felt a prickle of apprehension crawl up his spine. He turned and waited.
Travers came up in five long, swinging strides.
‘I forgot to ask you
…
w
ha
t kind of typewriter do you use in the bank?’
Calvin lifted
his
sand-coloured eyebrows. The effort he had to make to keep his face expressio
nl
ess quickened his heart-beat.
‘Typewriter? Typewriter?’ he said vaguely, then
his
smile widened. ‘Of course
…
I see. You’re looking for a standard Remington with defective letters. No luck, I’m afraid. We use a Smith Corona portable. Don’t ask me why. It was here when I came.’
‘A portable?’ Travers said, staring at him. ‘Tha
t’s
unusual, isn’t it?’
‘My dear fella, who am I to question the meanness of banks?’ Calvin said. ‘Ours isn’t a very important branch, you know. We don’t have many letters to writ
e.’ He met Travers’s searching s
tare. ‘Anything else you’d like to know?’
‘No
…
thanks.’
‘Then I’ll get along,’ and nodding, Calvin turn
ed and walked towards the bank.
He unlocked the door, entered and relocked the door.
Phew! he thought. That
was
close
…
too close!
He set down the hold-all and walked quickly behind the counter to where the Remington typewriter stood. He picked it up and carried it down to the vault. It took him over a quarter of an hour to find a deed box that contained only a few papers. Into this deed box, he put the typewriter. He went up the stairs and took the portable out of its case. He set the
machi
ne on the felt mat where the Remington had stood.
He then emptied the mail box and taking the mail into his office, he began to work.
A few minutes to nine o’clock, Iris arrived. As Calvin opened the door and let her in, she gave him an uncertain smile.
She had slept badly. Although she had tried to put out of her mind Ken’s insinuations, the more she thought about what he had said as she had tossed and turned in the darkness, the more she realised that he had something of a case against Calvin.
‘You’re early,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘Flo told me you had already begun work. Why didn’t you call me?’
‘It’s my hard luck I had to start early
…
not yours. The auditors will be here in a few minutes. Come and help me with the mail.’
As she followed him into his office, she saw the portable typewriter standing on the counter. Involuntarily, she stopped short to stare
at it. Calvin paused, watching
her. He saw her stiffen as she continued to stare at the typewriter. He became instantly alert. What’s going on in her mind? he asked himself. Has Travers told her about the Remington? Has he told her to spy on me? Does he suspect that I am Acres? He could do. Why did he ask me what typewriter we use here if he wasn’t suspicious?