'Yeah, I guess so.' Harris still sounded doubtful though. 'And Dahl will be watching the women and children all this time?'
'To make doubly sure Barton and Mace don't get balky about opening the vault,' I confirmed..
'It sounds all right,' Harris agreed. 'If nothing-'
The Barton front door opened. Thomas Barton emerged, trotted down his front steps, and walked around to his side yard. I looked at my watch: 8:44 A.M.
Barton's car backed out into the street, then pulled away.
'Back to the motel,' I said to Preacher Harris.
That afternoon Harris picked up the hand-lettered sign for the bank door, plus the dog chain. On Wednesday morning I sent Dahl to check again on the Maces while Harris and I did the same with the Bartons. No significant differences in the family patterns emerged from this surveillance.
Wednesday afternoon I sent Harris and Dahl to Thornton in my VW to check on the arrival of the armored car at the bank. When they came back to the motel, they reported that everything had happened just as the Schemer's schedule had predicted.
At ten thirty P.M. Wednesday evening I telephoned both Barton and Mace to verify that neither had been called out of town unexpectedly. As an excuse I inquired if either wished to buy the new edition of the Britannica. Both were polite in saying no.
H-hour was set for three A.M. on Thursday morning.
We would meet at the Carousel and drive to Thornton in the two rented cars and my Volkswagen.
At three thirty A.M. we would force the lock on George Mace's side door.
We were as ready as we were ever going to be.
12
Thursday morning at three A.M. it was warm and muggy with a hint of rain in the air.
I wore my coppery-red hairpiece. Harris and Dahl both carried their Halloween masks, but I didn't bother. I knew I couldn't keep a mask on for six hours without perspiration ruining my makeup and revealing scar ravages beneath.
Each of us drove to Thornton. Although I intended us to eventually drive to the bank and later leave it in Barton's car, I had Harris park his rental near the bank in case anything went wrong and we needed a spare during the getaway. Harris then got into Dahl's car and they followed my VW.
I parked in front of the house I had previously selected, the one with the sign that said 'Tourists-Rooms.' The VW shouldn't be noticed in front of that house. Harris and Dahl picked me up, and at 3:34 A.M. we sat in Dahl's car where he and I had watched the Mace house the first morning. Harris and I left the car with Dahl still sitting at the wheel. We walked up the Mace driveway to the back door.
'Look at that!' Harris muttered hoarsely.
There was a light on in the kitchen.
The rest of the homes in the neighborhood were as dark and as silent as an abandoned silver mine, but the house that we intended to enter was brightly lighted. I knew we couldn't afford to be held up at the very outset of the operation. There would almost surely be unavoidable delays later on. 'Someone probably forgot to turn it off,' I said. 'Don't get spooked.'
I went up the three steps to the back door. I had a celluloid pick in my hand and a steel pry-bar in my pocket. When I pulled on the handle, the unlatched screen door swung open. The back door itself was locked. I inserted the pick. I wasn't afraid of noise even if someone was in the kitchen. The Schemer's diagrammatic drawing of the house had showed a long passageway between the back door and the kitchen. The intervening space was used for storage.
There was a faint click as the celluloid slid back the tongue of the lock. I opened the door a crack. The passageway was dark. I couldn't hear a sound from inside the house. 'Let's go,' I whispered to Harris, who was standing on the step behind me. There was a blur of movement I knew was caused by his putting on his mask. I lined myself up with the doorway and moved straight down the black passageway to avoid bumping into anything.
My outstretched left hand made contact with the wood of the inner door. I groped for the knob, found it, and turned it. The door inched open. It wasn't locked. I reached across my chest with my right hand and drew the Sauer from its holster. I opened the door wide and walked into the lighted kitchen with the automatic showing in my hand.
A woman in pajamas with her hair up in curlers was standing at the stove. She was stirring a steaming pot with a long-handled ladle. She appeared middle-aged although her complexion was unlined. Her mouth opened but no sound emerged as she stared at me. The ladle hung in midair where her arm movement had frozen. Liquid dripped from it to expire with a hiss on the burner. On the kitchen table beside the woman there was a green wooden tray with deep troughs containing wooden dishes and bowls and wooden utensils.
The woman's eyes passed fearfully from the gun in my hand to the masked Harris, who appeared beside me. 'What-what do you want?' she whispered.
'Call your husband,' I said in a normal tone. 'But carefully. No panic. No one's going to get hurt.'
She moistened dry lips. 'He-he can't hear me if I call him from here.'
'Then let's go where he can hear you. Carefully,' I said again. She dropped the ladle into the pot. I followed her from the kitchen in gradually diminishing light through a dining room to a flight of stairs at the front of the house. I could hear her clear her throat. 'George!' she called huskily. There was no response. 'George!' There was an edge of panic in her tone until a muffled voice answered from upstairs. 'Please bring my robe down to the kitchen.'
She led the way back into the lighted area of the house. I heard footsteps on the front stair treads, and Harris moved to one side to widen the distance between us. Slippered feet shuffled through the dining room. 'You know it's your turn to get the meal, Shirley,' George Mace was complaining as he entered the kitchen with his wife's robe over his arm. 'Why did you-'
His plaintive query choked off as he focused on Harris and me. His startled glance took in Harris's mask and my automatic. 'What's going on h-here?' he said in a tone he tried to make forceful but which quavered in spite of him.
His wife held out her hand for the robe. He handed it to her automatically. She slipped it on as Harris spoke for the first time. 'Do what you're told and nothing will happen, Mace.'
'You know my name?' Bewilderment took over from fear.
'You and your boss are going to take us down to the bank in a couple of hours,' Harris informed him. 'In the meantime, just behave yourself.'
'Whatever it is you're planning, you'll never get away with it!' Mace said sharply.
I was looking at the tray on the kitchen table with its wooden bowls and spoons. 'Who's the meal for?' I asked Shirley Mace.
She swallowed. 'M-me.'
'You wouldn't need a tray. Who else is in the house?'
'N-nobody.'
'She was bringing the tray up to me,' George Mace said quickly. 'I haven't been feeling-'
'Shut your mouth,' I told him. I looked at the woman. 'Tell me. Right now.'
'It's for my-our daughter,' she got out painfully.
'You haven't any kids!' Harris said at once. His tone was brittle. A stubby-barreled Colt appeared in his right hand. He took two long strides toward Mace and placed the gun against his head. 'Who else is in this house?'
'It's the truth!' Shirley Mace burst out. 'It's-it's the truth, that's all!'
I gestured for Harris to step away from the ashen-faced assistant bank manager. 'Then take the meal to her,' I said to the woman. Shirley Mace stared at me blankly. 'I said take the tray to your daughter.'
She looked at her husband. I had never seen such an expression on a grown man's face. George Mace looked
