The younger kids blinked at the transition from shadowy darkness outside to the stockade's bright illumination. Tommy's fascinated gaze fastened upon the slavering nude Rachel, who was chewing at the bonds on her wrists. Margie favored her brother with a superior sisterly smile.
Harris had gagged Thelma Barton. Dahl dumped Ellen to the floor where she sprawled three-quarters out of the blanket, then marched over in front of Ellen's mother. 'What the hell kind of a parent are you?' Dahl demanded. 'Don't you know where your kids are nights? Don't you care?'
Thelma Barton's features turned purple from the intensity of the abortive effort she made to reply. Dahl turned away. Harris drew me to one side. 'Mrs. Mace wants to talk to you privately,' he said. 'She says it's important.'
'Bring her outside, then. And get the tie-cords off Barton and Mace and onto the kids.'
I went out into the basement proper. Harris led out Shirley Mace and then went back inside. The woman wasted no words. 'There's a burglar alarm at the bank in the writing desk just inside the side door,' she said. 'You'll have to keep everyone away from it.'
I couldn't help thinking that never in my life had I had more cooperation from such unlikely sources. First the bank manager's kids, now the assistant bank manager's wife. 'You have a reason for telling me this, of course.'
Her eyes met mine levelly. 'I do. You're a ruthless man. I want you to kill Rachel before you leave. You can make it look like an accident.'
'Well, now-'
'You'll be doing everyone concerned a favor,' she insisted. Her tone turned acid. 'I've spent twenty-two years in slavery because of George's truckling to his conscience. I don't propose to do it any longer. I've given you information which might easily make the difference in your getting away or not. You owe me a favor.'
'We'll see,' I said in the manner of a parent speaking to a petulant child, avoiding the outright 'no' because of fear of the resultant emotional explosion. 'Get back inside.' She hesitated as if there were something more she was about to say, then led the way.
Barton and Mace were on their feet, rubbing their wrists. Everyone else except Shirley Mace was on the mattress floor, bound wrist and ankle. Harris speedily added her to the lineup. Ellen had thrown off her blanket and was staring defiantly at her family. Sometime since I had seen her on the bed in her room, either she or Dahl had removed her panties. The girl was as naked as Rachel.
'More bare pelt on the loose around here tonight,' Dahl commented, seeing my expression. I kept a grip on myself. This was no time for a discourse on adult juvenile delinquency. For an instant I debated the wisdom of leaving Dahl with the group. I had committed myself to Harris, though. The gambler would be disturbed by a last- minute reversal of roles. 'Harris and I are leaving now with these two,' I told Dahl, nodding at the men. 'Hold the lid on here till we get back. We'll take Mace's Rambler and leave your rental job in the driveway. If we're not back by nine twenty, go for yourself.'
'I read you loud an' clear, cousin,' he declared.
We climbed the basement steps with me in the lead, Barton and Mace in the middle, and Harris bringing up the rear. 'Do you have your key to the bank's side entrance?' I asked Mace.
'It's on the Rambler key ring,' he answered.
'Make sure of it,' Harris warned. 'You wouldn't like what happens to the people downstairs if it isn't.'
Neither Mace nor Barton said anything. I wasn't sure that they caught the bloodthirsty reference to the hostages. We went out to the street. It was getting light. I put the two men in the back after Mace made sure that the bank key was on the key ring. Harris sat in front, watching them, although I think both he and I were convinced by that time there was no fight in either.
'I did the right thing!' George Mace burst out as I pulled away from the house. 'She was mine! She
Barton said nothing. He looked like a man who had his own troubles. I drove through the quiet streets to the downtown area and parked Mace's car in its usual slot on the bank parking lot.
'We know there's no burglar alarm on the side door because the cleaning people have to get in at odd hours,' Harris told Barton and Mace. 'But the first man who makes an unexplained move inside has had it.'
It was still dark enough so that I doubted anyone on the street could see us as we approached the bank. I handed Mace the Rambler key ring and motioned to him to open the bank door. Harris had his hand inside his jacket on the butt of his gun.
Mace unlocked the door. We all filed inside, our footsteps echoing cavernously in the stillness. I watched closely, but neither man made a move toward the alarm switch in the desk just inside the entrance about which Shirley Mace had warned me. 'Take them into their offices and tie them up again,' I said to Harris. 'Each in his own office.'
When he led them away, I stationed myself where I could watch the parking lot and the approach to the side door. Nothing moved in the steadily increasing light. 'There's a coffee percolator all loaded and ready to go in Barton's secretary's office,' Harris reported when he returned. 'Should I make coffee?'
'If you like. Don't forget the sign for the front door.'
'I'll get it up in time.' Harris glanced at his watch. 'I wish we didn't have this long a wait.'
I wished it, too, but there was nothing we could do about it. I explained to Harris the necessity for keeping incoming bank personnel away from the desk near the entrance. I didn't tell him how I knew about the alarm. We checked the space available, and decided to place the bank employees in a lounge just off the rest rooms as fast as they appeared for work. The lounge had only one entrance and a door that could be locked from the outside.
Then there was nothing to do but wait.
We divided up into thirty-minute shifts the task of keeping an eye on the side entrance approach to prevent surprise. During my off periods I sat in one of the smaller offices. The sight of a roll of Scotch tape on the desk reminded me of something I had intended to do previously.
I rummaged around in the desk until I found an empty box of medium-stiff cardboard of the type in which new checkbooks are mailed out, and a sheet of wrapping paper. I folded the paper several times and slipped it into my jacket pocket. In that desk and the one in the adjoining office I found address labels, a pen that wrote with India ink, loose stamps, and the roll of tape. I tore the top label from the pad and printed an address on it: DR. SHER AFZUL, STATE HOSPITAL, RAIFORD, FLORIDA. In one corner I added FIRST CLASS MAIL. I put label, stamps, and tape in the box, then put the box in my jacket pocket along with the wrapping paper.
I settled down to wait again.
At eight thirty A.M. I released Barton from the chair into which he was tied and took him into the lobby. Using Harris's dog chain, I fastened Barton by one ankle to the leg of a heavy customers' desk. All employees entering the bank would see Barton standing there and assume that everything was all right until the instant that either Harris or I intercepted them and put them into the lounge.
At 8:35 Harris took up a position just inside the door, behind it so that he would be invisible each time it opened. At 8:41 there was the sound of a key in the lock. The uniformed bank guard whose duty it was to unlock the side door each morning entered. With him was a white-haired woman carrying an umbrella. 'Good morning, Mr. Barton,' she called across the lobby as the door closed behind them. 'Nice to see-' Her voice deteriorated to a choked gasp as Harris stepped out with his gun leveled.
He took them to the lounge. The guard put up no opposition. I took Harris's place just inside the door. Three more people arrived at 8:44. I took them to the lounge while Harris took my place at the door. After that it was a shuttle service. We took them in groups as fast as we could make the round trip. I took time out only to send Harris to the front entrance to tape up his sign: BANK EXAMINERS HERE. OPEN AT 10:00 A.M. TODAY.
At 8:58 the rush was over. 'You take it here,' I told Harris. 'I'll take Barton and Mace to the vault. Lock this door each time you have to leave it. Latecomers will think somebody forgot the latch. They'll rattle the door, which will give you time to get back to it. Now give me your knife.'
He handed it over. I released Barton from the leg of the table and took him with me while I cut Mace free from his bonds. 'No mistakes,' I said as I walked them to the door of the vault. 'You both have more riding on this than I do.'
Mace rubbed his hands together nervously. Neither man said anything. There was a red light on above the
