I Would Rather Stay Poor

He left her and went downstairs into the lounge.

The major was reading the newly arrived Reader’s Digest. Miss Pearson was knitting a blue and white scarf she had promised the major for his birthday. They both looked up inquiringly as Calvin came in.

‘Is Alice unwell?’ Miss Pearson asked.

‘A headache,’ Calvin said. ‘She has gone to bed. She’ll be all right tomorrow. Does anyone know what’s for dinner?’ With an effort he switched on his charm. ‘I’m hungry.’

The major smiled with the smug satisfaction of someone who has access to important inside information.

‘I asked Flo… it’s pot roast.’

While they were finishing dinner, Kit came in. Calvin looked sharply at her. Although she looked tired, there was now nothing about her appearance to attract unwanted attention. She said Alice was sleeping. She had given her a sleeping tablet. She was sure she would be all right in the morning.

Calvin broke in by saying there was a good play on television. The old couple went into the television-room. Calvin paused before he followed them.

‘I’ll be up at eleven,’ he said to Kit ‘Keep away from the bottle… hear me?’

He left her and joined the old couple in the already darkened room. His mind was busy as the play ran its course.

There’s no turning back now, he said to himself. So far it’s working out all right. The only real danger now is if someone happens to try the back door of the bank and finds it unlocked. If that happens I’m really cooked. But why should anyone try the door? The whole town knows it is never used.

He reminded himself he would have to take a swab back with him. He made a grimace in the semi-darkness. Blood had come from Alice’s nose and mouth onto his hands: he had been lucky none of it had got onto his clothes. He shrank from the thought that he would have to carry her body from the vault to the car. Grimacing, he tried to concentrate on the play. At eleven o’clock, he said good night to the old couple, saying he was going to bed, and he went upstairs. The light was on in Kit’s room and he walked in.

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 all right?’ he asked, pausing at the foot of the bed.

‘You’ve nearly crippled me, you devil,’ she said, still not looking 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 Lincoln 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 approaching car.

He reached the back entrance to the 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.