‘I forgot to ask you… what 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 expressionless 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. ‘That’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 write.’ He met Travers’s searching stare. ‘Anything else you’d like to know?’
‘No… thanks.’
‘Then I’ll get along,’ and nodding, Calvin turned 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 machine 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?
He said, ‘Not much of a machine, is it? It’s the best I can do for you. I’ve already asked the powers-that-be for something better, but so far it hasn’t been forthcoming.’
Iris dragged her eyes away from the typewriter. She forced herself to remain calm. She could see the portable didn’t fit the felt mat which was obviously designed for a much larger machine.
‘Oh, I’ll manage,’ she said. ‘I like the touch of a portable. Kit has one. I often use it.’
‘You do? Then you’ll be happy with this one. Well, come on: let’s see what’s in the mail.’
Iris resisted the impulse to go to the machine and examine it. It looked vaguely familiar, but she was aware that Calvin was watching her. His blue eyes were as expressionless and as hard as glass.
They entered the office as a rap came on the bank door.
‘There are the auditors,’ Calvin said. ‘I’ll let them in.’
The two auditors entered, exchanged greetings with Calvin and nodded to Iris.
For the next hour. Iris was kept busy discovering banking procedure which Calvin explained to her with a patience that surprised her.
A little after ten o’clock, the first customer came in and Calvin went to serve him.
Left on her own, Iris crossed over to the portable typewriter. She had the excuse to use the machine as Calvin, during the past hour, had dictated several letters. She sat on the high stool, uneasily aware that only some forty hours ago, Alice had also sat on this stool. She looked at the machine and a sudden chill ran through her.