Every Remington typewriter but one in Pittsville had been checked from the list received from the local agent. The one still to be checked was the machine supplied five years ago to the bank.
Easton had no hopes that it would be the one he was hunting for. He only decided to check this machine himself as it would give him an opportunity to talk to Calvin.
Easton was a man easily impressed and Calvin impressed him. Calvin was just the kind of man that Easton would have liked to have been. Easton always wanted to play golf, but had never succeeded in getting out of the rabbit class. He envied tall, powerfully-built men. He envied men with Calvin’s charm and ease of manner. He was satisfied Calvin had more brains than the sheriff, Travers and himself put together. If there was anyone who could find a clue to this Johnny Acres, Easton felt sure it would be Calvin.
He was at a dead end with the case and with the excuse of checking the bank typewriter, he hoped to get a lead from Calvin that might give him the chance of getting the bank reward… and how he wanted that money!
He walked up the path to the bank entrance and rattled on the letterbox. By now the bank was shut. There was a delay, then the bank door opened and Calvin looked inquiringly at him.
‘Can you spare a moment, Mr. Calvin?’ Easton asked, mopping his face with a grimy handkerchief. ‘Or are you busy?’
‘I’m busy, but come in,’ Calvin said. ‘We’re doing an audit. Anything urgent?’
‘Well… not urgent. You’ve got a Remington typewriter here, haven’t you?’
Calvin’s friendly smile broadened.
‘Come in… do you want to buy one?’
As Easton moved into the bank, Calvin shut and locked the door.
‘We’re still hunting for this Remington…’ Easton began, but Calvin put his hand on his arm and steered him firmly towards his office, saying, ‘You look fagged out. You’ve been working too hard. Come into the office and take the weight off your feet.’
Easton allowed himself to be propelled into the office, but not before he noticed Iris at her desk, staring at him. Easton never missed a pretty girl and he thought Iris was exceptionally pretty. This guy Calvin had all the luck. He was going to marry that sensational Kit Loring and now he had this girl to replace Alice. Easton thought of Mavis Hart. She wasn’t a patch on this kid with her large eyes and her silky, wavy hair… not a patch.
Calvin closed the office door, waved Easton to the armchair and went around the desk and sat down. ‘Cigarette?’
Easton grimaced.
‘Don’t touch them… I reckon they’re sheer poison.’
‘You’re probably right… I thrive on poison,’ Calvin said and lit a cigarette. He moved his letter opener slightly to the right. Although his expression was friendly and frank, his mind was seething with sudden panic. Had Travers told Easton about the portable? He would have to be careful. Travers must know now the portable belonged to Kit. ‘What’s all this about a typewriter?’
‘We’ve been checking the Remingtons sold to people here in Pittsville,’ Easton said. ‘I see two years ago, a Remington was delivered to the bank. We’re looking for the machine this guy Acres used. Can I see the bank machine?’
‘You certainly could if we still had it,’ Calvin said and grinned. ‘To my knowledge we haven’t had it for the past year. I remember Alice telling me it was knocked off the counter and it was a complete write-off. Alice borrowed a machine for a time. She gave it back just after I came. I used mine which was pretty hopeless and that broke down: now I have borrowed my fiancee’s… it’s out there now: a Smith Corona portable.’
Easton shrugged his fat shoulders. He hadn’t thought for a moment that the Remington listed at the bank would be the one he was looking for.
‘I was just checking,’ he said. ‘Got to tick off every machine on the list. Now we’ll have to start at Downside. That’s going to be a hell of a job. There are over five hundred Remingtons in use there.’
Calvin drew in a lungful of smoke and relaxed. The past three minutes had made sweat run down his back.
‘How’s it going? Getting anywhere?’ he asked.
‘I guess not,’ Easton said and scratched the side of his neck. ‘We have this guy sewn up, but we can’t get a lead on him. He did a smooth job. There were no fingerprints on the car. Records don’t know him. We may catch him through the typewriter, but somehow I don’t think we will. I think he was smart enough to cover his tracks even to the typewriter. He probably went to some typing bureau, typed the letter and paid a fee to use the machine. I know that’s what I would have done in his place.’
And that’s what I should have done, Calvin thought. I wish I had! That Remington could fix me even if this dimwit doesn’t realise it.
‘Well, I wish you luck,’ he said. ‘That reward is worth having… sixty thousand dollars! Phew! I bet Travers is
