“Yes, indeed. You know, Mrs. Whiteside, although I admit I have often tried, I have never won a dollar at the Casino. I am very happy to hear Mr. Whiteside has been so fortunate.”
“Yes.”
He gave her change.
“Are you sure you don’t want the box?”
“No, thank you… and thanks.”
When she had gone, Marshall picked up the bill and frowned at it. He remembered the recent instructions he had received from police headquarters. A waste of time, he thought, but he wrote Sheila’s name and address on the back of the bill before placing it in the till.
The time was twenty minutes to three. Tom Whiteside had been sitting at his desk, thinking of what Sheila had told him. The tension had become unbearable. He suddenly decided he must go home and find out what exactly was happening. Wiping his sweating hands, he got up and walked into the showroom.
Peter Cain, the head salesman, was talking to a client. Tom could see Locking talking to someone on the telephone through the glass wall of his office. He hesitated, then, as Locking hung up, Tom walked uneasily to the door, knocked and entered the office.
Locking frowned at him.
“What is it, Tom? I’m busy.”
White faced, sweat glistening on his forehead, Tom said, “I have to go home, Mr. Locking… something I ate. I feel terrible.”
People who felt terrible bored Locking. He shrugged his fat shoulders.
“Okay, Tom, then get off,” and he reached for a file of papers. The unfeeling bastard! Tom thought as he walked to where he had parked his car. He got in, started the engine and drove fast down the highway.
Fifteen minutes later, his heart thumping, sick with apprehension, he drove into his garage and shut the doors. As he walked into the kitchen, he heard the TV was on. A voice, strident with excitement, was giving a commentary on a wrestling match.
He hesitated. What the hell was going on? As he moved down the passage, Sheila called softly to him from the bedroom. He found her sitting on the bed.
“Shut the door.”
He did so, staring at her.
“What’s happening? What… ?”
“He’s a TV addict,” Sheila said. “He’s in there.”
“He? Who?”
She clenched her fists with exasperation.
“The man the police are looking for… the fifth robber! I told you, you dope!”
“You really mean he’s here? I thought you had gone crazy!” Tom stared at her, horror in his eyes.
“Must you always act like a brainless jerk?” Sheila said. “I told you… he found our address, thanks to you. He knows we have the money. He intends to stay here until it’s safe for him to leave.”
“He can’t stay here!” Tom said wildly. “I’m going to call the police.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Whiteside,” Maisky said softly. He had opened the bedroom door so quietly neither of them had heard him come in.
Tom whirled around.
Maisky smiled at him. He wasn’t wearing the white wig and he looked quite harmless in his clergyman’s outfit until Torn looked into the grey snake’s eyes and he flinched.
“I don’t see what you have to worry about, Mr. Whiteside,” Maisky went on. “There’s enough money for all of us. Let’s go into the living-room and discuss this quietly.” Turning, he walked down the passage and into the living- room. A little reluctantly, he turned off the television, then sat down.
Tom and Sheila followed him, hesitated, then took chairs away from him. Tom stared at him, unable to believe this frail little man could be at the back of the Casino robbery, yet scared of him. Those eyes and the mild smile chilled him.
“Now… the money,” Maisky said, placing his finger tips together. “I am quite happy to take one and a half million for myself. That leaves you two a million. I think that is fair. After all, I engineered the plan. I shall have to remain here for a few weeks, but this I have already discussed with Mrs. Whiteside. You are being well paid for putting up with me. Do you accept these terms?”
There was a pause, then, as Tom was hesitating, Sheila said, “Yes… all right.”
She was thinking if this little freak imagined he was going to walk out of here with a million and a half dollars, the joke would be on him. She thought of the .25 automatic she had hidden. When the time came for him to leave, he would walk into one hell of a surprise.
Tom stared at her.
“We can’t agree!” he exclaimed. “We’re not keeping a dollar of the money! We could go to jail for twenty years! I’ve had enough of this! I…”
“Will you shut up, you gutless ape!” Sheila screamed at him. Her fury was so violent, it silenced him.
Maisky giggled.
“And they call women the weaker sex,” he said. “Well now, my pretty, so we are agreed?”
“You heard me, didn’t you?” Sheila snapped at him.
Maisky smiled, his eyes glittering. She’s dangerous, he thought, and greedy. Well, if she imagined she was going to get a cent out of this, she needed to have her pretty head examined. All the same, he would have to watch her.
“Fine.” He appeared to relax. “Now that’s arranged, and we don’t have to worry our heads further about it, perhaps I could go on watching the wrestling. It amuses me.” He got up and turned on the TV set. “A wonderful invention, Mr. Whiteside… a great timepasser.”
Tom got up and walked stiffly into the kitchen.
As the strident, excited voice of the commentator began to fill the room, Maisky dismissed Sheila with a wave of his hand.
“Run along, my pretty,” he said. “I am sure this must bore you.”
She stared at him, then got up and joined Tom in the kitchen.
“Any coffee left, Chief?” Beigler asked, lighting a cigarette from the stub of another. He leaned back in his chair, his heavy frame making the chair creak.
“There’s a drop,” Terrell said and pushed the carton across the desk. “You smoke too much, Joe.”
“Yeah.” Beigler poured coffee into the paper cup. “That’s always been my trouble.” He drank the coffee and then picked up the long typewritten report that had come from the road blocks. It contained a twenty-page list of car numbers and car owners who had passed through the road blocks on their way out of town. “This is getting us nowhere fast.”
“Keep at it,” Terrell said. “We’re gaining some ground. We now know where he hired the truck and the trucker has a good description of him. When we catch up with him, we have him for sure.”
“We haven’t caught…” Then Beigler paused, stared at the list he was holding and stiffened. “Hey, Chief! Look at this!” He passed the sheet to Terrell, his thumbnail underscoring the typewritten line.
Terrell read Frankl
“Whose report?”
“Fred O’Toole.”
“Get him here!”
Beigler called down to Charlie Tanner.
“We want Fred. Is he at the road block still?”
“Hold it.” There was a pause, then Tanner said, “No. He’s back home. Clocked off half an hour ago.”
“Get him. Send a car, Charlie… pronto.”
“Will do,” Tanner said and hung up.
Twenty minutes later, Patrolman Fred O’Toole walked into Terrell’s office. He was out of uniform and showed
