‘I sleep at the bank,’ Ludwig replied, with a slight roll of the eyes, as if Tommy was an idiot – as if everyone knew that bank managers slept over at the bank at night. ‘I was out at my friend’s place for dinner – James Simpson, the schoolteacher,’ Ludwig went on, ‘and I was coming home for the night. What is this, anyway: an interrogation? I’m the victim here, remember?’
‘Just curious,’ said Tommy. What strange times these were, when teenagers became bank managers and slept over at work and got robbed at gunpoint by masked men in the deep of the night!
‘Who was that man?’ Tommy wondered.
To Tommy’s surprise, Ludwig answered: ‘I know who he was.’ He folded his arms with a frown. ‘He used to be a friend of mine.’
‘Some friend!’ Tommy marvelled.
‘He thought I wouldn’t know who he was with that stupid neckerchief over his face. But I’d know that Irish accent anywhere. And that limp. That was George all right. That was Andrew George Scott.’
Irish accent! Of course; that’s the accent that Tommy had heard. Tommy remembered that the gunman had forced Ludwig to write a note, and then taken the pen and written something himself.
‘What was that note-writing business all about?’ Tommy asked. Ludwig snorted again.
‘He reckons he was doing me a favour. He said that the police would think that I stole the money from the bank. So he made me write that note, telling the police that he did it himself and that I wasn’t to blame. Then he signed the note – but he didn’t sign his real name, of course.’
‘What name did he sign, then?’ Tommy asked.
‘He signed it: Captain Moonlite,’ Ludwig replied. ‘But get this: he spelled it wrongly. He spelled it M-O-O-N-L-I-T-E. George is a clever man. He knows how to spell. Why would he have spelled it that way?’
‘Maybe he was just stressed,’ Tommy suggested. He knew that he often made mistakes in spelling tests. It was the stress, he’d tell himself. In any case, it was only a spelling error. Big deal!
‘No,’ Ludwig said, and shook his head. ‘No, I think he wanted me to think that my attacker was someone uneducated – someone who couldn’t spell. He didn’t want me to know it was him. That’s what I think.’
‘But why would your friend do that to you?’ Tommy asked. He couldn’t imagine ever pointing a gun at Francis or Martin, no matter how annoying they were at times.
‘We fell out,’ Ludwig replied angrily. ‘He’s a bad man. A lying, cheating, greedy so-and-so. And he calls himself a preacher!’
‘No!’ Tommy was shocked. The world seemed to have turned upside down. What a strange world it was, where seventeen-and-a-half-year-olds were bank managers and preachers became armed robbers!
‘Oh yes,’ Ludwig nodded. ‘He’s a lay preacher for the Church of England. But they haven’t paid him yet and he’s short of money. So I guess he thought he’d just help himself to the bank’s gold.’
‘Will you get into trouble from your boss?’ Tommy asked.
‘Surely not!’ Ludwig said, but he looked worried. ‘I’d better go and talk to the police.’
‘Do you want me to come?’
‘No, I’ll be OK, thanks,’ Ludwig replied. ‘You’ve done enough for me tonight. No need to get caught up any more in this.’ Then he looked at Tommy curiously. ‘Anyway, shouldn’t you be at home? What’s a young boy doing out at this time of night?’
‘I’ll be off, then,’ Tommy cut in quickly. He didn’t want to explain how he happened to be there. No one would ever believe him! Ludwig Bruun shook Tommy’s hand and thanked him, and trotted back down the road to the police station. Soon the teenager had disappeared into the darkness. Tommy was eager to get back to Martin and tell him all about the evening’s adventures, but something about this whole business made him uneasy. He was worried for Ludwig, who was seventeen and a half, and a bank manager, but who seemed as frail as a child. Tommy decided to stick around until morning.
Since he had discovered the hat, Tommy had spent many nights camping out under the stars. He was getting used to sleeping on a hard ground with no pillow or blanket.
He couldn’t say he enjoyed it, but in most of his adventures, being out in the bush – with Combo standing guard and the fresh air and the sounds of the outback all around him – had a special charm that made up for the discomfort.
This time it was different. This time he was sleeping rough in the town while the rest of the folk of Mt Egerton slumbered cosily in their beds, and this time a creepy guy with a gun who called himself ‘Captain Moonlite’ was on the loose. Every time an owl hooted or a possum scampered up a tree, Tommy woke in fright. To add to the fear was the biting cold that made his nose and ears numb. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get frostbite, Tommy grumbled to himself.
He was pleased when the first glimmers of sun appeared on the horizon. He slept then, glad of the warmth and the sense of safety that daylight brings.
It must have been almost noon when Tommy’s hollow stomach woke him. What a fool he’d been, rushing back to the past before he and Martin had eaten dinner! He could really do with some noodles now. Or a burger. Fish and chips, maybe. Anything, in fact!
He couldn’t think until he had something to eat. He scrambled out from under the bush where he’d slept, when something caught his eye: something red fluttering from the bare branch of a tree. Tommy looked closer: it was the neckerchief that the bank robber had been wearing! He must have dropped it there after the robbery. Tommy stuffed the cloth into his pocket and walked the last few metres back out onto the street.
The
