Lisa Belknap - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 6, No. 12, December 1961

I found a cigarette. “Sam registered here a week ago and then he disappeared. That’s where I am now. Have you got any ideas about what might have happened?”

Cable did some thinking and then shrugged. “I don’t know. Looks to me like he just skipped. Maybe he got the feeling that I was about to lower the boom. He probably headed for some place far away where he can get himself another partner and work the racket again.”

“Why didn’t he take his wife with him?”

Cable chuckled. “You don’t know Sam the way I do. It wouldn’t bother him none to leave her. The only thing he really loved was money and he was real tight with that.” He brought out a cigar and unwrapped it. “What you going to do now, Regan?”

“What I’m paid to do. Look for him.”

“It’s a wide country. Lots of things to hide behind. But you’re willing to travel as long as you get paid?”

“I got nothing against it.”

He went to the door. “I’m getting a night’s sleep here and then back to the big city. Medford Hotel. Give me a ring if you find Sam. Might be worth a couple hundred to me if I can get my hands on him.”

When he was gone I locked the door.

Maybe Sam did skip. Or maybe he just planned to. But if he was a tight man with a buck, I thought he wouldn’t make the move until he’d finished his collections — in this town anyway.

There was one other thing to consider. If you’re planning to take off — from your partner and from your wife — you do at least one thing. You take your money along with you.

You don’t leave it in a bank or a checking account. People can stop action on those things when you don’t show up where and when you are expected.

In the morning I looked at the retainer check Irene Rogers had given me. The imprint showed that it was drawn on the Whitfield Savings Bank in St. Louis.

After a late breakfast, I took a walk through town and found that Eaton City had a branch bank. It was a small affair — the kind that opens four hours a day and even then doesn’t do too much business. The building was small and one-storied and as far as I could see a girl clerk cashier and a man who might be her boss were the only employees.

I went into the cafe across the street, ordered coffee, and wondered how I could get the information I wanted now. I kept an eye on the bank and at ten-thirty I saw the manager reach for his hat. He came out of the bank accompanied by a man in overalls and they got into a pick-up truck. Probably a farmer negotiating for a loan, I thought, and the manager wanted a personal look at his assets. I thought they would be gone long enough for my purpose.

I went to the phone booth, looked up the number of the Eaton City Branch Bank, and jotted that down. Then I put in a long distance call to the St. Louis Bank.

When I got through and was channeled to somebody important, I said, “This is James Rhiordan. Eaton City.”

“Yes?”

“I have a rather large check here just presented to me by a Mr. Sam Rogers. Twenty thousand dollars, to be exact. Mr. Rogers claims... says that he has a checking account at your bank.”

He understood. “Your position with the Eaton City bank, Mr. Rhiordan?”

“Vice-president.”

“And your number?”

I gave him the Eaton City bank phone number.

“We’ll call you as soon as we have the information.”

It would take Whitfield Savings only five minutes or less to find out how much Sam Rogers had in his account, but the reason for a call back was to make certain that my curiosity was legitimate — that there was an Eaton City Branch bank and a Vice-President Rhiordan. Private citizens just don’t call banks and hope to find out how much someone else has in his checking account.

I went across the street to the Eaton City bank and approached the girl. “My name is Rhiordan. Has there been a phone call for me? A message, perhaps?”

She raised an eyebrow.

I smiled. “I know it’s an imposition, but you see I travel a lot and it’s difficult for my bank to keep in touch with me should anything important arise. I suppose I could call every day myself, but sometimes weeks will go by in which I mount up long distance phone bills for no purpose at all. So we’ve decided that my bank would leave messages in the local banks of the towns on my general itinerary.” I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter after ten. “I’ve made arrangements that my bank try to call between ten and ten-thirty, just in case I might be there myself.” I smiled again. “There may actually not be a phone call — there usually isn’t — but do you mind if I wait?”

A few moments thought decided her that she didn’t mind.

Her phone rang four minutes later and she picked up the receiver. Her eyes widened slightly when she looked at me. “Vice-president Rhiordan?”

I grinned. “Yes. In St. Louis. But Henry is very stuffy. He always uses my title. Even on the phone.” I reached for the receiver and then hesitated. “Do you mind if I take the call in there?” I indicated the glass-walled office behind her.

She was slightly dubious about that, but either my smile — and I turned that on — or the fact that I was a vice-president somewhere made her nod her head.

I went inside the office and picked up the receiver. When I saw her cradle her phone, I said, “Rhiordan speaking.”

It was the same voice I’d heard before. “About that checking account. It’s in the name of Sam and Irene Rogers. Our records show that there is only $536.27 in the account at the moment.”

“I see.” There was another possibility. If a man keeps a.checking account at a bank, the chances are good that he keeps his savings account there also. “Please hold the line for a moment,” I said.

I waited about forty seconds and then said, “Mr. Rogers is here and he says that there must be some mistake. He says that he had the money in his savings account, but that he’s written you authorization to transfer twenty thousand to the checking account.”

“Just a moment, please,” the voice said.

Three minutes passed and the voice was back. “Mr. Rogers had a savings account here — and in his name only. $35,81239. But he closed it by mail and we sent him a draft for that amount ten days ago. We’ve since had a phone call from a Milwaukee bank and we verified the draft. Our information is that he cashed the draft there.”

“Thank you for your trouble,” I said. “I’ll have to speak to Mr. Rogers.”

“I’d do that if I were you,” the voice agreed dryly.

When a man disappears with thirty-five thousand dollars he does it because he wants to — or because somebody else wants it to be that way.

I thanked the girl behind the counter and walked back to the Liston, House.

The day desk clerk, a cheerful-looking man in his fifties, got up.

“I’m already registered,” I said. I decided it wouldn’t do any harm to ask him if he might know anything about Rogers. “I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for a Sam Rogers. He was registered here a week ago and then he just seems to have disappeared. Perhaps he told you where he might be going?”

The clerk went over the book until he found Rogers’ name and then thought about it. Finally he shook his head. “Afraid I can’t help you. Never even saw him, as far as I can remember.”

Then something did come to his mind. “There was a note on the pad to give him a call at six-thirty in the morning. I saw that when I came on at seven and it hadn’t been checked off. I asked Bert about it — thinking that he might have forgotten to wake the man — but Bert said to cross it off. Rogers had already left. Bert’s the night man here. Bert Dryer.”