Хал Эллсон - Mink Is for a Minx

“But why the money, John?”

“I won’t lie to you, darling. We couldn’t remain free to live our own lives for a week without a lot of money. They’d track me down, call me a wife-deserter. With money I can pay our way, pay off detectives if I have to. It will be like a real honeymoon, darling.”

“A honeymoon? Oh, John, that’s all I want.”

“You hate all this hiding as much as I do,” he said.

“I do, dear, I hate it,” Marion said. “All right, for us.”

“It won’t take long, darling,” he said, and he explained his plan. He did not, of course, tell Marion of the two major problems he knew he would have to solve.

The complete escape that would mean the end of John S. Johns, and how not to have to take her with him. She would do what he asked only as long as she thought it meant the two of them and domestic bliss forever. He intended to solve that problem. But he did not tell her that. What he told her was that she would have to convince Meade Lewis to go away with her for a long weekend in New York.

“That won’t be hard,” he said. “Let him take you out, a few kisses in the dark. Maybe a little more, you understand? Not all the way. We’ll save that for New York. It will make him very eager to go. He has to be eager enough to take Saturday morning off.”

“I don’t know that I can do it, John,” Marion said.

“Try hard, dear.”

Meade Lewis fell for the bait as eagerly as expected, and within two weeks Lewis was calling Marion every day. A month before the weekend he had selected, Johns made a side trip to Mobile while he was in St. Louis on bank business. He took a flight on a small, unscheduled airline to Vera Cruz, Mexico. He noted every detail of the flight, especially that the plane crossed the Mexican coast from the Gulf exactly twenty minutes before landing at Vera Cruz.

Satisfied, he booked on the flight for the future and returned to St. Louis. In St. Louis he bought a thirty-eight calibre pistol and a small chest parachute. He bought a souvenir cushion cover of St. Louis, and a special electronic device that induced a heavy impulse in wires by remote control. The electronic device cost him a lot of money, but it was the most important part of his plan. It would set off the bank alarm. The cushion cover was to hide the parachute.

He chose the last weekend in July. The bank would be full of payroll money. The children would be away. Maude would be on her three-day Girl Scout week-end in the woods. He gave Marion her final instructions.

“Leave the bank as usual at four-thirty P.M. on Friday,” he said. “I’m giving you Saturday morning off to go to Lake George, a long weekend. That won’t surprise old Moss, because he knows I’m against our still being open on Saturday mornings. You’ll catch the five o’clock train to New York. You’d better take only one suitcase, for you’ll have to carry a small one of mine.”

And he smiled to himself. Marion would carry the parachute hidden in its cushion cover. Ironic, since it would play a role in his escape from her. But it was an added precaution in case anyone looked in his bags.

“In New York check into the Commander under an assumed name. Tell Lewis to take the six-thirty train; you’ll be waiting at the station. He has to take the six-thirty or he’ll miss you. That’s important. Take him to some hotel, not the Commander, and stay with him until Saturday night.

“Keep him indoors as much as possible, and make sure he’ll wait in the room Saturday night when you leave for Idlewild. Some sleeping pills perhaps. At Idlewild take the jet for New Orleans. Go straight to a small airport in Mobile, Alabama — I’ll write it down for you. I’ll be there waiting.”

“Stay with him overnight? Oh, John.”

“I know it; it torments me too, darling,” he said. “But you’ll have to keep him with you, because he mustn’t come back here or even call.”

He had already checked his remote control device on the bank alarm. It worked perfectly, and it would be no problem to explain to the outraged police that he had opened the door after the alarm was set — a simple oversight. It was all in order.

That Friday morning John S. Johns went into the vault and gathered $500,000 in unlisted bills and placed them in a safe part of the vault. It was his job to supervise the making up of the payrolls for Monday. Payroll lists had the serial numbers noted down, and he carefully falsified enough lists to make the $500,000.

Marion went home on schedule, and at precisely half past four John S. Johns went into the vault and removed a series of bills in various denominations from a listed payroll. There were only four people left in the bank at five o’clock. Old man Moss and Sackville were in their offices behind closed doors.

Meade Lewis was working over his final tally when John S. Johns walked up to him. The head teller’s coat hung in its usual place, for Lewis was old-fashioned and wore a blue bank jacket when he worked.

“Meade,” Johns said. He was pleased when Lewis almost jumped out of his skin. Quite obviously the head teller had heard rumors of Johns and Marion, and had jumped out of guilt.

“Sorry to bother you,” Johns said, “But I seem to be off on my count on the Augustino payroll. Would you check me?”

Lewis looked at the clock nervously. “Well, I do have to leave soon, John. I’ve got tomorrow off you know. I’m going to visit my brother in Chicago.”

John S. Johns wanted to laugh. It was the story he had told Marion to have Lewis tell everyone. The plan was as smooth as silk. He said, “I’ll finish the tally for you, how’s that?”

“Okay, John,” Lewis said. “That’s fair enough.”

The moment Lewis entered the vault, Johns quickly took the wallet from the head teller’s coat and replaced all the money with bills from the Augustino payroll. He could be sure now that Lewis’ fingerprints would be on the vault where the Augustino payroll was. He had wiped his own clean already. By the time Lewis returned and said the payroll checked fine, he had completed the tally and was back at his own desk.

At exactly five-thirty old Moss walked from his office to the vault. Sackville was with him as usual. The president said, “Lewis, Johns, check the vault.”

The old man watched them like a hawk as they checked the money in the vault. It was, of course, all there. The president grunted and waved them out of the vault as he stepped to the time-lock mechanism. The old man set the lock for the next morning, Sackville standing beside him. Johns pressed the remote control in his pocket. The alarm went off with a startling clangor.

The president leapt back and turned away from the vault with a startled exclamation.

Sackville turned with Moss. “What the devil! That damned alarm company is a gyp outfit!” he muttered angrily. “This has happened before—”

Lewis stared toward the alarm. The president and the executive vice-president started to walk toward the door. The alarm rang on.

Johns stepped to the time lock and changed it to open in two hours. Then he called out, “Sir! The vault!”

“What?” The old man turned. “Very good, Johns. You can close it now. It’s set. Sackville’s right. I’m going to call that alarm company and tell them what I think of them!”

With a smile to himself, Johns closed the vault door. There was no more to do now but wait.

The alarm people came and went. Meade Lewis left for his train, after explaining to Moss again that he was going to visit his brother in Chicago. Johns told Moss and Sackville that he was leaving, and mentioned also that with his wife away he would have to eat at the Club.

Moss and Sackville went into their offices to clean up the last of their work. Johns walked to the door, opened it, closed it loudly, and crouched in a dark part of the bank under a desk.