"It's a good thing you had another bag. This one is full." Elliott
Marston stopped packing currency for a moment and hefted the carpetbag.
The weight was almost too much for the handles. He transferred a portion of
the contents to the other bag.
Jasper Connaught leaned back in his leather chair and watched his client's actions. "You realize, of course, this is highly irregular."
"Yes, I know. But it's necessary, I'm afraid." Marston closed the second bag and placed it on the floor beside the first. "I expect the police will be here very soon. There aren't many places I visit regularly when I'm in town but this is one of them."
The banker's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "We at the First Commercial take pride in the quality of our customers."
Marston crossed to the window and looked out at the street. The two uniformed constables he'd seen from the seamstress' shop loitered on the sidewalk directly opposite the bank, watching the doors. Probably waiting to arrest him when he emerged. They wouldn't dare anger the authorities by coming into the bank to do it. He was safe as long as he was in Connaught's office.
He turned back to his unwilling host. "Jasper, loath as I am to dispense with your hospitality, I'm afraid the time has come for us to part. If you'll take me to a safe back door into the alley, I'll be on my way."
The First Commercial Bank occupied most of an entire block in the town. The back alley was used only by special arrangement with the authorities to deliver and receive shipments of specie and currency. A tall brick wall sealed off one end of the alley and a large iron gate stood at the other to keep regular traffic out.
At the door of the office, Marston paused and adjusted his grip on his luggage. "For your sake, Jasper, don't let on I was in here. It would probably bring you nothing but trouble."
Connaught stood up. "Let me take you to the door. Those back stairs can be tricky." He appeared to ignore his client's comment. Marston felt slightly guilty as he followed the older man.
The banker marched down the hall past the other executive offices. At the very edge of the lobby he veered left and descended a flight of stairs that Marston knew from experience led to the great vaults under the main floor. The light was dim and threw exaggerated shadows along the wall as the two men proceeded.
They passed the vaults and kept moving. Marston was totally reliant on his host now. The hall was practically a tunnel at this point and the light even less reliable. He could not see much further ahead than Connaught's back. The sudden appearance of a steel door caught him by surprise.
"Here we are." The banker pulled on the bolt and it swung back with a tinny screech. The door swung open and daylight flooded through. "Best of luck Elliott. Now and always."
"Thank you, Jasper. You're a true friend." Marston took a firmer grip on his bags and stepped over the threshold, blinking in the glare. The first things he saw as his eyes became accustomed to the light were the two policemen, waiting with folded arms. He looked around frantically. This was not the back alley; it was the street.
Marston whirled and stared at Connaught, still standing in the door.
"I'm very sorry, Elliott. I didn't want to do it. But I had no choice." The banker nodded in sorrowful farewell and stepped back into the gloom. The door slammed shut and the sound of the bolt being shot echoed in the silence.
Jasper Connaught leaned back in his leather chair and watched his client's actions. "You realize, of course, this is highly irregular."
"Yes, I know. But it's necessary, I'm afraid." Marston closed the second bag and placed it on the floor beside the first. "I expect the police will be here very soon. There aren't many places I visit regularly when I'm in town but this is one of them."
The banker's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "We at the First Commercial take pride in the quality of our customers."
Marston crossed to the window and looked out at the street. The two uniformed constables he'd seen from the seamstress' shop loitered on the sidewalk directly opposite the bank, watching the doors. Probably waiting to arrest him when he emerged. They wouldn't dare anger the authorities by coming into the bank to do it. He was safe as long as he was in Connaught's office.
He turned back to his unwilling host. "Jasper, loath as I am to dispense with your hospitality, I'm afraid the time has come for us to part. If you'll take me to a safe back door into the alley, I'll be on my way."
The First Commercial Bank occupied most of an entire block in the town. The back alley was used only by special arrangement with the authorities to deliver and receive shipments of specie and currency. A tall brick wall sealed off one end of the alley and a large iron gate stood at the other to keep regular traffic out.
At the door of the office, Marston paused and adjusted his grip on his luggage. "For your sake, Jasper, don't let on I was in here. It would probably bring you nothing but trouble."
Connaught stood up. "Let me take you to the door. Those back stairs can be tricky." He appeared to ignore his client's comment. Marston felt slightly guilty as he followed the older man.
The banker marched down the hall past the other executive offices. At the very edge of the lobby he veered left and descended a flight of stairs that Marston knew from experience led to the great vaults under the main floor. The light was dim and threw exaggerated shadows along the wall as the two men proceeded.
They passed the vaults and kept moving. Marston was totally reliant on his host now. The hall was practically a tunnel at this point and the light even less reliable. He could not see much further ahead than Connaught's back. The sudden appearance of a steel door caught him by surprise.
"Here we are." The banker pulled on the bolt and it swung back with a tinny screech. The door swung open and daylight flooded through. "Best of luck Elliott. Now and always."
"Thank you, Jasper. You're a true friend." Marston took a firmer grip on his bags and stepped over the threshold, blinking in the glare. The first things he saw as his eyes became accustomed to the light were the two policemen, waiting with folded arms. He looked around frantically. This was not the back alley; it was the street.
Marston whirled and stared at Connaught, still standing in the door.
"I'm very sorry, Elliott. I didn't want to do it. But I had no choice." The banker nodded in sorrowful farewell and stepped back into the gloom. The door slammed shut and the sound of the bolt being shot echoed in the silence.