For a long moment Elliott Marston remained frozen to the spot, staring at
the iron door. His mind raced with ideas but no plan emerged from the
jumble. He forced himself to remain calm. Then he slowly turned to face
the constables.
Both were young, barely into their twenties, and they looked at him with mingled embarrassment and sympathy. The taller one coughed apologetically. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with us. The chief has a few questions for you."
Marston inhaled deeply, then let out his breath. Time. He needed time to come up with a plan. There was nothing to be gained from resistance but if he could stall long enough something might suggest itself.
"Very well. But first I must drop these bags off at my hotel." It came out well; he was pleased with the effort.
The two constables exchanged looks. "Well, you see, sir.." The shorter one hesitated. "That's not possible. We have orders to take you straight back to the chief." He shifted uncomfortably. "If you don't mind, sir."
Marston eyed them carefully. Their deference was in his favor; they responded automatically to the authority in his tone. "No, I don't mind. However I must insist that you let me return these items to the bank. They are too valuable to be jostled about at the chief constable's office."
The men looked at each other again. The taller one spoke. "Er, very well, sir. But we must come in with you."
"Of course." Marston nodded. "Let's go."
The trio walked along the sidewalk to the main entrance. Marston walked as slowly as he dared, shifting the bags in his grip and once putting them down for a rest before climbing the steps. The police fidgeted while he clasped and unclasped his hands, ostensibly trying to restore the feeling to his fingers. He scanned the street to his left and right but could see nothing or no one who could help him. Few passersby were visible in the middle of the morning and the road was bare of anything save hackneys and horses. As he watched a long wagon pulled by two great draft horses came slowly around the corner. He sighed and picked up his baggage again.
All too soon they were passing through the great wooden doors into the cool marble hall of the bank. Customers turned their heads to watch as the three men passed through their midst to the executive offices. Marston headed down the corridor behind the wooden barriers and the two constables followed, halting immediately outside the executive doors.
Jasper Connaught looked up as he entered. "Elliott, what are you doing here?"
"I've come to return my money to the vault. You can be trusted to arrange that, I believe?" Marston did not try to keep the bitterness from his voice.
The banker flinched. "To be sure. Just leave them here. It will be arranged immediately."
Marston sat down. "You'll excuse me, but I would prefer to wait for a receipt."
Connaught looked affronted and opened his mouth to respond but whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the sound of screams from the hall beyond. The two men stared at each other, then leaped to their feet at the sound of gunfire. The screams stopped immediately and a harsh voice could be heard shouting orders in the sudden quiet.
The banker's face went white and he began to tremble. With panicked eyes he ran to the door, then returned and cast panicked eyes around his office. His hands shook and he moaned wordlessly as he spun around in frantic circles. Finally he ran across the room to the closet and pulled open the door. His coat flapped as he pawed his way into its depths with both hands and the door slammed shut behind him.
Marston stared in disbelief at the closet. The sound of running feet tugged his attention to the corridor. A slight figure in a shabby coat with a hat pulled low and a scarf covering his lower face appeared in the doorway. Marston reached for his holster but halted when the newcomer held up two guns. He backed up as the other entered the room.
With a backward kick to slam the door, the gunman put his guns on a chair and began to peel off his outer clothes. The hat and scarf went flying across the desk and disappeared from view, followed by the coat. Two shapely hands tugged the lower half of a muslin dress from out of the rough denim jeans and adjusted its length to the proper fit. Marston's jaw dropped as his wife emerged in front of him.
"We don't have much time." Sam whispered fiercely. "Did you get your money?"
He barely managed to nod. Through the door, they could hear a confused buzzing of loud voices from the hall beyond.
"Good. Then we'll be on our way." She looked around the room then seized a large bookend from the banker's desk. With hardly a pause for breath she heaved it through the window smashing the glass into thousands of shards. Then she ran to the door, pulled it open and screamed. "Oh my God! Quick! The robber went right through the window! Hurry!"
There was a stampede of footsteps down the corridor and the two constables, guns at the ready, burst into the room. The fronts of their tunics were covered in dust and they looked considerably more rumpled than before. Sam screamed louder and pointed at the window. They rushed to poke their heads through the gaping glass then hoisted themselves to the sill and out to the street. The sound of their running feet faded as they rounded the corner of the building.
Sam gave her dress a final tug. "All right, let's go." She recovered her guns and checked the barrel of one as Marston picked up his bags.
They walked through the now empty hall and their steps echoed against the marble walls. The doors stood open and Marston could see a hackney pulled up to the bottom of the steps. Melvin Collins grinned and waved through the side window.
They were three blocks away before Marston found his voice. "How did you. What did you.?"
"When the police came upstairs to see where you were, I heard the captain in charge give instructions to his men that they were to bring you in for serious questioning. I didn't like the sound of that. So I got into my work clothes -" She lifted her skirt and flashed her denims at him. "And followed them. I was across the street when they walked you back inside. So I followed you in and pretended to hold up the bank. I shot out some glass lamps and told everyone to get on the floor."
"Are you crazy!? You could have been killed!" Marston's voice was hoarse with rage and fear. "What if those constables had shot at you!?"
"Well, I want to talk to you about that. After this is over, I want you to write a nasty letter to the chief constable about those men. It's a disgrace that I wasn't shot at."
"What are you talking about?"
Sam sat back in her seat and quirked an eyebrow sardonically. "Taxpayers aren't getting their money's worth from those two. They were the first ones on the floor."
Both were young, barely into their twenties, and they looked at him with mingled embarrassment and sympathy. The taller one coughed apologetically. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with us. The chief has a few questions for you."
Marston inhaled deeply, then let out his breath. Time. He needed time to come up with a plan. There was nothing to be gained from resistance but if he could stall long enough something might suggest itself.
"Very well. But first I must drop these bags off at my hotel." It came out well; he was pleased with the effort.
The two constables exchanged looks. "Well, you see, sir.." The shorter one hesitated. "That's not possible. We have orders to take you straight back to the chief." He shifted uncomfortably. "If you don't mind, sir."
Marston eyed them carefully. Their deference was in his favor; they responded automatically to the authority in his tone. "No, I don't mind. However I must insist that you let me return these items to the bank. They are too valuable to be jostled about at the chief constable's office."
The men looked at each other again. The taller one spoke. "Er, very well, sir. But we must come in with you."
"Of course." Marston nodded. "Let's go."
The trio walked along the sidewalk to the main entrance. Marston walked as slowly as he dared, shifting the bags in his grip and once putting them down for a rest before climbing the steps. The police fidgeted while he clasped and unclasped his hands, ostensibly trying to restore the feeling to his fingers. He scanned the street to his left and right but could see nothing or no one who could help him. Few passersby were visible in the middle of the morning and the road was bare of anything save hackneys and horses. As he watched a long wagon pulled by two great draft horses came slowly around the corner. He sighed and picked up his baggage again.
All too soon they were passing through the great wooden doors into the cool marble hall of the bank. Customers turned their heads to watch as the three men passed through their midst to the executive offices. Marston headed down the corridor behind the wooden barriers and the two constables followed, halting immediately outside the executive doors.
Jasper Connaught looked up as he entered. "Elliott, what are you doing here?"
"I've come to return my money to the vault. You can be trusted to arrange that, I believe?" Marston did not try to keep the bitterness from his voice.
The banker flinched. "To be sure. Just leave them here. It will be arranged immediately."
Marston sat down. "You'll excuse me, but I would prefer to wait for a receipt."
Connaught looked affronted and opened his mouth to respond but whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the sound of screams from the hall beyond. The two men stared at each other, then leaped to their feet at the sound of gunfire. The screams stopped immediately and a harsh voice could be heard shouting orders in the sudden quiet.
The banker's face went white and he began to tremble. With panicked eyes he ran to the door, then returned and cast panicked eyes around his office. His hands shook and he moaned wordlessly as he spun around in frantic circles. Finally he ran across the room to the closet and pulled open the door. His coat flapped as he pawed his way into its depths with both hands and the door slammed shut behind him.
Marston stared in disbelief at the closet. The sound of running feet tugged his attention to the corridor. A slight figure in a shabby coat with a hat pulled low and a scarf covering his lower face appeared in the doorway. Marston reached for his holster but halted when the newcomer held up two guns. He backed up as the other entered the room.
With a backward kick to slam the door, the gunman put his guns on a chair and began to peel off his outer clothes. The hat and scarf went flying across the desk and disappeared from view, followed by the coat. Two shapely hands tugged the lower half of a muslin dress from out of the rough denim jeans and adjusted its length to the proper fit. Marston's jaw dropped as his wife emerged in front of him.
"We don't have much time." Sam whispered fiercely. "Did you get your money?"
He barely managed to nod. Through the door, they could hear a confused buzzing of loud voices from the hall beyond.
"Good. Then we'll be on our way." She looked around the room then seized a large bookend from the banker's desk. With hardly a pause for breath she heaved it through the window smashing the glass into thousands of shards. Then she ran to the door, pulled it open and screamed. "Oh my God! Quick! The robber went right through the window! Hurry!"
There was a stampede of footsteps down the corridor and the two constables, guns at the ready, burst into the room. The fronts of their tunics were covered in dust and they looked considerably more rumpled than before. Sam screamed louder and pointed at the window. They rushed to poke their heads through the gaping glass then hoisted themselves to the sill and out to the street. The sound of their running feet faded as they rounded the corner of the building.
Sam gave her dress a final tug. "All right, let's go." She recovered her guns and checked the barrel of one as Marston picked up his bags.
They walked through the now empty hall and their steps echoed against the marble walls. The doors stood open and Marston could see a hackney pulled up to the bottom of the steps. Melvin Collins grinned and waved through the side window.
They were three blocks away before Marston found his voice. "How did you. What did you.?"
"When the police came upstairs to see where you were, I heard the captain in charge give instructions to his men that they were to bring you in for serious questioning. I didn't like the sound of that. So I got into my work clothes -" She lifted her skirt and flashed her denims at him. "And followed them. I was across the street when they walked you back inside. So I followed you in and pretended to hold up the bank. I shot out some glass lamps and told everyone to get on the floor."
"Are you crazy!? You could have been killed!" Marston's voice was hoarse with rage and fear. "What if those constables had shot at you!?"
"Well, I want to talk to you about that. After this is over, I want you to write a nasty letter to the chief constable about those men. It's a disgrace that I wasn't shot at."
"What are you talking about?"
Sam sat back in her seat and quirked an eyebrow sardonically. "Taxpayers aren't getting their money's worth from those two. They were the first ones on the floor."