Dressed in a smart grey suit with a white shirt and a grey and blue striped tie, Kid Curry nodded his thanks to the doorman who respectfully held open the mahogany and stained glass door of the Cosmopolitan Hotel for him to enter. He strode confidently across the polished wood floor of the lobby, his handsome looks and blond curls attracting admiring glances from two young ladies who were seated on one of the dark green velvet sofas beside a collection of expensive leather portmanteaux. With a twinkle in his eye Curry tipped his hat in their direction. Their poorly-disguised attraction put a faint smile on his lips as he trotted nimbly up the stairs and along the corridor to room 305. Stopping by the door he looked right and left to make sure he wasn't being followed before letting himself in.

Hannibal Heyes turned from the window. He had been standing there for the past twenty minutes, the tips of two fingers holding back the delicate lace curtain so that he had an uninterrupted view of the street below. Although he wouldn't admit it, the Kid's continued insistence that Sergeant Finney was following them had begun to have a ring of truth to it, and the minute he had left the room Heyes gave up struggling with the stubborn collar stud on his new white shirt and taken up his vigil at the window.

"All set?"

"Yep. Two sound horses, both with good gear. I had to pay a hundred and twenty dollars though. Livery owner was real stubborn about the price; wouldn't budge."

He cast a forlorn look over at his gun belt which hung on the bedstead.

"I didn't have nothin' to persuade him with neither."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Somewhere nearby, a clock was chiming eleven o'clock when the two smartly dressed ex-outlaws stepped through the porticoed entrance of the First Pacific Bank.

Having made a career out of robbing them they had been in more banks, both big and small, than they could count; but never one quite like this. The interior of the First Pacific was as impressive as the outside of the building. There was ornate plasterwork on the walls, the floor was variegated marble, and above their heads a spectacular glass ceiling flooded the whole place with natural light. Despite the grandeur surrounding them it was the long line of teller windows, all without steel grills, which initially caught their attention. Initially this apparent lack of security surprised them, but the presence of three well-armed guards patrolling the banking floor soon demonstrated why this was possible.

Trying hard not to stare at their surroundings they concentrated on the job at hand and soon spied a door with a shiny brass plate on it which said C.R. Monaghan, Manager. Nearby, a young bespectacled man sat behind a desk. He looked up expectantly as they approached.

"Good morning. How can I be of service?"

Heyes smiled. "My associate and I would like to see the manager, please."

"I'm sorry, Mister Monaghan's schedule is rather full today." The clerk thumbed through a leather covered diary. "I can make you an appointment for the day after tomorrow and—"

"That won't do at all."

"He is a very busy man, sir. It would be impossible—"

"Is there somebody in there with him right now?" Curry pressed.

"Uh, no, I don't believe so, but—"

"Then we'll see him now."

The young man opened his mouth to protest further, however, there was something about the pair of intense blue eyes that he couldn't quite put his finger on but which quickly changed his mind. He cleared his throat. "If-if you don't mind waiting here for a moment, I will make enquiries."

Once the clerk had closed the adjacent door Curry leaned toward his partner and murmured out of the corner of his mouth, "Whodha thought a bank could look like this."

Heyes gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "I sure didn't. The most fancy place I've ever seen is the Brown Palace Hotel in Denver. Never imagined a—."

Suddenly the clerk reappeared and held the door open. "Mister Monaghan has a little time before his next appointment. Please come through."

Cyril Monaghan was a short man of about forty five with thinning brown hair and a round red face. His fashionable black, well-tailored jacket and royal blue brocade vest strained across his corpulent stomach as he rose to greet them from behind a large oak desk.

"It is a pleasure to welcome you to the First Pacific, gentlemen."

Heyes politely removed his homburg and shook the fat-fingered hand offered to him in greeting.

"Thank you. I'm Joshua P. Rembacker and this," he said, giving the Kid a sly nudge as a reminder to remove his hat, "is my associate, Mister Balthazar Hotchkiss."

Kid Curry slid his partner a narrow sideways glance in response to the outrageous name Heyes had just saddled him with.

"Won't you sit down?" Monaghan indicated a pair of button-backed chairs. "My clerk informs me you are eager to do business with us."

"Indeed. We have a contact here in the city, an extremely wealthy and influential man, who assures us that this is the safest bank in the whole of San Francisco," said Heyes, settling not so comfortably into the hard leather seat.

"One of our many satisfied clients, no doubt," gushed the manager, proudly.

"A very important one, as a matter of fact. I'm sure you appreciate why we cannot reveal his name."

"Of course, of course. But your source is absolutely right. The First Pacific has the very latest in bank security, produced by Pierce and Hamilton of Detroit, no less."

"Pierce and Hamilton?" Heyes shook his head. "Oh dear, our contact must have made an error. We appear to have wasted your time." He placed both hands on the arms of the chair as if he was about to rise.

Monaghan quickly held up a placating hand. "Please, Mister Rembacker, let me assure you that our bank is very secure. May I ask what it is you wish to deposit?"

"No, but I can tell you we wish to hire a safe box. We were told they are located in a vault, not a regular safe."

"They are indeed. Pierce and Hamilton have developed a whole new system for safe boxes which we are proud to have installed in our vault." Monaghan leaned forward as if he was about to impart something in confidence. "They were compelled to make considerable modifications after those dreadful villains, Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes, all but destroyed their most recent safe — the 1878 — and made off with thousands of dollars in banknotes and securities. It was reputed to be the most secure safe on the market, but they blew it wide open, apparently. Used nitro-glycerine, of all things. Shameful business."

"Shameful indeed," agreed Curry with his usual poker face. He even managed to maintain it when Heyes asked, "I don't suppose the law is any closer to apprehending those two miscreants?"

"The law!" exclaimed Monaghan. "The law appears incapable of doing anything to stop them!"

The corners of Heyes' mouth almost twitched. The career outlaw in him still couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at causing Pierce and Hamilton and, more importantly the law, so many problems.

He turned to his partner. "What do you think, Mister Hotchkiss? Should we hire a safe box here?"

Curry took a deep breath and pretended to consider this. "I suppose we could make a small deposit, something of lesser value..."

"...until we're satisfied that it is completely secure," finished Heyes. "Yes, I believe that would be acceptable. I assume you have a box available?"

"Certainly. You will be required to sign the necessary paperwork and pay a rental fee, of course, and then I can see that you are issued with a key."

While Cyril Monaghan wrote the details in a receipt book the former safe cracker risked a satisfied smirk at his partner only to see him jerk his eyes toward the man behind the desk. Heyes' face fell; he knew what Curry meant. It wasn't that he had forgotten about the key number, he had merely been hoping to figure it out between now and when they got into the vault.

Heyes cleared his throat. "Mister Monaghan, I have a question. What if I should, say... misplace my key? The documents we wish to deposit here are of national importance. I am sure you can understand why we need an extremely high level of security."

"It is not possible for just anyone to access the vault, let alone one of our boxes," the manager assured him. "Firstly, our clients' identities must be verified before they are admitted. This is done by demonstrating that both their rental agreement and the relevant key are in their possession. They are then personally escorted to the vault by either myself or my assistant manager. Our presence is necessary because a master key also has to be used. And secondly," he smiled, a little smugly, "someone cannot just pick up a key and have access to a box, they must know the box number."

"Surely it's only a matter of looking at the key," said Heyes, dismissively.

"The number is on the key, but it is cleverly disguised; engraved in such a way that the ordinary man in the street would not recognize it."

"Really?" Heyes tried to sound intrigued, but not too interested. "I don't see how that's possible."

"All I can tell you is, that person would need very good eyesight and have a knowledge of ancient Rome." Monaghan pushed a piece of paper across his desk. "Now gentlemen, if you will sign here."

While Hotchkiss and Rembacker placed their signatures next to their names with what looked very much like a gold-plated pen, Cyril Monaghan opened the office door and said something to the clerk outside. Sensing this was their cue to leave Heyes and Curry got to their feet.

"Is it necessary to make an appointment to access the vault?" Heyes asked.

"You are welcome anytime — so long as it's during regular banking hours. Of course, if you wish to visit outside of those hours you'd be advised to bring dynamite." Monaghan laughed at his own joke and the boys joined him, albeit a little ironically. He shook their hands effusively. "It has been a pleasure, Mister Rembacker, Mister Hotchkiss, and if there is anything further that I can do for you, please let me know. Young Hector here will complete our business today."

Once the fee had been paid, the rest of the paperwork completed, and Hector had handed him a contract together with a key, Hannibal Heyes headed for the door.

After closely following his partner down the street for a few hundred yards, Curry pulled him to a halt, cocked an eyebrow and asked, "So, we're not going to the vault today then?"

Noting the slightly mocking tone Heyes frowned. "Not right now, no."

"Guess we won't be needin' those two horses today after all." Then, unable to curtail his amusement any longer Curry began to chuckle. "I knew he wouldn't tell you the number."

"It's 711."

"That's our box, Heyes! And it's no big mystery how you know it. The clerk told you."

Pulling the key he had been issued from his pocket Heyes squinted at it. "According to Monaghan the number is on here."

"Yeah, about that, what've a bunch of old Romans got to do with a bank in California?"

Heyes shrugged. "I don't know. But if I'm gonna work it out I'll need to be able to see better. A hand lens or a watchmaker's loupe should do. Oh, and a book about ancient Rome."

"We could ask Soapy," suggested the Kid. "He's got a whole heap of books in that mansion of his. He must have one about old Romans."

"Lots of books... Hmmm..." Heyes chewed his bottom lip in contemplation. After a few seconds he stepped out into the street, waved one hand high in the air and let loose a loud whistle.

"What are you doin'?" Kid Curry asked as a smart painted carriage drawn by a pair of beautifully groomed horses and driven by a man in a long duster coat and tall beaver fur hat, cut a path through the chaotic collection of carriages, carts, bicycles and people and came to a halt at the kerb.

Ignoring the question Heyes opened the carriage door. "Get in," he ordered, giving the Kid an encouraging shove before saying something to the driver and jumping aboard himself.

"Are you outta your mind!" Curry asked incredulously, as the carriage lurched forward and Heyes settled back against the ivory, silk-lined interior. "Do you know how much a hack like this costs?"

"Nope, but I do know it'll be the fastest way to get there."

"To get where?"

"To the library. Don't you remember Soapy telling us about it? They'll have all kinds of books. Bound to have one about Rome."

"How far away is this library?"

Heyes shrugged. "Don't know that either. That's why I thought I'd find someone who did."

Curry scowled back at his partner's smiling face. "Well, it'd better not be on the other side of the city, Heyes, 'cause from what I hear, you can't even cross the street in one of these things for less than five dollars!"

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The blackened wick of the ornate brass oil lamp quickly captured the small flame of the match, spreading a warm glow across the rosewood writing desk and into the surrounding hotel room. Hannibal Heyes sat down and took the two keys from separate pockets of his jacket and carefully placed them on the table together with a folded piece of paper and an object wrapped in a clean white handkerchief.

He and the Kid had spent the greater part of the afternoon at the San Francisco Free Library where finding a book with the information he needed about ancient Rome had taken a lot longer than he had anticipated. At first his blond-haired partner had been a little in awe of yet another impressive building, not to mention the quantity of books lined up on seemingly endless shelves, but as time wore on he had gradually become more and more unimpressed. First, he had complained that all the books looked the same to him, then he had started to get restless and a little grumpy, so that Heyes had actually been relieved to see him lean his head against the dark wood paneling, cross his arms over his chest, and drift off to sleep.

It was not until Heyes uttered a not so quiet exclamation of 'Yes!', which was followed by a barrage of irritated shushes from a group of distinguished-looking older gentlemen, that the Kid had stirred. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he gratefully noted the dimpled smile of satisfaction on his partner's face before surreptitiously glancing around to see who may have spied him napping in such scholarly surroundings.

The blue-eyed gaze didn't get very far. In fact, it stopped exactly where Heyes knew it would — at a large desk in the centre of the room where there now sat a pretty young woman, diligently logging the titles from the spines of several piles of books into a leather-bound ledger. She had delicate features, made all the more attractive by her strawberry blonde hair which was tied at the nape of her neck with a soft pink ribbon chosen, no doubt, to match the trim around the collar and cuffs of her pristine white blouse.

"Pretty isn't she?" he whispered, smiling at the interested look on his friend's face. "Why don't you go on over and introduce yourself while I finish up here?"

"Y' know, I think I will." Curry straightened his tie.

"Oh, and while you're there, see if she's got a hand lens, will you? I'm gonna need one."

"Sure, Heyes. Reckon it's about time I pitched in and helped."

He was about to walk away when he remembered what had brought them to the library in the first place. "You found what you're lookin' for?"

"Yep. Looks that way."

By the time Heyes had finished making his notes, Kid Curry's easy-going charm had been put to good use convincing the pretty librarian that he was in dire need of something with which to examine a painful splinter in his finger. Then, while she was attentively wrapping a clean handkerchief around the make-believe injury, Heyes had merely walked by and 'removed' the object he required from the desk beside her, fully intending to return it the very next day after they had investigated the bank vault.

This was not the first time Heyes had suggested that his partner acquaint himself with a young lady in order to help one of his plans along, and it would certainly not be the last. A task of this nature was usually capitalized on by the gunman and right now he could be found enjoying one of the benefits — supper with the delightful Miss Elizabeth Pimm in the hotel's plush, red and gold restaurant.

Driven by the desire to explore his theory about the key rather than play gooseberry, Heyes had opted for room service.

The newly lit lamp flickered a little as Hannibal Heyes unwrapped the handkerchief to reveal a small hand lens. Picking up the key allotted to him by the clerk Heyes examined it thoroughly through the glass. Now that he had a better idea as to what he was looking for, and the bow of the key was suitably enlarged, he soon came upon the detail he sought within the pattern itself; a combination of letters, Roman numerals — DCCXI — or 711 to the common man. He picked up the other key and, lo and behold, in exactly the same place was a different combination. XCVIII. Carefully consulting his piece of paper he ran his index finger down the list he had transcribed from the library book. X represented 10, C stood for 100, and VIII was five plus three ones, 8. He translated the letters into a single number, 118.

Instead of smiling, Heyes frowned. There was something not quite right here. Could it be that Pierce and Hamilton had made a mistake?

He went back over his notes. "Ah-ha!" he exclaimed, when he came to the part about the significance of the order of the letters. In this instance the X came before the C which meant it should be subtracted, not added. If he was right, Ashdown's key was for box number 98.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

As the door opened Heyes looked up from his book.

"Did you have a nice evening?" he enquired, needlessly.

"Sure was one of your better ideas — me gettin' to know Lizzy." Curry hung his suit jacket in the wardrobe and flipped his suspenders from his shoulders. "It's an awful long time since I had supper with a woman like her, 'specially in a fancy dining room."

"A fancy dining room...?" Brown eyes stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Hmmm, let me see... Clementine. Denver. Uh, Christmas '81, would be my guess. But don't forget the lovely Miss Porter a few months back."

"Heyes, I know the outlawin' business was gettin' close to killin' us, but I sure do miss having money in my pocket," Curry admitted with a sigh.

Hannibal Heyes agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment, and suddenly finding himself fighting off a flood of memories of their unlawful, but very lucrative past, he added without thinking, "Oh, don't forget Grace."

The Kid scowled. He didn't wish to be reminded about Grace Turner; a very attractive woman who had helped him out of an awkward situation in Mexico, but only because she recognized him from a train robbery and wanted to turn him in for the reward money. After pulling off his shirt and tie and folding his pants neatly over the back of a chair, he flopped down on the second of the two beds and linked his hands behind his neck.

"You know what the best part about tonight was, Heyes?" he asked, his good mood returning.

Heyes was not entirely sure he wanted to hear whatever intimate detail his partner might be about to reveal, but he raised a speculative eyebrow all the same. "I have a feeling you're gonna tell me."

"When I said goodnight to the lovely Miss Pimm, she didn't expect me to pay her for her time."

"You did see her home though?"

"Yeah, 'course I did. And I was a perfect gentleman."

Smiling, Heyes declared, "Kid, I wouldn't dream of thinking you'd be anything else."