Tommy got out and Louie made a sharp left turn into Orchid. Tommy took a deep breath and walked toward the bank. As he approached his step faltered.
Fred Kraft, the private detective, was standing at the corner of the building. His face was cheerful and alert and he peered in Tommy’s direction, and past him, as if to see if a streetcar was approaching.
Chapter Seventeen
Tommy entered the bank. A uniformed policeman was in the rear, talking to a bank guard. Inside the enclosure, near the left front of the room, two men had chairs pulled up to the bank manager’s desk and were conversing earnestly with him.
Tommy walked steadily to the Safety Deposit Window. The attendant stared at him and Tommy gritted his teeth. As he filled out the little blank he was aware that she breathed more heavily than necessary. He showed the pad of blanks to her and she tore off his slip, looked at it and said:
“Just a moment, please.”
She walked through the rear door in her cage, along a narrow passageway to the front of the bank, where the bank officers were in conference. Every instinct told Tommy to run as fast as he could, to ignore shouts. But he held his ground.
And then the attendant came back. She was followed by two men. “Will you come in, please?” She pressed the door buzzer and Tommy entered. He headed for the bank vault, but halfway to it stopped and looked back. The two men almost collided with him.
“Mr. Dancer,” one of them said, “I’d like to have a few words with you.”
“Go ahead,” Tommy said boldly.
The man smiled wanly and nodded toward the bank vault. Tommy stepped through the door. A hatchet-faced man of about fifty who was standing in the vault sized him up sharply.
“Mr. Dancer,” said the man who had accosted Tommy, “my name is Benedict and I’m the manager of this bank.”
“Oh, yes?”
“This is Mr. Milner,” Benedict went on, indicating the hatchet-faced man, “and Mr. Plennert. There’s, ah, been, a bit of trouble and we, ah, would like—”
The man named Plennert interrupted smoothly. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Benedict...”
Benedict exclaimed, “Of course, Mr. Plennert!”
“To put it bluntly,” Plennert said, “there’s been a robbery—”
“That’s why I’m here,” Tommy said coolly.
“What?”
“I’m getting my things out of my box. If one box’s been robbed, another can be.”
“Who told you a safety deposit box has been robbed?” Plennert demanded.
“I’ve got a radio,” Tommy said pointedly.
Plennert seemed disappointed. “We didn’t want it to get out, but unfortunately” — Plennert frowned at the bank manager — “Mr. Benedict inadvertently told the police.”
“What else was I to do?” exclaimed Benedict. “You didn’t hear Paul deCamp...”
“I heard him.”
“After he’d cooled off.”
The vault custodian came into the little room and handed Plennert several slips. He looked at them and his eyes lit up. “Mr. Dancer,” he said, “you rented your box on Tuesday of this week, did you not?”
“That’s what it says on the slip, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m unrenting it now. If a man’s safety deposit box isn’t sate...”
Tommy took his keys from his pocket and inserted one of them into the lower lock of Box No. 365. He looked over his shoulder at the vault attendant. “Your key...”
Plennert stepped forward. “Just a moment, Mr. Dancer, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”
“I’ve a right to get the stuff out of my box,” Tommy protested.
“Of course you have. It isn’t that.” Plennert frowned down at the slips in his hand. “It’s just that, well, you rented the box on Tuesday, you examined it again the same day—”
“No,” Tommy cut in, “I put some things into it and a couple more times since.” He cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, I put some money only this morning... before I heard about the robbery.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. The number of times you’ve come in here, well in such a short period.”
“I didn’t know there were any rules as to how often you could open your box,” Tommy said.
“There aren’t. Only, well, don’t you see there’s been a... robbery and...”
Tommy exclaimed in assumed astonishment. “You mean you suspect me?”
“No, no,” Plennert said hastily. “It’s only that... we’re investigating everyone who... well, everyone.”
He grimaced and suddenly gestured to the bank attendant. “Miss Ungerman, your key.”
Miss Ungerman started to hand the key to Plennert, then caught herself and looked questioningly at Benedict, the manager of the bank. He nodded.
Plennert took the key from Miss Ungerman’s hand, moved up beside Tommy and inserted it in the top lock of the box. He turned it.
Tommy nodded. “Thanks.” He opened the box door and drew out the long, enameled safety deposit box. “I don’t mind,” he said, “you can see what I’ve got in it.”
“You don’t object?” Plennert purred.
“Why should I? I’ve got nothing to conceal.” Tommy carried the box to the high table, set the Boston bag on it, then grinning sardonically, opened the bag and revealed the inside of it. “Nothing, see?”
He opened the safety deposit box, throwing back the long cover, so that it rested against the back of the stand. He reached in. “A fifty dollar bond... in my name.” He held it up so Plennert, Benedict and Milner could see it clearly. “The lease to my apartment...”
Plennert’s hand shot out: “Do you mind?”
Tommy cocked his head to one side and looked at Plennert from narrowed eyes. But he handed the lease to Plennert.
Plennert looked at the lease, nodded, then shuffled the slips in his hand until he came to a card. “Ah, yes,” he said.
“My address!” exclaimed Tommy. “You wanted to make sure.”
“Just a routine precaution,” Plennert said smoothly. He handed back the lease.
“All right,” said Tommy grimly. He took out the heavy sack of silver dollars, untied the drawstring and ripped open the mouth of the bag. “Two hundred and fifty silver dollars,” he announced.
Plennert peered into the sack. “Silver,” he said, thoughtfully.
“I collect them,” Tommy snapped. He reached again into the safety deposit box. “And Indian pennies, too. People collect all kinds of funny things — buttons, dolls, books — does this make me a crook?”
“Oh, no,” Plennert said hastily. “We told you that this was mere routine — nothing personal at all. A man has a right to collect whatever he pleases.”
“Thanks!” Savagely Tommy thrust the sack of silver dollars into the Boston bag. He followed with the envelope of Indian pennies, then reached for the box of Navajo jewelry. “No law against collecting this stuff, is there?” He whipped off the cover of the box.
“Jewelry,” murmured Plennert.
“Indian stuff. I served at Fort Wingate for awhile. That’s near Gallup, New Mexico — this is Navajo stuff.” He sneered. “Junk to you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dancer,” Plennert said stiffly. “I’m only doing a job. I happen to work for the bonding company...”
“Sure,” said Tommy. “No hard feelings. Well, I’ve got a job, too. And I’ve got to get back to it. If you don’t mind...”
He closed the Boston bag and slammed down the cover of his safety deposit box.
Benedict and Plennert exchanged glances. Tommy started to carry his box back to its slot in the vault wall, then stopped and looked first at Benedict, then Plennert. “Well?”