I Would Rather Stay Poor Read online

  ‘All right, but let me finish. Assuming I’m right and Alice really fell for him, the rest was pretty easy. By then he had announced his engagement to your mother. Now he tells Alice he has made a mistake. It is she he loves and not your mother, but the engagement is official. He has to be careful. He doesn’t want to get landed with a breach of promise suit. That’s the sort of blah Alice could have fallen for. She would have been flattered he preferred her to your mother. She would want to protect his reputation as a banker. Then he puts up the idea of grabbing the payroll and both of them vanishing. I’m not saying it didn’t take him a lot of careful work and persuasion, but finally he got her to agree to help him. So they could go out together without gossip, I reckon he disguised himself as Johnny Acres… anyway, that was his story to Alice and being a romantic little dope, she fell for that too. She imagined he really loved her and was taking all this trouble to disguise himself so he could steal a few hours out of working hours with her. She probably got a kick out of sneaking out of the house to meet him when she was supposed to be working for her exam, but all the time Calvin was establishing Acres, planning to pin the robbery on her, and finally planning to murder her when he got the money.’

  ‘Stop!’ Iris cried, facing him, ‘You know as well as I do this is malicious nonsense! You can’t prove one word of all this! Ken! What’s come over you? How can you say such things?’

  ‘Oh, I agree it sounds far-fetched,’ Travers said, ‘but let’s look at this mysterious Johnny Acres. Only a very few people — five to be exact — have seen him. No one has come forward to say he stayed with them during the three weeks he is supposed to have been courting Alice. Where did he stay? If he is Calvin, we know where he stayed, but if he isn’t Calvin, where did he hide himself? He is tall and heavily built. So is Calvin. He wore sideboards and a moustache. Calvin is clean shaven, but it is easy to stick crepe hair on your face.’ Seeing Iris was about to interrupt him, he raised his hand. ‘Now wait… here’s the clincher that set me off. The car salesman who sold Acres the get-away car said Acres had an irritating habit of humming under his breath… those were his words. This seems to be an unconscious habit. The man probably doesn’t know he does it. Well, Calvin has exactly the same habit… he too hums tunelessly under his breath. What do you say now?’

  Iris started to say something, then stopped.

  ‘Now look,’ Travers said, ‘I have no real proof, but I have a lead, and Easton and the sheriff so far haven’t this lead. I’m thinking of you and me and the reward. This man Acres typed a letter to Alice. It was typed on a standard Remington with two defective letters: the r and the v are slightly out of alignment. I want to find out if the bank has such a machine. It’s my guess it has. If it has, I then want to find out if Calvin ever owned a fawn, belted overcoat. If he has owned one, then I guess I’ve got enough on him to make an arrest. Then there is the payroll. Where is it? He must have hidden it somewhere. He can’t have moved it out of town. He’s forced to sit on it… but where?’

  ‘I still don’t believe a word of this,’ Iris said, but Travers could see she was shaken. ‘You may as well know, Ken: I’m taking Alice’s place. I’m starting work tomorrow.’

  Travers twisted around in his seat to stare at her.

  ‘Oh no, you’re not! You’re not working for Calvin! You’re not…’ He stopped short, seeing the angry flush rise to her face. Controlling his voice, he went on, ‘What about Dix? You leaving him?’

  ‘Yes… Mr. Calvin asked me to help him. The money’s better and I’m going to.’

  ‘But after what I’ve told you, honey, you wouldn’t want to work for him, would you?’

  ‘Let’s go home. Nothing you have said so far has convinced me you’re right. I’m going to work for Dave Calvin and that’s the end of it.’

  Travers’s mind worked fast. He knew Iris well enough to realise that the more pressure he put on her the more obstinate she would become.

  ‘All right, then work for him if you must, but when you walk into the bank tomorrow morning, look at the typewriter. If it is a standard Remington, you’ll know what I’ve been saying isn’t so cockeyed. You’ll probably be using the machine, see if the letters r and v are out of alignment. That’s all I ask. Check the typewriter and if it isn’t a Remington, I’ll admit I’m way off the beam.’

  ‘All right,’ Iris said. ‘I’ll do it, but I’m quite sure even if it is a Remington, Dave Calvin has nothing to do with this robbery.’

  Travers shrugged his shoulders. He drove the car fast to the highway. He was a little deflated, but still convinced he was right. Neither of them said anything until Travers pulled up outside the rooming-house. The time was now half past one.

  ‘Good night, Ken,’ Iris said stiffly as she made to get out of the car.

  Travers sipped his arm around her and pulled her to him.

  ‘Don’t let’s quarrel, honey,’ he said. ‘I may be wrong, but if I’m not, it’s going to be all right between us, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m thinking of Kit,’ Iris said. ‘Oh, Ken, even if you are right… I do hope you’re not! I wouldn’t want that money, knowing how unhappy Kit would be… but I’m sure you’re wrong.’

  Travers kissed her. Breaking away, Iris got out of the car and ran up the drive towards the house.

  She paused at the front door, listening to Travers driving away, then she unlocked the door and entered the dark hall. She went silently up to her bedroom. She was surprised to see a light coming from under her door. Turning the handle, she walked in.

  Kit was sitting in an armchair, smoking. Her face was pale and her brown eyes were unnaturally bright. Iris paused in the doorway to stare at her.

  ‘Why, Kit! Why aren’t you in bed?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ Kit said. ‘Come in and shut the door.’

  Iris shut the door and went over to sit on the bed.

  ‘Dave tells me you are going to work at the bank,’ Kit said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Her cold, hostile voice startled Iris.

  ‘You weren’t there when he asked me. I — I thought he had told you,’ Iris said. ‘Why? You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Yes, I mind. You’re only a kid. I don’t want you to be exposed to Dave’s charm.’

  Iris felt her face grow hot.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Kit’s bleak eyes frightened her. ‘I think you do. I’m going to marry him. I’m twice your age. I’m not anything like as pretty as you. The less you see of him, the better it will be for me.’

  ‘Kit!’ Iris jumped to her feet ‘You don’t know what you’re saying?’

  ‘You mean I’m drunk?’ Kit smiled bitterly. ‘I guess I am.’ She passed her hand across her eyes. ‘You’re not going to work for Dave. Do you understand? I forbid it.’

  There was a long pause, then Iris said quietly and steadily. ‘I’m sorry, but I am. It’s all arranged. It’s a good job and I need the money. I’m sure you don’t know what you are saying. Please go to bed.’

  Kit remained motionless. Her head throbbed. Her brain felt as if it were in a covering of cotton wool. She wished now she hadn’t had that last drink.

  ‘Kit… it’s late. Please go to bed,’ Iris said.

  Unsteadily, Kit got to her feet.

  ‘All right, you poor little fool,’ she said, her words slurred, ‘then work for him if you want to, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I don’t care… I don’t care a damn what happens to him or to you or to me,’ and lurching a little, she went out of the room.

  Iris listened to her mother’s stumbling steps as she climbed the stairs. She felt a cold chill crawl up her spine, and involuntarily, she shivered.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  1

  A little after six o’clock the following morning, Kit woke with a start. She became aware that someone was tapping softly and persistently on her door.

  She half sat up. Her head felt heavy and her eyes burned. She looked
towards the bedside clock as she called out, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Dave! Open up! I’ve got to talk to you.’ Calvin’s voice was pitched low. There was a note of urgency in it that alerted her.

  She threw off the bedclothes, snatched up a wrap and struggled into it as she crossed the room and unlocked the door.

  Calvin, his face set, a cold, bleak expression in his eyes, came in and shut the door.

  ‘What is it?’ she demanded, moving away from him. She picked up a comb from the dressing-table and ran it through her hair. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I tried to get you last night,’ he snarled, ‘but you were so drunk you didn’t hear me knocking.’

  ‘What is it?’ she repeated. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing the shadows under her eyes and the gaunt tightness of her skin. She grimaced and looked away.

  ‘Trouble.’ He paused, then went on, ‘Have you a typewriter?’

  She stared at him, startled. Her head was beginning to ache.

  ‘A typewriter? Yes… why?’

  ‘Where is it?’

  She motioned to where a battered portable stood against the wall. He picked it up, rested it on the bed and lifted the lid. It was an old Smith Corona.

  ‘Does it work?’

  ‘Yes… What is all this?’

  ‘I wrote that damned letter to Alice on the bank’s typewriter. The police have found out it was written on a standard Remington with faulty letters. If they find the machine, we’re in a hell of a jam.’

  She stiffened, her eyes growing large.

  ‘You and your fool-proof plan!’ she said, her voice going shrill. ‘Now what are you going to do?’

  ‘Keep your voice down! I’ll get rid of the Remington and use this.’ He nodded to the portable. ‘If they ask, I’ll tell them I found the machine in the bank. Lamb’s dying and can’t be questioned. Alice can’t answer questions either.’

  ‘How will you get rid of the Remington?’

  ‘I’ll hide it in the vault.’

  She relaxed a little.

  ‘Then take the portable and get out!’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet. That letter you’ve sent to your attorney. You’ve got to get it back. You don’t seem to realise if anything happens to you, the spot I’ll be in,’ Calvin said, trying to make his voice sound casual. ‘At the rate you’re drinking, you could drop dead any time, then where would I be?’

  She smiled jeeringly at him.

  ‘You tried to murder me last night… remember? Why should I care what happens to you? Get out!’

  ‘I want that letter!’

  ‘You’re not getting it!’

  They stared at each other, their hate white hot, then Calvin, realising there was nothing he could do to force her to give him the letter, suddenly shrugged. He would have to bring pressure on her somehow, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. He had more vital things to cope with.

  ‘You know Iris is working for me?’ he said. ‘You were so drunk last night I don’t know if you remember.’

  ‘I remember,’ Kit said, looking at him strangely. ‘I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. I’m warning you. If you try any of your tricks with her, I’ll kill you. I’m not warning you again.’

  The cold baleful expression in her eyes made him uneasy. He remembered the gun.

  ‘Where did you get the gun from?’ he asked, watching her.

  ‘It was my husband’s,’ she said. ‘He taught me how to use it. I’m a good shot, Dave… remember that.’

  He dismissed this with an impatient wave of his hand.

  ‘Give me the gun. In your condition, you’re not safe to own a gun. Come on… give it to me.’

  She sneered at him.

  ‘It’s where you’ll never find it. Get out!’

  ‘I must have been crazy to have picked on you,’ he said, having to control the urge to take her by her throat and strangle her.

  ‘Think so?’ She laughed. ‘Well, you’re stuck with me. When are we getting married? What a couple we’ll make! I want to get out of this hole and start spending some money!’

  ‘You’ll be lucky if you ever touch the money. They have this town sewn up tight. They’re even checking every parcel and every piece of luggage leaving town. We now may have to wait a damn sight longer than I thought before either of us touches it!’

  ‘I want some money now!’ Kit said, leaning forward and glaring at him. ‘I haven’t enough to last until the end of the week! I want that three hundred I lent you.’

  ‘Where do you imagine it’s coming from? It went towards buying the car.’

  ‘Then get it from the bank! I must have it! Take it from the payroll!’

  ‘Stop drinking and you’ll have enough,’ Calvin said and snatching up the portable typewriter, he went back into his room.

  He stood looking out of the window for some minutes. He had passed a bad night. He felt limp and his head was heavy. This wasn’t working out the way he had planned, but he was thankful he had been called to the emergency meeting. If he hadn’t known about the typewriter he could have been in a hell of a spot. He rested his hot forehead against the glass of the window. He would have to be careful no one saw him take the portable into the bank. He would have to watch every move now that he made. One slip and they would be on to him.

  He turned away from the window, opened his closet and took out his hold-all. He put the portable in the bag. On top of it, he put one of his suits. He looked at his watch. The time was ten minutes to seven. He would have to get to the bank before anyone arrived so he could take the Remington down into the vault. He would conceal it in yet another of the deed boxes.

  Picking up the hold-all, he went down to the kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living-room. The house was strangely quiet. He sat down, drank the coffee and lit a cigarette. He considered his future plans. There was danger, of course. The Johnny Acres impersonation hadn’t been such a hot idea after all. Would they finally come around to suspecting that he had impersonated Acres? It would be a long shot. He thought it unlikely. But the fact they now thought Acres was a local man made him very uneasy. It might be necessary to lay a red herring for them, taking their suspicions away from him… but how? He thought of Iris, sleeping upstairs. He might use her. It was an idea he filed away in his mind. This bank reward made his situation even more dangerous. He had seen Travers’s change of expression when Marthy had announced the reward. Calvin was pretty sure what had been going through Travers’s mind. With sixty thousand dollars, Travers would cease to be small-time: he could marry Iris: he could take her away from Pittsville. Calvin was suddenly thankful he had picked on Kit to help him. If Travers became dangerous, he would use Kit to protect himself. Travers wouldn’t send his future mother-in-law to the gas chamber. The sheriff and Easton were has-beens. If it came to a show-down, he could muzzle Travers. Thinking about it, Calvin gained confidence. He would have to be careful, but if things went wrong, he could put the screws on Travers.

  He arrived at the bank a few minutes after eight o’clock. He parked his car, then carrying the hold-all, he walked up the main street towards the bank.

  As he reached the short path leading to the bank entrance, he saw Travers come out of the sheriffs office and walk rapidly towards him. Calvin paused. He felt very confident. This tall, rangy young fellow might be smart, but Calvin was now sure he had him where he wanted him. He walked towards him. The two men met half way between the sheriff’s office and the bank.

  ‘Hello there,’ Calvin said smiling. ‘Any news? Anything happening?’

  Travers shook his head, his eyes going to the hold-all.

  ‘Nothing right now. You’re early.’ He paused, then went on, ‘Are you going away?’

  Calvin laughed easily.

  ‘No such luck. I’m taking a suit to be cleaned. Yes… I’m early. We’re doing an audit. For the next day or so, I’ll have to work for my living.’ He looked steadily at Travers. ‘Iris has volunteered to h
elp out. Did she tell you? She’s taking Alice’s place.’

  Travers nodded.

  ‘Yes… she told me,’ he said curtly.

  There was a pause. Both men stared intently at each other.

  ‘She’ll be a great help,’ Calvin said, paused, then went on scarcely concealing a sneer. ‘Wish you luck with that reward. Sixty thousand! It’s money! Don’t let Easton beat you to it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Travers said, his voice quiet. ‘I mean to get it.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ and switching on his charming smile, Calvin turned away and began to walk back to the bank, aware that Travers was staring after him.

  Suddenly Travers said, ‘Hey! One minute!’

  Calvin felt a prickle of apprehension crawl up his spine. He turned and waited.

  Travers came up in five long, swinging strides.

  ‘I forgot to ask you… what kind of typewriter do you use in the bank?’

  Calvin lifted his sand-coloured eyebrows. The effort he had to make to keep his face expressionless quickened his heart-beat.

  ‘Typewriter? Typewriter?’ he said vaguely, then his smile widened. ‘Of course… I see. You’re looking for a standard Remington with defective letters. No luck, I’m afraid. We use a Smith Corona portable. Don’t ask me why. It was here when I came.’

  ‘A portable?’ Travers said, staring at him. ‘That’s unusual, isn’t it?’

  ‘My dear fella, who am I to question the meanness of banks?’ Calvin said. ‘Ours isn’t a very important branch, you know. We don’t have many letters to write.’ He met Travers’s searching stare. ‘Anything else you’d like to know?’

  ‘No… thanks.’

  ‘Then I’ll get along,’ and nodding, Calvin turned and walked towards the bank.

  He unlocked the door, entered and relocked the door.

  Phew! he thought. That was close… too close!

  He set down the hold-all and walked quickly behind the counter to where the Remington typewriter stood. He picked it up and carried it down to the vault. It took him over a quarter of an hour to find a deed box that contained only a few papers. Into this deed box, he put the typewriter. He went up the stairs and took the portable out of its case. He set the machine on the felt mat where the Remington had stood.