guys,” Blinky said in a low tone.
The men glanced wildly around. There wasn’t anyone within two blocks at this late hour.
“Go on! Back in!”
The four directors backed into the bank again. The six men from the car around the corner followed them. The bank guard, still looking dazed from his unaccountable hypnotic spell a while ago, stared at the six men and then started to draw his gun.
Blinky’s automatic rose, flailed down. The bank guard fell with a creased skull.
Grand had recognized Tom by now.
“Crimm! What in Heaven’s name do you mean by this? Murder of Haskell—now bank robbery! Are you mad—”
“Yes,” said Tom steadily, “I am. Mad enough to put bullets through you and your three precious companions if you don’t do exactly as you’re told.”
“You are insane! But what do you want here?”
“Dad’s Ballandale stock,” said Tom. “After that, the name of the man responsible for his death.”
“You’re talking in riddles, boy. We have no stock. As for your father’s heart attack—”
The words froze on Grand’s lips at the look in Tom’s eyes. Birch let out a sound very much like a whimper. Rath and Wallach stood in frozen quiet.
“We’ll go to the vault,” said Tom. “We’ll have a look through the safe-deposit box of each of you. We’ll keep on looking, if that doesn’t turn the stock up. We have at least two hours before it becomes dangerous to stay here. We’ll take the whole time, if necessary.”
Wallach’s thin, dry lips moved.
“We can’t open the vault. Nobody can. There is a time lock on it that is set for nine in the morning.”
“None of that,” snarled Blinky. “We’ve cased this joint. See? We know there’s no time lock. Get going! Lead us to the vault and open it. You other three go ahead in single file.”
The four directors, on stumbling feet, went to the rear of the bank. There was an iron grille. Grand unlocked that with a key on his watch chain. The little group went to the vault door.
“For the last time, Crimm,” said Grand pleadingly, “you are making a hideous mistake. You’d become a bandit, a killer, all to no purpose. There is no Ballandale stock in this bank—”
“Open up!” snapped Blinky.
Grand manipulated the combination with his chalk-white fingers. Finally the great door swung open with ghostly ease and silence in the gloom.
They went in, all but one man left in front as a lookout.
“Open your safe-deposit boxes, one after another,” ordered Tom.
Birch went first. He hauled a box from steel shelving and opened it. Tom riffled through the contents. There was a lot of cash in thousand-dollar bills, some bonds, some other certificates, but no Ballandale.
“Put it back. Next!”
Rath withdrew his steel box. Tom looked through it, and did not find what he was after. Meanwhile, Blinky was dipping into the first box. The thousand-dollar bills went deftly into his pockets.
“Grand!”
Lucius Grand shakily took his box out.
There was no Ballandale stock in that, nor in the box belonging to Birch. Tom’s face was twisted in dark frenzy. He had counted a lot on getting the stock. Whoever had the certificates in his possession, he had reasoned, would know who had killed his father.
But none of these four had it.
“Damn you all,” he raged. “Where is it? Who has it? If one of you doesn’t speak up, all four of you will have a torture session, here, in this soundproofed vault—”
As if to refute his statement that the vault was soundproofed, a noise came from the front of the bank. It snapped through the open vault door like a minor bombshell.
“Scram everybody! Trouble!”
The yell was followed by a sharp crack as a gun was fired.
Luckow’s men didn’t delay any. They piled out of the vault at top speed, leaving the dazed directors behind them. Tom, after a second of indecision, ran after them.
At the door was another prone figure beside the bank guard’s. This man was dressed in plain clothes,
The men glanced wildly around. There wasn’t anyone within two blocks at this late hour.
“Go on! Back in!”
The four directors backed into the bank again. The six men from the car around the corner followed them. The bank guard, still looking dazed from his unaccountable hypnotic spell a while ago, stared at the six men and then started to draw his gun.
Blinky’s automatic rose, flailed down. The bank guard fell with a creased skull.
Grand had recognized Tom by now.
“Crimm! What in Heaven’s name do you mean by this? Murder of Haskell—now bank robbery! Are you mad—”
“Yes,” said Tom steadily, “I am. Mad enough to put bullets through you and your three precious companions if you don’t do exactly as you’re told.”
“You are insane! But what do you want here?”
“Dad’s Ballandale stock,” said Tom. “After that, the name of the man responsible for his death.”
“You’re talking in riddles, boy. We have no stock. As for your father’s heart attack—”
The words froze on Grand’s lips at the look in Tom’s eyes. Birch let out a sound very much like a whimper. Rath and Wallach stood in frozen quiet.
“We’ll go to the vault,” said Tom. “We’ll have a look through the safe-deposit box of each of you. We’ll keep on looking, if that doesn’t turn the stock up. We have at least two hours before it becomes dangerous to stay here. We’ll take the whole time, if necessary.”
Wallach’s thin, dry lips moved.
“We can’t open the vault. Nobody can. There is a time lock on it that is set for nine in the morning.”
“None of that,” snarled Blinky. “We’ve cased this joint. See? We know there’s no time lock. Get going! Lead us to the vault and open it. You other three go ahead in single file.”
The four directors, on stumbling feet, went to the rear of the bank. There was an iron grille. Grand unlocked that with a key on his watch chain. The little group went to the vault door.
“For the last time, Crimm,” said Grand pleadingly, “you are making a hideous mistake. You’d become a bandit, a killer, all to no purpose. There is no Ballandale stock in this bank—”
“Open up!” snapped Blinky.
Grand manipulated the combination with his chalk-white fingers. Finally the great door swung open with ghostly ease and silence in the gloom.
They went in, all but one man left in front as a lookout.
“Open your safe-deposit boxes, one after another,” ordered Tom.
Birch went first. He hauled a box from steel shelving and opened it. Tom riffled through the contents. There was a lot of cash in thousand-dollar bills, some bonds, some other certificates, but no Ballandale.
“Put it back. Next!”
Rath withdrew his steel box. Tom looked through it, and did not find what he was after. Meanwhile, Blinky was dipping into the first box. The thousand-dollar bills went deftly into his pockets.
“Grand!”
Lucius Grand shakily took his box out.
There was no Ballandale stock in that, nor in the box belonging to Birch. Tom’s face was twisted in dark frenzy. He had counted a lot on getting the stock. Whoever had the certificates in his possession, he had reasoned, would know who had killed his father.
But none of these four had it.
“Damn you all,” he raged. “Where is it? Who has it? If one of you doesn’t speak up, all four of you will have a torture session, here, in this soundproofed vault—”
As if to refute his statement that the vault was soundproofed, a noise came from the front of the bank. It snapped through the open vault door like a minor bombshell.
“Scram everybody! Trouble!”
The yell was followed by a sharp crack as a gun was fired.
Luckow’s men didn’t delay any. They piled out of the vault at top speed, leaving the dazed directors behind them. Tom, after a second of indecision, ran after them.
At the door was another prone figure beside the bank guard’s. This man was dressed in plain clothes,
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