He got in and five minutes later stepped out a half block from Highland and Hollywood Avenues. He strode past the bank, turned into Hollywood Boulevard and a half block away entered a luggage shop where he bought a brief case for twelve dollars and fifty cents.
Carrying it under his arm he walked back to the bank and, entering, approached the Safety Deposit window for the fourth time that week. The attendant looked at him curiously as he filled out the little slip. At least Tommy thought she was looking at him with more than ordinary interest. But it may have been his guilty conscience.
The woman went through the usual business of unlocking his box and it seemed to Tommy that she hesitated a moment or two before leaving him alone in the vault, but he had gone this far and nothing could deter him.
He took his safety deposit box out of the compartment and deposited it on the high table just inside the door.
Then he stepped up to Box 294 and unlocked it with the keys he had made that morning. They worked perfectly but Tommy had no time to gloat over good workmanship. He carried the box to the stand, whipped open the brief case and in almost the same movement raised the lid of Paul deCamp’s safety deposit box.
The sight that met his eyes brought a gasp from Tommy’s throat. The box was crammed to the top with packets of money. Each packet bore the figure “100” on the top bill.
In frantic haste Tommy grabbed up handfuls of the packets and dumped them into the brief case. It took him only moments to transfer the contents of the box to the brief case but it seemed to Tommy that he would never finish the task. At last it was done and he slammed down the cover of the box and returned it to the compartment. He closed the door and turned away. At that moment the attendant of the Safety Deposit vault entered with a middle-aged woman who had a sheaf of government bonds in a fist. Tommy was four feet from the table on which reposed the now bulging brief case.
He said: “I was just finishing.”
Stepping forward he picked up his box and returned it to the compartment. He closed the door of Box 365, smiled wanly at the vault attendant and picking up his brief case left the vault.
Needles of fear were pricking his skin in a thousand points as he walked through the bank. A sudden shout, the clanging of a bell would not have been unexpected.
But Tommy reached the street safely.
He walked unseeingly down Hollywood Boulevard, his face bathed with a film of perspiration. In his hand was a fortune, but what could he do with it now that he had it. There would be repercussions, an aftermath. Tommy had to be prepared.
He passed the Lincoln Hotel, walked fifty feet beyond then suddenly whirled and, going back, entered the hotel. He carried his brief case to the rear of the big lobby and handed it to a uniformed check room attendant.
“Can I check this here for a day or two?” he asked.
“Sure thing, Mister.”
The attendant took the brief case and handed Tommy a pasteboard with a number on it. Tommy deposited a quarter on the counter and walked to the center of the lobby. He lit a cigarette and drew several great lungsful of smoke, then caught sight of the cigar counter. He stepped up to it and laid a coin on the glass.
“Could you give me a three cent stamp?”
The girl behind the counter gave him the stamp and Tommy, smiling, walked off without the change. In another section of the lobby he found a writing desk and seated himself at it. He picked up a hotel envelope and wrote an address on it.
Diagonally across the side of the envelope he wrote: “Hold until called for.” He put the check room tag in the envelope and sealed it Affixing the stamp he walked to the mail box in the lobby and dropped in the envelope.
It was done.
Outside the hotel a couple of taxis stood at the curb. Tommy stepped into one and said: “La Brea and Fountain.”
Tommy re-entered the plant of The Hadley Manufacturing Company via the rear door well within the forty-five minutes he had alloted himself. He found George Roan near the front of the plant with pad and pencil making a sketch of the building.
“Back already?” Roan asked.
“I got there just as she was stepping off the streetcar.”
“Good. Now, let’s get this out of the way.”
The noon bell rang in a few minutes, but Tommy and George Roan continued on through the noon hour and a few minutes after one completed their estimate and left the plant.
Roan climbed into his own car and Tommy proceeded to his flivver. He looked at Louie, his shadow, who was taking it easy in the beige-colored coupe.
“Back to the shop now, Louie,” Tommy said.
“Be right with you,” Louie replied cheerfully.
That afternoon was the longest Tommy had ever endured. But five o’clock came at last and he left the shop. Louie, of course, was right behind him as he drove to his apartment on Las Palmas.
