I Would Rather Stay Poor by James Hadley Chase Page A

them.
    ‘I’ll be up at eleven,’ he said to Kit ‘Keep away from the bottle … hear me?’
    He left her and joined the old couple in the already darkened room. His mind was busy as the play ran its course.
    There’s no turning back now, he said to himself. So far it’s working out all right. The only real danger now is if someone happens to try the back door of the bank and finds it unlocked. If that happens I’m really cooked. But why should anyone try the door? The whole town knows it is never used.
    He reminded himself he would have to take a swab back with him. He made a grimace in the semi-darkness. Blood had come from Alice’s nose and mouth onto his hands: he had been lucky none of it had got onto his clothes. He shrank from the thought that he would have to carry her body from the vault to the car. Grimacing, he tried to concentrate on the play. At eleven o’clock, he said good night to the old couple, saying he was going to bed, and he went upstairs. The light was on in Kit’s room and he walked in.
    She was lying on the bed, smoking and staring up at the ceiling. She didn’t look at him as he came in.
    ‘Are you a ll right?’ he asked, pausing at the foot of the bed.
    ‘You’ve nearly crippled me, you d evil,’ she said, still not look ing at him. ‘I can scarcely walk.’
    ‘You’ve got to walk to the bank,’ he said. ‘Don’t lie there. Move around or your muscles will get stiff.’
    She didn’t move.
    ‘Leave me alone.’
    ‘There’s no turning back now. We’re both in this thing up to our necks. I’m going to change. Get off the bed and move around.’
    He went into his room and sitting before the dressing-table mirror, he carefully began to gum the black crepe sideboards to his face. Ten minutes later, his disguise complete, he went into Kit’s room again. She was still lying on the bed. He stood over her.
    ‘Leave here at twelve,’ he said. ‘Be careful. If you see any car coming, get off the road. When you get to the car park, drive the L in coln to the back of the bank entrance and wait. Don’t get out of the car … just wait. Do you understand?’
    She stared at him, her face wooden.
    ‘Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course, I understand.’
    ‘All right. I’ll get off. Everything now depends on you … so watch it. And keep off the bottle.’
    He left her and paused for a long moment at the head of the stairs, listening. There was no sound in the darkened house, and satisfied both Miss Pearson and the major were in bed, he silently descended the stairs and let himself out the back way.
    It was a fine clear night: no moon and dark . He walked with long, swinging strides, his eyes searching the road ahead, his ears cocked for the sound of any appr oach ing car.
    He reached the back entrance to th e bank a few minutes after midnight, sure no one had seen him during the long walk from the rooming-house. He pushed open the door and paused to listen. He heard nothing, entered the dark bank, closed and bolted the door.
    There were ten electric light bulbs to remove. He set about removing them quickly and efficien tl y. The ceiling lamp caused him some difficulty. The opaque white cover was only just within h is reach when he stood on the counter and the fixing screws had rusted in. He had brought tools with him and he wrestled with the screws, humming tunelessly under his breath.
    From where he stood, he could look through the bank window at the lighted windows of the Sheriff’s office. From time to time he saw Travers pass the windows as he paced slowly to and fro. Finally, C al vin got the cover off and removed the lamp. He had been working in semi-darkness. A faint light came in from the street lamp some twenty yards away. He counted the lamps, making sure he had removed them all, then he turned on the light switch. He knew a light had come on in the vault.
    He went down into the vault, entered, quickly closing the door. For some moments, he stood looking down at