Molly Moon's Incredible Book of Hypnotism

by Georgia Byng

  A room-service table stood in Molly’s room with the leftovers of two breakfasts. Molly looked at Rocky and pulled at her hair.

  “Today! I can’t believe he wants us to do it today. It’s eight fifteen now, and he wants the jewels and stuff in his warehouse, repacked into his lorry, by quarter to two. That gives us …”

  “Five and a half hours,” Rocky calculated, “to rob the bank, to pack up the loot in the bank truck, to drive it to his warehouse, and then to transfer it to his truck.”

  “But we haven’t memorized the plans.”

  “We’ll take them with us.”

  “I mean, is it possible?”

  “We’ll just have to try.”

  “More than try,” said Molly. “We’ve got to do it one hundred percent right.”

  “True,” said Rocky.

  They both sat quietly for a moment, contemplating the monstrousness of the task. Then Molly said, “What are we waiting for? Let’s get it over with.”

  It was time to move.

  Twenty-Seven

  At eight forty Molly and Rocky were outside Shorings Bank. It was a huge, austere fortress, with walls steep and solid like the side of a cliff. On two balconies were window boxes full of holly and red berries. Hidden in the holly were cameras that filmed the bank’s entrance. It didn’t open until nine o’clock.

  Molly and Rocky sat on a bench on the other side of the street, hidden from sight by a bush. Hiding Nockman’s plans behind comics, they were testing themselves on the layout of the bank, trying to visualize where everything was and where all the people who worked there would be. Through the bushes they watched New Yorkers hurrying to work. Molly and Rocky threw pebbles into the gutter as the last few minutes ticked by.

  “I just hope they’re all easy to hypnotize,” said Molly. “And you can do it, can’t you, Rocky? I mean, I’m not being rude, it’s just you said that most of the time it works for you. I mean, how often doesn’t it work? The thing is, if they get alerted to the fact that we’re trying to hypnotize them, then we’re in big trouble….”

  “I hypnotized you, didn’t I?” said Rocky.

  “That’s true,” admitted Molly. “But are you sure you can still do it when you’re nervous?”

  “Yup. Well, I think so.”

  “Are you feeling nervous now?”

  “Yup.”

  “Same here.”

  “Keep calm, Molly,” Rocky said. “You’re just getting the last-minute jitters. We can do this. As long as you remember everything we worked out last night.”

  “Okay,” said Molly, trying to relax.

  A clock on the side of the bank chimed nine, making them both jump. The heavy cast-iron doors of the bank opened.

  “Do you reckon all the people who work there are in now?” she asked nervously.

  Rocky shrugged. “I suppose so.” He stuffed the bank plans into Molly’s knapsack alongside the hypnotism book, which was all wrapped up for Nockman.

  The two friends walked slowly to the bank. The closer they got the bigger the bank got, and the more their stomachs churned.

  “I’ve got butterflies,” Rocky said.

  “You’re lucky,” said Molly, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I’ve got jellyfish.”

  Gingerly they stepped up the stone steps. As they walked through the immense entrance, Molly noticed the huge metal bolts that kept the doors locked at night, and two gorillalike security guards, who seemed to look straight through her.

  Inside the bank it was cool and quiet. Copper fans and green lamps hung down from the high ceiling, and the floor was polished black marble. Molly glanced up at the high, barred windows and saw cameras, like menacing black flies, crouched on the walls. Dotted about were smart-looking, leather-topped desks with weighing scales on them, where bank clerks sat. Here and there were tables where customers could lay out rubies and gems on white cloths for bankers to inspect through magnifying lenses. Along the back wall were glass-fronted booths shielding more bank workers from the public, and strung out across the room were heavy red ropes held up by brass posts. A few customers were already lining up. Telephones were ringing and being answered. The place was buzzing with activity.

  “Oh dear,” whispered Molly. “Look at the cameras. This is going to be tricky.”

  “Not if you stick to our plan,” said Rocky encouragingly. “You’ll see, we’ll be fine … and … and good luck, Molly.”

  Molly swallowed hard and nodded. “Likewise,” she said.

  Rocky went to sit on a chair by the wall. Molly walked toward a desk in the corner of the hall. She sat down opposite a young, freckle-faced clerk. “Good morning,” she said, “I’d like to deposit some rubies.”

  “Certainly, madam,” said the clerk, looking up. The poor young man was an easy target. He fell into Molly’s web like a blind caterpillar.

  Soon Molly had given her instructions.

  “From now on you will do exactly as I say, or as my friend says. Until ten o’clock you will behave normally to other customers. Then at ten you will come to the front of the bank and await further instructions.”

  The clerk nodded. “And when would you like to bring these jewels in?” he asked, behaving normally.

  “That’s very good,” said Molly. “Now, please take me to see the bank manager.”

  The clerk led Molly through a security door. Acting as innocently as possible, she looked straight ahead and followed the freckly man along a grand corridor until they came to a door with a golden plaque on it that read MRS. V. BRISCO, MANAGER.

  The clerk knocked and they entered. This startled the manager’s secretary, who stopped her typing and looked very irritated by the unannounced visitors, but after a few seconds of Molly’s glare, she too was captive. She spoke to Mrs. Brisco through an intercom. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Brisco, there’s someone here to see you called …”

  “Miss … er …” Molly’s eyes darted desperately about the room for inspiration. “Miss Cactus,” she said, seeing a spiky potted plant on the windowsill. She winced inside as she heard the stupid name coming out of her mouth.

  “Miss Cactus,” repeated the secretary. “I think you ought to see her.”

  “Send her in,” came the manager’s reply.

  The bank manager was a small, thin woman of fifty or so. She greeted Molly with an impatient frown, examining her through horn-rimmed glasses and wondering what on earth a child could want with her.

  “I’m afraid we don’t give tours of Shorings to schoolchildren. But you may pick up some Shorings bank literature from our information desk for your school project. I’m sure that will be adequate for your needs. Good-bye.”

  “No,” said Molly, “I would like your personal assistance on my project, please.”

  As a bank manager, Mrs. Brisco had learned to be very untrusting of people. So she was tricky to hypnotize. Molly found her surprisingly resistant. She was like a dog, pulling on a leash, refusing to come, but Mrs. Brisco’s coming was inevitable, since she was on Molly’s leash. She twitched and she twisted, and she tried to defend herself, but she couldn’t resist Molly’s tugging eyes. In half a minute Molly had her well and truly hooked.

  Soon Mrs. Brisco had agreed to do everything Molly asked.

  With no time to lose, she had all the bank workers and security guards brought one by one into her office, where Molly worked her magic on them. Molly gave each one the same instructions: to keep working as normal until ten o’clock, then to assemble in the lobby of the bank and wait for more orders.

  Meanwhile, Rocky was at the front of the bank, keeping an eye on any new arrivals. He saw customers come and go, and he watched as the clerks behind the glass partition left their desks and came back again with a glazed look in their eyes.

  Now Molly turned her attention to the cameras, which were spying from every corner. Some, she knew from Nockman’s plans, were hidden on the sides of wastepaper baskets. Already Rocky and Molly would have been recorded by them. It was very importa
nt to wipe this evidence clean away, and then work could begin. Mrs. Brisco took her to the video suite, and every camera was switched off.

  “Now,” said Molly, breathing a sigh of relief, “I want you to rewind the tapes and erase all this morning’s film.”

  “Impossible,” said the manager. “It goes—electronically—straight to our—records office.”

  “What?” exclaimed Molly, incredulously. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Rocky and her, on tape, at the records office! This was terrible. Molly would be recognized! Even the stupidest of detectives would be suspicious, seeing her walking around the back rooms of the bank. Nockman’s notes hadn’t said anything about a records office. Molly was filled with fury and thrown into panic at the same time. “Wait here,” she commanded. She hurried out to Rocky.

  “Rocky,” she growled, “we’ve got a problem. We’re on tape and it can’t be erased because the film is automatically transmitted to the records office…. We can’t go ahead, we’ll be caught straight away, but, Rocky, if we don’t, what will happen to Petula?”

  Rocky looked worried. “Take me to the video room,” he said. “I’m not promising anything, but I may just be able to sort this out.”

  After extracting the telephone number of the records-office manager from Mrs. Brisco, Rocky settled down with a telephone and tried to focus. He’d hypnotized over the phone only a few times before, and it was very difficult to relax with Molly sighing and biting her lip beside him.

  Concentrating as if his life depended on it, he dialed the number. An operator answered the phone, and since the person was very unsuspecting, it was much easier than Rocky expected to hypnotize him long distance. Soon the operator had erased all that morning’s tape. Feeling much more confident, Rocky then telephoned the bank’s security company and had the guard there switch off the Shorings Bank alarm.

  “Phhheewww,” Molly murmured. “That was brilliant, Rocky!”

  “Lucky it worked,” said Rocky, breathing more easily now. “It just shows, though,” he pointed out, “that Nockman’s plans aren’t perfect. I hope there aren’t any more nasty surprises waiting for us.”

  Molly nodded, feeling sick. Then on they went.

  Both the front-door security guards were summoned to Mrs. Brisco’s office. As they stood beside each other in their hypnotic states, with their tongues dangling from their mouths, Molly thought how like Stone Age men they looked.

  “Which one do we choose as our driver?” she asked Rocky. “Which is the more intelligent-looking one?”

  “I wouldn’t say either has a brain bigger than a sugar lump,” said Rocky, “but I think the one on the left looks the cleverest.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because he’s not trying to eat his collar.”

  The security guard they chose was the most muscly and also the hairiest. Rocky took the hungry one back to the lobby of the bank, and Molly was led by the other guard to the bank garage. This was at the back of the building, down a narrow passage, at the end of which was a black fire door with a metal handle. Behind this door was a steel balcony and a flight of steps that led down to the concrete floor of a garage the size of a tennis court. There stood their truck. A gray truck the size of a small elephant. Molly imagined that she would just be able to stand up in the back of it.

  Molly left the guard there and went back to the lobby, where she hypnotized the thirteen customers who were there. Soon they stood in a line like toy soldiers, standing at attention. And as the clock struck ten, the doors of the bank were closed. A notice was put up outside: CLOSED UNTIL 2:30 DUE TO STAFF TRAINING. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.

  Some very annoyed customers who wanted to come in were left on the steps, complaining. Then hypnotized bank workers started to fill the lobby and soon they, too, all stood in a line like zombies.

  “This is like a dream,” Rocky whispered.

  For a moment he and Molly stood still. It was eerie to be standing there, with the working day on hold.

  In the background a ringing phone made Molly jump, but it was quickly answered by a receptionist, who, as instructed, said, “I’m afraid he isn’t available at the moment. He will call you back. Good-bye.”

  “Okay,” said Rocky, “let’s hit the basement.”

  Mrs. Brisco led them down a gray passage to an elevator. There she tapped a ten-digit code number into a small silver box. The doors opened with a swish, and Molly and Rocky followed her into the elevator. As it moved down its shaft, Molly started to feel claustrophobic. They’d hypnotized roughly thirty-five people, who would all be on the phone to the police immediately if they came out of their trances. And these people were all upstairs while Rocky and she were about to conduct their business below. If anyone were to wake up, she and Rocky would be trapped.

  Molly banished the thought from her mind and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. Her knees were feeling all prickly, and she kept shivering from nerves, and on top of this her fear kept making her want to go to the bathroom, even though she didn’t really want to go at all. Rocky’s face, she noticed, was looking distinctly pale. Molly was reminded of all the times he had helped her out of trouble at Hardwick House. She felt guilty now for getting him involved. “I’m sorry about this,” she whispered as the elevator doors opened.

  “Forget it,” he said with a nervous smile.

  Now they were standing in the basement. Ahead of her Molly recognized, from Nockman’s plans, the entrances to the private counting rooms. As Mrs. Brisco led them down the tight, low-ceilinged passage to the strong rooms where the jewel vaults were, Molly lagged behind. She wanted to check that no guards were inside the counting rooms, unhypnotized. So, peeling away from Rocky and Mrs. Brisco, she went inside one. It was extremely lucky that she did.

  A stony-faced man wearing a heavy striped suit looked up. He had a safety-deposit box tray on the table in front of him and was pawing over a very large diamond. “What da heck is a kid doin’ down here?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing and his face wrinkling into a scowl. Quickly, Molly zapped him, and she removed the diamond from his grip. The diamond was heavy and hard and enormous. It caught Molly’s reflection as she rolled it around in her hand.

  “Jeepers, this must be worth a fortune,” she marveled.

  “You betcha,” the man growled. “Stole it—today.”

  “Where from?” Molly asked, shocked and fascinated.

  “From—another—crook.”

  Molly shuddered, put the diamond in her jacket pocket, and caught up with Rocky. He looked as if he’d just been told that Petula had been made into mincemeat.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The locks,” whispered Rocky hoarsely. “That idiot Nockman doesn’t know a thing about this place. It’s all been updated since he was here. There’s absolutely no way we are ever going to get into these strong rooms and get these safety-deposit boxes open.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Mrs. Brisco here has told me that she can’t open them by herself. Both she and the customers who rent them have to be present to open their boxes. There are five strong rooms, each with eighty deposit boxes. That’s four hundred boxes, and four hundred customers who need to be here.”

  “But why?” asked Molly.

  “Because,” explained Mrs. Brisco, “we have—a—new device—that opens the—boxes only—once it has—information from me-and from an authorized customer.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Iris-read information.”

  Molly’s legs felt all wobbly suddenly. What was Mrs. Brisco talking about?

  “Show me the device,” she said.

  Mrs. Brisco led her to a black box on the wall. On it was a panel with buttons labeled from zero to nine and an electronic display board where numbers came up in green. At the moment this display read zero, zero, zero. To the right of the zeros was a yellow light the size of a billiard ball.

  “Explain how it works,” said Molly.


  “First—I punch—in the number—of the safety-deposit box that needs—to be opened. Then—the device matches my iris—with my iris pattern—in its memory. Next, it reads the—customer’s iris and matches that—with the one in its memory. If all the information on the irises is—correct, the computer—in the machine—knows that I am present—and so—is the customer. The device can then authorize the deposit box—to open. It is so that—the safety-deposit boxes cannot be opened—by anyone who wished to steal—their—contents.”

  Molly’s lip curled. This was completely unforeseen. She looked at Rocky, who was looking as if he might be sick.

  “And what exactly is an iris? A fingerprint of some kind?”

  “In—a—way it is—like a fingerprint—in that no two human irises—are the same. That is why—the device—works.”

  “Yes, I know why it works,” said Molly, irritated. “I just want to know what an iris is.”

  Mrs. Brisco’s answer was flat, as if she were reading from a boring textbook. “The iris—is the colored part—of the eye. The part that gives a person—his or her eye color. The iris has the muscles that—contract and dilate—the black pupil—in the center of—the eye. Everyone has—a different-looking iris. Yours is lovely—it is a beautiful shade of green.”

  A glimmer of hope shot through Molly. She nodded at Rocky. “It’s worth trying.”

  A minute later Rocky had punched the number one into the iris-reading device, to open safety-deposit box number one, and Mrs. Brisco was bending over, peering into the machine, having her iris read.

  Then it was Molly’s turn. She leaned forward and glued her eye up to the yellow hole. She looked inside, into the iris-reading equipment, and the machine, in turn, looked into Molly’s eye.