by J F Straker
At one time the back yard had boasted a lawn. Now it was little better than a sea of mud, the mud made sticky by a week of heavy and persistent rain. As they ploughed their way through it Rose wondered why Brian had done nothing to have it cleaned up. She never used the back entrance herself, but she knew that Brian did so regularly. The Bank had wanted to brick it in on grounds of security; it was a relic of the past, they said, when the building had been a private residence, and was out of place in a bank. But Brian had pressed for it to remain. With double yellow lines outside the front entrance and the nearest parking lot some distance away he preferred to park the Austin in the cul-de-sac and use the ‘tradesmen’s entrance’, as he called it. The Bank had not insisted. Perhaps at the time they had reasoned that such an insignificant branch was unlikely to attract the attention of bank robbers. And had then forgotten.
A man’s voice, louder than before and quickly hushed, interrupted her uneasy musing. Then the door opened and Brian and the men were back. Though her eyes were now more accustomed to the dark she could not distinguish them as individuals, but as they approached the desk she saw that three of them were carrying suitcases. Another, the tallest of the four, switched on a torch. The beam lit her face, and she blinked and turned her head.
‘Sorry we had to neglect you, Mrs Landon’ the tall man said. ‘But business had to come first, I’m afraid. All right, are you?’
‘No.’ The quiet tone, the polite inquiry, dispelled all fear of what might be in store for them. She felt free to vent her anger. ‘I am far from all right. I have sore ankles and sore wrists and a blinding headache. I have also suffered severely from cramp.’ Her throat was dry, and she swallowed. ‘Are you all right, Brian? They haven’t harmed you in any way?’
‘No, dear. I’m perfectly all right.’
The controlled precision of his voice was reassuring. ‘Well, that’s something to be thankful for,’ she said. ‘I suppose they’ve taken all the money?’
‘I hope so, Mrs Landor,’ the tall man said. ‘That’s what we came for, and we pride ourselves on being thorough. Now, let’s get you out of that chair, shall we?’
Her bonds gone, she sat for a few moments, wiggling her feet and rubbing her chafed wrists to restore the circulation. Then, steadying herself against the desk, she stood up. Confident now — what did it matter that the bank had been robbed so long as she and Brian were safe? — she said tartly, ‘Well, what happens next? Do you drive us home? Or are we expected to walk?’
‘Neither, I’m afraid. You will be staying here for a while. But not in the office. We’re going to leave you in the vault. For security reasons, you understand.’
‘In the vault?’ Landor was shaken out of his calm. ‘Good God, man! Why?’
The other did not answer immediately.
‘Off you go, then,’ he said to one of his companions, and watched the man leave. ‘Why? I would have thought that was obvious, sir. I mean — well, what’s the alternative? If we released you, you would immediately contact the police. You might promise not to do so, but we both know you would. Promises made under duress are seldom kept. So we would leave here to find police checks on all the roads out of town. We could, of course, rip out the telephone and tie you up, but you would find that most uncomfortable. In the vault you’ll be free to move around.’
‘And how and when do we get out?’ Landor asked.
‘I’ll ring the police as soon as I consider it safe. A few hours start is all we need.’
‘Suppose you forget?’
‘I shan’t.’ His tone was suddenly curt. ‘I’m meticulous in such matters, Mr Landor. Now — shall we go?’
He led the way with the torch. The vault was open and the lights switched on, and as Rose paused in the doorway she saw that most of the space was filled with steel shelving laden with deed boxes and ledgers. There were no windows and the air smelt stale, and for the first time since leaving home she experienced a pang of real fear. Brian would be with her, they were not to be left in the dark. Yet below ground — and in such a confined space — and once the heavy door closed on them, how long before it would open again? Suppose, as Brian had suggested, the man forgot? Suppose that in fact he had no intention of remembering?
She shuddered. ‘No!’ she said, her voice shrill. ‘I can’t! I’m sorry, but I just can’t!’
‘Oh? Why not?’ The tall man drew her aside as his companions carried in a couple of chairs. ‘All the comforts, you see. And no lack of reading material, by the look of it. And it won’t be for long, I promise you. A couple of hours at the most. You can stick it that long, can’t you?’
‘No,’ she said hysterically. ‘I can’t. If you shut me up in there I’ll die of fright.’
‘Oh, come now! That’s an exaggeration, isn’t it? Of course you won’t.’
Gently but firmly he propelled her into the vault, her struggles and her husband’s protests unavailing. Landor followed, angrily shrugging off a hand from one of the other men. As the door started to close the woman screamed. Frowning, the tall man slammed it shut.
‘Claustrophobia, I imagine,’ he said. ‘Nasty, poor thing. Still, her old man will look after her. She’ll be all right.’
