by Luke Short
Sarah paused, looking briefly at each of them. “That got me curious,” Sarah went on. “When I left Dr. Richards’s I got to wondering why Byers should lie about a doctor’s appointment. Then I got an idea. I was passing the hotel, so I went in to the phone booth and called Ann Hoffman.”
“The gal in the Assessor’s Office?” Sam asked.
“Yes. Remember when Byers left the commissioners he turned left toward her office. Well, I called Ann and asked if Byers had made a phone call in her office the morning of the commissioners’ meeting. When she said he had, I asked her if she knew who he called. She said he was very careful to make sure she didn’t know.” Sarah paused as if to emphasize this. “Byers sent her out of the room.”
Sam whistled softly. “Back up a minute, Sarah. What went on at that commissioners’ meeting that would make Byers put in a quick call afterwards, then lie about having to leave?”
“That’s just it,” Sarah said. “Nothing went on except Tully’s asking for help.”
“A farmer wanted a culvert removed, remember?” Tully put in.
“That’s right,” Sarah agreed. “Those two things.”
Tully looked searchingly at Sam.
Sam said slowly, summing it up, “You think Byers had a chance to see the Land Records. You think he got curious only after the commissioners’ meeting. You think he made a call and lied about it.”
Sarah only nodded.
Beth put in, “Considering that Ben bought the Jote Smith Claim, what more proof do you need that Byers told Ben?”
“You’re only guessing, Beth. We have no proof,” Sam said.
Tully remembered his call at the Mahaffey yesterday morning, and an idea came to him.
“Beth, hasn’t your brother a couple of old battle axes working for him out there?”
Beth smiled. “That’s right. My father hired them.”
Tully looked at his watch. “You suppose they stay up as late as eight-thirty?”
“Not much later.”
Tully looked then at Sarah. “Sarah, you know them?”
“I know Olive Lindsay better than I know Hilda Pruitt. Why?”
“Get set to put over a snow job then,” Tully said grimly. “Call her right now. Tell her you’ve been meaning to call her for the last week and just remembered it tonight. Tell her Justin Byers lost a license plate from his car about a week or ten days ago. Ask her if they found it at the Mahaffey. When she says no, ask her if he wasn’t out there the Monday morning of the commissioners’ meeting.”
Sam’s soft chuckle broke in as Tully finished, and Tully looked at him. There was an appreciation in Sam’s eyes, Tully saw, but beyond it there was a shrewdness, a look of total understanding that made Tully suddenly uncomfortable. “You’re a real cutie,” Sam said gently. “You’re wily, my friend. You have a great future.”
Tully could not tell what lay behind Sam’s gentle mockery. For the moment it was disturbing. He looked at Sarah and said, “Want to call?”
Without further hesitation, Sarah reached for the phone. Everyone in the room heard Olive Lindsay’s irritable voice as she answered the phone.
“Were you in bed, Olive? Good. You’ll think I’m crazy,” Sarah said, “but I just remembered something that I should have remembered a week ago.” Then she followed Tully’s instructions and asked after the missing license plate.
Olive’s snappy answer was negative.
“But Justin was out there, wasn’t he? It was on a Monday. The Monday of the commissioners’ meeting.” There was a long silence, and Tully found himself straining to catch the expression on Sarah’s face. The receiver vibrated shrilly, and then Sarah said, “Thank you, Olive,” and hung up. She looked directly at Tully. “Yes, that’s where he went.”
Tully found himself holding his breath, and he exhaled softly.
“So Byers is our boy,” Sam murmured. “He calls Ben as soon as he finds out what Tully is up to, then he goes out to see him, then he snoops for a week in the County Clerk’s Office. He comes up with Kevin’s mistake, tells Ben, and Ben lowers the boom.” Sam tilted back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his neck and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I underestimated that kid brother of yours, Beth,” he said finally. “I didn’t figure he was in the business of buying commissioners.”
Beth said nothing, only watched Sam.
Sam looked benignly at her. “You about to pull this family loyalty act again?”
Beth only shook her head. “No, I’m cured, Sam.”
Sam looked at Tully. “You think Byers did it for love, Tully?”
“There’s a way we can find out,” Tully said slowly. He looked at Beth, now, and added. “Or rather there’s a way Beth can.”
Beth’s eyes widened in surprise. In her expression was the hesitant yet prideful look of a person who knows a dare is coming. “How can I?”
“Who owns the bank?” Tully demanded.
“Why, Ben and I do.”
“As co-owner you have every right to look at the books, haven’t you?”
“I’m a director. Yes.”
“Then tomorrow go in and tell Harry Bogue you want to look at the books. Tell him to take the day off and go fishing.”
“Then what?” Beth asked.
“Then check on your brother’s cash withdrawals. Check on Justin Byers’s cash deposits. If they jibe within a few days, we’ll have ammunition for a grand jury.”
Beth said softly, “I’ll just do that.”
But Tully wasn’t finished. He said, “You own stock in the Mahaffey, Beth?”
Beth laughed shortly. “About half of it.”
“All right, then check on the Mahaffey stockholders. Especially check on recent transfers of stock.” He paused. “Can stock be transferred without your consent?”
“It started out that way, but it didn’t last long. I wanted to give the widow of one of our workmen some of my stock and Ben objected. So I objected when he wanted to transfer some. Now, we just go our own ways.”
“Then check the recent transfers.”
“I’ll just do that too,” Beth said, almost grimly.
Harry Bogue had scarcely opened the vault the next morning when Beth Hodes entered the bank. Instead of approaching one of the three windows, Beth went to the end of the wicket and came through the door that led into the working part of the bank.
Drawing off her, gloves, she passed the bookkeeping girl at the calculator, spoke to the assistant cashier, also a woman, and stepped into Bogue’s private office.
“Morning, Harry.” There was something in the tone of Beth’s voice that made Bogue faintly but instantly uneasy. In his constant dealings with the Hodeses, Bogue had long since written off Beth as someone deserving of politeness, but not much else. Yet her voice this morning was that of a woman of authority who was being civil, but only civil, to a paid employee.
Bogue rose belatedly, stood holding in his hand an insurance contract that he had been reading.
“I’m going to make a nuisance out of myself today, Harry. Give me a corner where I won’t disturb you.”
Bogue stared shrewdly at her from behind his rimless glasses. “That’s easy,” he said finally. “You want into your safe-deposit box?”
Beth shook her head in negation, and said crisply, “I want to go over the balance sheets of our depositors.”
It took five long seconds for Bogue to fully comprehend this strange request. Then he said curiously, “Anyone in particular?”
“Let’s just start with the A’s and work on through.”
Bogue frowned, then cleared his throat nervously. He speculated for a moment on the reason for Beth’s request, and he came up with nothing. Moreover, here was an outsider poaching on his own preserve. He looked sternly at Beth and said, “That’s an unusual request,” in a slow tentative voice. “You know that is highly confidential information.”
“Come off it, Harry,” Beth said. “As a stockholder and director of this bank, I can look at anythi
ng in here except the contents of safe-deposit box holders.”
“True,” Bogue murmured. He was suddenly embarrassed by Beth’s bluntness. “Where would you like to work?”
“That’s up to you.”
The room was a small one, but in the rear toward the vault was a desk flanked by two chairs where Bogue took customers for the more confidential type of talk. Bogue cleared off the desk, seated Beth at it and then wheeled in the truck containing the first half-dozen balance-sheet ledgers.
Beth thanked him, and Bogue left her. Retreating to his office he closed the door, drew out a cigar, lighted it and then contemplated the calendar on the wall above his desk. Something was happening. Along with the rest of the town and county, he had heard about the quarrel between Beth and her brother. He had refused to discuss it in public, but in private with Mrs. Bogue he had speculated with deep interest on the cause of the quarrel and its effect upon him. He had agreed with his wife that he should take neither side—up to a point. When that point was reached, he must place himself definitely on the side of Ben.
He kept that firmly in mind during the next few minutes as he prowled past Beth’s desk on made-up errands which took him into the vault. Beth was working on the B’s when he first passed her. On his second cruise he noticed that the B ledger had been replaced and that the H ledger was missing.
Once in the vault he decided to risk it. Picking up the air-foam cushion from a chair that faced the cubbyhole shelf for the use of safe-deposit box owners, he left the vault and went straight to Beth’s desk and halted. Beth looked up inquiringly.
“Beth, if you’re going to work there you might as well be comfortable,” Bogue said, and indicated a cushion. “Let me fix it for you.”
“Oh, thank you,” Beth said, rising.
Harry made a pretense of adjusting the cushion to the chair. Bent over so that his eyes were screened from Beth, he glanced quickly at the open ledger. In that split second before he straightened up, smiled and left, he saw that Beth had been studying Ben’s balance sheet.
Back in his office, Bogue closed the door behind him, then opened it an inch and watched Beth. In a matter of minutes she rose and went over to the bookkeeper. In a moment the bookkeeper stood up, retreated to the vault and presently came out with several boxes of microfilm which she inserted in the Recordak. This was a machine which photographed each check on microfilm and then projected the microfilm on the small screen at the machine’s base.
Bogue watched the bookkeeper insert the microfilm and then slowly turn the crank. Beth watched the screen for a couple of minutes, then dismissed the girl and handled the crank herself. Suddenly Bogue’s phone rang.
The jangle startled him and he swore softly before closing the door to answer it. He spent the next fifteen minutes discussing details of an insurance policy with one of the local garage owners, and all that time he could barely control his patience. When the call was finished, he went over to the door again, opened it an inch and peered out. Beth was gone and the bookkeeper was back at her calculator.
Bogue moved over to the girl and halted beside her. When she looked up, Bogue said, “What did she want?”
“Miss Hodes? She was looking over the canceled checks.”
“I know that,” Bogue said irritably. “What was she after?”
“She didn’t say. She asked for the last ten days’ microfilm.”
“You haven’t any idea what she was after?”
“No sir, Mr. Bogue. All I know is while I was operating the machine she stopped the crank on several of Mr. Hodes’s checks.”
“What else did she want?”
“She looked at the deposit slips for the last ten days, then she left.”
Bogue grunted and went back into his office. Gently he closed the door and sat down. As a member of the Board of Directors and as a forty-three per cent stockholder in the bank, Beth had every right to do what she was doing. Still Bogue knew that Ben, especially in view of his quarrel with Beth, would hotly resent her snooping. He knew that if Ben were here she would never have tried it.
By now the bank’s doors were open and Bogue was in the thick of the day’s business. But the memory of Beth’s visit lay in the back of his mind, building up through the next hour into a nagging indefinable worry.
It took just one phone call to push him to his decision. Around eleven o’clock he received this call.
“Harry?”
Bogue instantly recognized the irritable, scolding voice of Olive Lindsay. “Yuh,” Harry answered.
“Something’s going on out here and I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe you can help me.”
“Yuh,” Bogue said wearily.
“Beth’s been out here wanting to see the company books. She’s in Ben’s office now with a list of stockholders. What do I do?”
Bogue sat up, alarm stilling him for a long moment.
“If you want to keep your job, you let her,” Bogue said.
He could hear Olive snort. “She’s up to no good, you can bet.”
“That’s not for you to judge,” Bogue said stuffily.
Gently Bogue cradled the phone. For perhaps fifteen seconds he considered the information which Olive had passed on to him. Then he lifted the receiver, dialed the operator and when he had her, said, “Long Distance, get me the Brown Palace in Denver. I want to speak to Mr. Ben Hodes, person to person.”
Both Sarah and Sam Horne were already in the restaurant when Tully stepped in the door. He looked inquiringly at Sarah even before saying good morning, and he saw immediately that they had had no word from Beth yet.
Sam growled, “I ought to be at work. Order me another, cup of coffee, will you, Tully?”
Tully went over to the counter to leave the order, glancing at the clock on his way. It was after ten and Beth should have her information by now.
Carrying two cups of coffee back to the booth, Tully sat down. “You figure Bogue is giving her a hard time?” he asked.
“Not that guy,” Sam said. “Not to anybody by the name of Hodes. I’ll bet by now he’s wrung his hands until they’re bleeding.” At that moment Tully heard the door open and glanced up. It was Beth. As she approached, Tully tried to read in her face the news she had for them, and he felt a sudden discouragement. There was no elation there, nothing but a kind of baffled concern.
Beth slipped into the seat beside Sam. He demanded brusquely, “What did you turn up?”
Beth drew off her gloves. “At the bank, nothing,” she said in a discouraged voice. “Ben wrote one check for cash for five hundred dollars. I’m sure that was to pay for his convention trip. Byers had a couple of small deposits, but they were both by check.”
Tully felt a leaden weight of discouragement settle within him. Beneath the table top, Sarah reached over and put her hand in his as if in silent sympathy.
“What about at the Mahaffey?” Sam asked.
“I got the list of stockholders and the list of recent stock transfers,” Beth said, delving into her purse. “Frankly they don’t mean anything to me.”
“Any within the last ten days?” Tully asked.
Beth pulled the slip of paper from her purse and consulted her list. “Yes, one. It was ten shares to the Gold Medal Live Stock Association, whoever they are.”
“What’s the date of that transfer?” Tully asked.
“Last week.”
Tully swiveled his glance to Sarah, then looked again at Beth. “What’s the address of this Gold Medal Live Stock Association?”
Again Beth consulted her paper. “Galena.”
Tully looked wonderingly at Sarah. “Ben in the cattle business?” Tully murmured. “Does that make sense, Beth?”
Beth shrugged. “News to me.”
Sarah said softly then, “Wait a minute. Let me on the phone, Tully.”
Tully rose and followed Sarah back to the phone booth in the rear. When he heard her ask for long distance and then for the County Clerk at the Galena County Courthouse, he dutiful
ly held out a handful of change. When Sarah had made her deposit, she identified herself as the deputy County Clerk at Azurite. “I wonder if you could give me some information?” She went on, “Your county has a file of Trade Name Affidavits. I wonder if you’d look up the Gold Medal Live Stock Association affidavit. That’s right, Gold Medal. I’d like to know whose signatures appear on it.”
Sarah settled back against the wall, looking up at Tully.
“What’s this?” Tully demanded.
“State law,” Sarah said. “Anybody doing business under anything but his own name has to file a trade-name affidavit. It’s—” Sarah straightened up and said into the phone—”yes?”
She listened intently, and then said in a quavering voice, “I’ve got it. Thank you very much.”
Her hand holding the receiver sank to her lap as she hooked up at Tully.
“The Gold Medal Live Stock Association affidavit was signed by Justin Byers and William Wishnack.”
By noon Sarah had come to an important decision. She knew now that Tully had his weapon which he would use ferociously against Ben. Chances were that Ben was checked for good.
That left one more thing to clean up, Sarah decided—the matter of Tully’s dishonesty. It was only fair to Kevin to tell him, and yet she shrank from seeing him. Today she had avoided him once. It had been Sam who carried the good news to old Kevin that morning while she had busied herself getting a ride for Tully on a truck going to Galena. And yet Kevin must be told and told soon, Sarah decided.
At twelve o’clock she locked up the office, her mind made up. But as she stepped out into the gray day and headed toward the apartment, her resolution began to waver. Once Tully was home with photostats of the Trade Name affidavit, it would be a time for festivity and celebration. It seemed cruel and heartless to wreck their good spirits by stripping Tully of all honor in front of Kevin.
A block ahead of her, she saw Beth leave the Nugget office and head upstreet, and she knew that Sam would be alone during the lunch hour. On impulse she turned into the Nugget office, stamping the slush from her overshoes before she entered. Sam, coatless, was seated at his typewriter, and when he heard the door close he looked up, grinned, rose and came over to the counter. “Tully get off?”
