Part 24 (1/2)
Then he laid down the cloth and got a roll of tape out of a drawer. He cut off a length and made a noose, slipped it over his wrists, bent down and laid the end of the tape on the floor, stood on it, and pulled taut the noose until the flesh was ridged. He stooped again and picked up two metal disks which Starr tossed on the floor; the detective did this easily, although his writs were noosed.
”Not the exact program, perhaps, but near enough,” Starr commented.
With equal ease Bixby laid the disks carefully on the f.l.a.n.g.e of the sill of the vault. Then he took the cloth from the desk, went to the vault, stooped and thumped his head up against the projecting lever. He went into the vault and carefully pulled the door shut after him, both hands on the main bolt.
Starr was silent for some moments, exchanging looks with the cas.h.i.+er.
”Any comments?” inquired the manager of the show.
”None, sir.”
”I'll simply say that the chloroform cloth can be put to the nose as occasion calls for. Bixby isn't doing that. I told Bixby that for the purposes of demonstration he might count one hundred slow and then figure that he had used up the oxygen in the vault, and then, if n.o.body came to open the door, he could--well, he isn't in there to commit suicide, but only to create an impression. I ask again--any comments?”
Vaniman shook his head.
Then the door swung open. Bixby was on his back, his heels in the air.
He had pushed the door with his feet, his shoulders against the inner door. He rose and came out. Starr cut the tape with the office shears.
”That's all!” said the manager.
Bixby, not troubling about the torn office jacket, put on his overcoat and departed.
Starr took a lot of time in lighting a cigar and getting a good clinch on the weed with his teeth. He spoke between those teeth. ”It's your move, Vaniman.”
”I haven't agreed to sit in at that kind of a game,” stated the young man, firmly.
”But you'll have to admit that I'm playing mighty fair,” insisted the examiner. ”When we talked in Britt's office, you and I agreed that it wasn't likely that a chap would run risks or commit suicide by shutting himself up in a bank vault with a time lock on. That's about the only point we did agree on. I'm showing you that I don't agree with you now, even on that point. That being the case, you've got to--show _me_.”
Starr emphasized the last two words by stabbing at his breast with the cigar.
”The idea is, Mr. Starr, you believe that I framed a fake robbery, or something that looked like a robbery, in order to cover myself.” Frank stood up and spoke hotly.
Mr. Starr jumped up and was just as heated in his retort. ”Yes!”
”But the whole thing--the muddling of the bank's books--the disks--a man shoving himself into the vault--I'd have to be a lunatic to perform in that fas.h.i.+on!”
”They say there's nothing new under the sun! There is, just the same!
Some crook is thinking up a new scheme every day!”
”By the G.o.ds, you shall not call me a crook!”
”You, yourself, are drawing that inference. But I don't propose to deal in inferences--”
”Starting in the first day you struck this town, hounding me on account of matters I had no knowledge of, Mr. Starr, was drawing a d.a.m.nable inference.”
”It has been backed up by some mighty good evidence!”
”What is your evidence?”
The examiner blew a cloud of smoke, then he fanned the screen away and squinted at Vaniman. ”If you ever hear of me giving away the state's case in any matter where I'm concerned you'll next hear of me committing suicide by locking myself into a bank vault. Calm down, Mr. Cas.h.i.+er!”