Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 90: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~~ 80 TRE ARGOSY. | ° ‘‘ Shirts,” he explained briefly to his fel- low teller. He untied the box, which might have held a dozen shirts, but which in real- ity held only one. He held it up for the inspection of his coworker, carelessly drap- ping the box to the floor. ““A dozen of that?” laughed the other teller. “ Youre going strong for colors in, your old age.” Carlstach chuckled, carelessly laid the shirt down on a vacant place on his coun- ter, and went on with his work. It was al- most time for closing. The tin box, m whith he carried money to and from the vault, was at his side. But only the silver and gold and a few bills of the smaller de- nominations found their way into that re- ceptacte. The remainder, by 2 steight-of- hand that would have done credit to a world-renowned magician, went to the shirt box at Carlstach’s feet. His next move was pure inspiration. He had nothing to gain by it and everythmg to lose, but he could not resist the im- pulse to add a master Stroke of magic—a little joke for the amusement of those whom he would leave behind. He retrieved the shirt from the counter as if to replace 4 m its box, but, selecting his moment, he chucked it in the tin box at his side. Then he carried the tin box to his safe in the vault and twirled the knob. A few minutes later the great safe was locked with a time lock and would not open till morn- ing. When it opened he could fancy the. wild consternation that would reign in that unhallowed temple of Mammon, and the gaudy, many-colored shirt would only add to their chagrm. In the meanwhile, the absconder, to all imtents and purposes, would hie in the rrver—a corpse. He left the bank with the other teller. He was in a jocular mood. When his companion happened to jostle the shirt box, he said with mock reproval: “Don’t do that; there’s big money m that box.” “What you fixing to do, Carl—marry?” “Lord, no! Not making enough money for that. I bought these because they were cheap, and I needed the box.” Down the crowded sidewalk they walked side by side, like schoolboys out of school. Caristach quickly looked over his shoulder and said: “} thought I felt some ome looking at the back of my head. Don’t look just now, but old Sibert bas been following us. He’s * turning aside now.” After a minute his companion also turned. “ Yes,” he said, “ I just caught a glimpse of him—or somebody hooking like bim— stepping into a store.” , Which is another illusion that is not dif- ficult to work om a crowded street—if one chooses his man and the psychological mo- ment. ~ At midnight Carlstach drove to a se cluded spot m the bend of the river about 2 mile below the houseboat. He was ac- quainted with the locality—a lonely place fringed with willows and canebrakes and rank weeds, and safely distant from the lights of the cjty. In warm weather it was sometimes frequented by ‘“ bootleggers ” and gamblers, and sudden and mystertous deaths had been known to stalk im its shadows. Now, however, Carlstach had no appre hension that anyone was there. Bankers may disregard the elements on occasion, but gamblers and hucksters of contraband whisky do not frequent open spaces when surance dauble sure, he cut off his motor and stealthily explored the little wilderness. All was quiet; he was alone. With a bundle from the car, he went into the thicket and dressed as Sibert. He was dressed in conventional custom-made blue Serge not unlike that worn by hundreds of other young men in the city, but his blue serge would soon be reduced to ashes. He was taking no chances. It was no comfort- able undertaking. He shivered, and his teeth chattered with cold, but he changed raiment to the last vestige. “T’h be having another d— cold after this,” he thought. Then he started his car and stood aloof while it plunged into the river. It did not entirely disappear; the top showed above the water, but so much the better. On this rd com (-) OOKSRGS