The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 23 Classic Mystery Stories

False Alarm

Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Feb 1965.

I got to Rover about four o’clock on a Friday afternoon. Rover was a good name for the place, because it was really a dog. The only reason I stopped was because it was hot, I felt like a beer and the next town, according to my map, was twenty miles farther on.

I came in on a street called East Central Avenue and drove past block after block of identical square gray houses. Occasionally I spotted a small neighborhood store of some kind, but I saw no tavern signs at all. Nor did I see many people. The place gave the impression of being almost deserted, which was odd, inasmuch as a dilapidated sign at the edge of town had claimed a population of ten thousand.

I discovered the answer when I reached the center of town. There was a town square with a crumbling courthouse in its center, and all the major businesses in town were crammed along the four sides of the square.

It was no wonder the rest of the town had seemed deserted, because it seemed to me the bulk of the population must have been crowded into the square. For the most part the men wore blue coveralls and the women gingham dresses. Friday afternoon must be farmer’s shopping day, I thought.

I drove into the square before I realized what I was getting into. Two lanes of automobiles were circling the square at dirt-track speed, presumably all hunting parking places. More kept surging in from the feeder streets centering each of the square’s four sides. The standard method of gaining entry into the stream of circling traffic from the side streets seemed to be to close your eyes and bear down on the horn.

I made the circle twice with my heart in my throat, then escaped by one of the side streets and found a parking place a block away.

During my circling I had managed to spot a sign at the northeast corner of the square which read: Fat Sam’s Bar and Grill. When I got back to the square on foot, I headed directly for it.

Inside, there was a single large, cool room with a bar running the length of one wall and with a lot of round wooden tables spread around the remaining space. It seemed to be strictly a man’s bar, because there wasn’t a woman in the place. Only about half the tables were filled, but the bar was lined two deep.

As on the street, most of the men wore blue coveralls, though there was a sprinkling of younger men in slacks and jackets. I was the only one there in a coat and tie.

There was no table service. I managed to squeeze in at the end of the bar long enough to get a schooner of beer from the perspiring bartender, backed out and carried it over to one of the empty tables.

A young man of about twenty-one, neatly dressed in tan slacks and a light jacket, and also carrying a schooner of beer, reached the table at the same moment I did. We both stopped and looked at each other.

Then I grinned. “Guess there’s room for both of us. Sit down.”

Returning my grin a trifle abashedly, he pulled out a chair and sat. I took the one across from him. We each took a pull at our beer.

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he examined my necktie and said, “Visitor?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, examining him in return.

He was a thin, narrow-shouldered lad weighing only about a hundred and thirty pounds with close-set eyes and a rather shifty look. He would have made a lousy heist artist, because he looked too much like one. Which didn’t mean he was, of course. Most successful heisters look honest.

“Why would anyone visit this miserable town?” he inquired.

“Just passing through,” I told him. “Why do you call it miserable? It looks pretty lively to me.”

“Lively? Know what the teen-age kick is here? They turn in false alarms. There are so many false alarms, it’s almost an emergency situation. There’s nothing else for the kids to do.”

I said, “There seems to be a lot of adult activity.”

“Oh, on the square, sure. This joint is always crowded. But there’s no place to go except the town square, and look what you’ve got for companionship. A lot of dull-witted miners, drinking beer.”

“Miners?” I asked, glancing around the room. “I thought they were farmers.”

“Naw. They’re all employees of the Rover City Copper Mining Company, our sole industry. If the mine ever peters out, this town will dry up and blow away.”

When our schooners ran dry, I offered to buy two more if he would go after them. He accepted with such alacrity, I suspected he didn’t have much money.

Over the second beer he introduced himself as Andy Carr. I gave the name of George Snyder instead of my real one of Charles Gagnon. While it was hardly likely that a want for a couple of liquor-store heists would have spread this far, why take chances?

I asked, “You work in the mine, Andy?”

“Naw. That’s for morons. My old man does, though.”

“What’s your line?”

“Well, nothing right now,” he said, flushing a little. “I had a store job for a while, but they don’t pay nothing. Unless you’re in business, the only way to make a living around here is in the mine.”

Still living off his father at twenty-one, I thought. Here was a potential bum.

Glancing at the clock over the bar, he said, “A minute to five. In exactly sixty seconds old Sam will lug out his money bag. You can set your watch by him.”

“Who’s old Sam?” I asked.

“Fat Sam Cooney, the owner of this joint. Watch that door next to the kitchen door.”

I looked in the indicated direction. Just as I glanced that way the door opened and an enormous fat man of about fifty stepped out. During the moment that the door was open, I could see that beyond it was a small office.

The fat man was carrying a large canvas sack. He walked right past us and went out the door.

I gave Andy Carr an inquiring look.

“The week’s receipts,” Carr said. “The bank stays open until six on Friday, and Sam leaves here to make his deposit exactly at five every week. There were about twenty-five hundred bucks in that bag.”

The tone in which he said this made me look at him sharply. There had been a note of wistful envy in it. I wondered if perhaps his larcenous appearance accurately denoted his character after all.

I’m always on the lookout for possible scores, and twenty-five hundred clams was worth at least inquiring into.

I said idly, “Probably mostly in checks, huh? I imagine a lot of the miners cash their pay checks here.”

He shook his head. “The mine makes up its payroll in cash. Maybe there were a couple of small personal checks in that bag, but most of it was good old spendable cash.” Again I caught the note of wistful envy, as though he had often contemplated some means of relieving Fat Sam of one of his bags.

I sent up a trial balloon. “I should think some joker would knock the joint over some quiet night, with all that money lying around.”

He snorted. “What quiet night? This joint is always jammed like this from the minute it opens until it closes at midnight. The mine runs two tricks, and the off trick is always in here, because there’s no place else to go. I wouldn’t want to chance pulling a gun in the middle of fifty to sixty crazy miners. Those guys are too nuts to be afraid of a gun. They’d take it away and make you eat it.” Both his tone and his words suggested he had considered the possibility of a holdup. Perhaps it had been mere idle speculation as to how some professional might work it, with no thought of making an attempt himself, but you never know.

I said, “There would be nobody here in the middle of the night. I’m surprised some burglar hasn’t taken a crack at it.”

He almost laughed. “Did you notice the front door when you walked in? It’s three-inch oak and a bar goes across it from inside at night. The rear door has an inner door of steel bars and a burglar-proof lock. The windows are all barred. And if you got past all that, the money’s kept in a combination safe bolted to the office floor.”

He had analyzed all the possibilities of getting his hands on the money, I thought. Possibly it had been merely mental exercise for his own amusement, in the same way that some people dream up elaborate plans to rob Fort Knox without ever really intending to try, but more and more I was beginning to think he had real larceny in his soul.

I said, “Some joker could catch him at the rear door as he was locking up, force him back in and make him open the safe.”

“Yeah, except the back door opens onto the parking lot of the sheriff’s office and the lot’s lighted with floodlights. The desk of the night-duty deputy faces a window looking right at the tavern’s back door, and every night as he locks up, Fat Sam and the deputy wave to each other. I’ve checked.”

I gave him a quizzical smile and he flushed. “I mean I happened to be back there one night and I saw it,” he almost stammered. “I didn’t mean—” He let it die and averted his gaze when he saw my amused expression.

“I know what you mean,” I said. “You’ve figured all the angles you could think of, and so far have batted zero. Don’t be embarrassed. I wouldn’t mind taking a stab at it myself.”

His face jerked toward me. “You’re kidding.”

With my eyes fixed on his, I gave my head a slow shake. “Were you just casing the lay to amuse yourself, or were you in earnest?”

After a moment of astonished silence, he said, “Are you — I mean is your business—”

When his voice trickled off to nothing, I said quietly, “Never mind what I am, or what my business is. Are you interested in a partnership?”

He licked his lips and glanced furtively around. He would have made an excellent movie villain. Under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t have considered him as a possible partner in anything. In a strange town he probably would be picked up on suspicion by the first cop who saw him.

In this setup he had the advantage of having thoroughly cased the lay, though, which made him indispensable.

When he was satisfied that no one was eavesdropping, he asked in a suddenly husky voice, “Are you serious?”

“Totally.”

He had to look around again before saying, “Fifty-fifty?”

“Right down the middle. If you don’t quit gazing around as though you just picked a pocket, somebody’s going to wonder what’s eating you. Cut it out and just act natural, huh? Nobody’s close enough to hear us.”

“Sorry,” he said with a gulp. “This kind of takes the wind out of me. I mean I’ve dreamed about it, but I never expected—” His voice trailed off again.

I said, “Let’s get on with the discussion. I’m no safe cracker, so burglary is out. Hitting him in here is out too, if what you say is true. I’ve no more desire than you have to be torn apart by a bunch of crazy miners. That leaves hitting him between here and the bank. How far is the bank?”

“Right next door. And at five p.m. on a Friday there are as many miners wandering up and down the sidewalk as there are in here. We’d be up against the same thing.”

The problem was beginning to compare with knocking over Fort Knox. I was contemplating forgetting the whole thing and driving on when there was a rending crash of metal from outside.

Instantly customers began streaming out the door. Andy Carr jumped up too and joined the exodus. As the only windows in the place were small, barred squares too high to see out of, the only way to learn what all the excitement was about was to trail along.

I was the last customer out of the place, leaving only the bartender behind. And even he came as far as the doorway to peer out.

On the far side of the square a couple of cars had collided. All traffic had stopped and a couple of hundred people were converging on the scene from all directions.

By the time I reached the edge of the crowd, a solid mass of humanity covered that whole side of the square. The low wall which boxed in the courthouse lawn was crammed with spectators on that side, gaping above the heads of the crowd. Others stood on the lawn and courthouse steps.

I couldn’t see anything, but I did locate Andy Carr.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Just a couple of smashed fenders, I guess,” he said, disgusted that it wasn’t more serious. “See what I mean about this dead town?”

“How’s that?”

“Everybody rushes to see anything at all that happens. It’s because there’s so little else to get excited about.”

His words popped an idea into my head. If the accident had occurred ten minutes earlier, just as Fat Sam Cooney carried his money bag from the office, only the proprietor and the bartender would have been left in the place.

I turned to look back toward the tavern. On that side of the square some people were staring from the windows of the bank next door to the tavern, and a number of businessmen and clerks were peering from the doorways and through the show windows of stores, but there wasn’t a soul on the sidewalk. Everyone who wasn’t working seemed to have rushed to see the accident.

If a similar distraction could be arranged the following Friday, just as Fat Sam emerged from his office—

I said to Andy, “How do I get in touch with you?”

“You going?” he asked.

“I want to check into a motel. Can we get together tonight to resume our conversation?”

“Sure. At Fat Sam’s?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think we ought to get too thick in public. Got a phone?”

“Yeah. It’s listed under my dad’s name. Joseph Carr on Bodie Street. It’s in the book.”

“I’ll phone at exactly nine p.m.,” I said. “Make a point of answering personally.”

“Okay. The best motel is the Shady Lane, about a mile from the square out North Main.” He pointed to the street bisecting the north side of the square.

I gave him a nod of thanks and walked off.

If the Shady Lane Motel was the best in Rover, I pitied the guests at the others. It consisted of a row of paintless square cabins with flat, tarpaper roofs which absorbed sunlight, converted it into heat, and poured the heat into the rooms below. The rugless floor of my cabin creaked, and the shower dripped.

It was clean, though, and it was certainly reasonable. I paid twenty-five dollars for a full week.

There was no phone in my cabin, so I lingered at the restaurant where I had dinner until nine o’clock, then phoned Andy Carr from the restaurant booth. He must have been waiting at the phone, because he answered in the middle of the first ring.

“Andy?”

“Yeah.”

“George Snyder. Do you have a car?”

“No.”

“Hmm. How far are you from the Shady Lane Motel?”

“Only about a half-mile. I can walk it.”

“Good. I’m in cabin five. Don’t check for me at the office. Just come straight there.”

“Right,” he said. “See you in about twenty minutes.”

By the time I got back to my cabin, it had cooled sufficiently for it to be quite comfortable. A knock sounded at nine-twenty-five. I opened the door, to find Carr standing there.

Letting him in, I closed and locked the door. I had already drawn the shades.

Glancing around, he said nervously. “This thing has already got me jumping out of my skin.”

“Want to drop it?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” he said quickly. “I’ll be all right.”

“Then sit down and we’ll talk it over. Want a drink?” I indicated a bottle of whiskey on the dresser.

He said he did, and I poured shots in both water glasses with which the cabin was furnished. “There’s no ice and no mix. Want water in it?”

“That’s okay.”

Carrying both glasses into the bathroom, I added water to each. When I came out again, he was seated in the only chair with his head cocked to one side, listening. I paused to listen too. All I could hear was a siren in the distance.

“Fire engines,” he said, grinning at me. “Probably kids again.”

“Oh,” I said. “I thought you heard someone coming.”

I handed him a drink and sat on the bed.

After we had sampled our drinks, I asked, “You’re sure you’re in this all the way? I don’t want to waste a lot of time planning this score, then have you chicken out at the last minute.”

“I’m in,” he said sincerely. “I’d do anything for enough money to blow this burg. I need a break.”

“Okay. Then I’ve got a tentative plan. Did you notice how fast Fat Sam’s place cleared today when that accident happened?”

“Sure. They even run out like that when a jet goes over. I told you there was nothing to do here.”

“Well, suppose we staged a similar diversion about one minute to five next Friday, so the place would empty just as Sam came from his office?”

His eyes grew round. “Why didn’t I ever think of that?” he breathed. “What kind of diversion?”

“I haven’t thought that far. It’s just a tentative idea. But we have a week to work on it. Now, the next question is, do you care if, after the event, everybody in town knows you were involved?”

This apparently hadn’t occurred to him, because he looked startled. His brow creased in a frown.

“It doesn’t make any difference to me,” I said. “I’m a stranger here, nobody knows my real name, and I don’t care if I ever come back again. But this is your home town. Fifteen minutes after the heist there will be radiograms about us going all over the state. All they’ll have on me is a description, and I’m a pretty average-looking guy. But your real name will go out, your known habits — everything. What about that?”

He asked uncertainly, “Couldn’t we wear masks?”

I gave him an amused smile. “You mean sit around in the joint wearing them, waiting for the diversion? Even if we did, if you disappear from town, everybody’s going to know why.”

It began to register on him that I was working up to something. “So what’s your suggestion?” he asked.

“I don’t think you ought to bug out. After the job, I think you ought to sit pat for a couple of weeks before you take off.”

“But suppose I’m recognized?”

“You won’t be there. I can handle Sam and the bartender alone. We’ll give you the safer job of creating the diversion.”

He eyed me fishily. “Then how do I collect my cut?”

“We’ll work that out some way. Arrange to meet somewhere in a couple of weeks.”

He gave his head a slow shake. “You mentioned a minute ago that nobody around here knows your real name, which, I suppose, includes me. It isn’t George Snyder, is it?”

“Nope,” I admitted cheerfully.

“Then I’d never find you if you left me holding the bag. I’m gonna stick right by your side until we split.”

I shrugged. I hadn’t really expected him to be that much of a patsy, but it had been worth the try. “Okay. I never skin a partner, but if you don’t trust me, we’ll work out something else. What’s your suggestion?”

He didn’t have any suggestions, so I made another one. I suggested we sleep on it.

As I unlocked the door to let him out, I said, “I want to case the lay some more. If you come in to Fat Sam’s tomorrow and see me there, don’t do any more than nod to me. Some of the customers may have noticed us talking today, and might think it funny if you completely ignored me. But we don’t want anyone to suspect we’re thick. We’re just casual acquaintances.”

All right,” he said. “You planning to park on the square tomorrow?”

“I’m not even going to drive onto it, if I can help it.”

“Then I’ll give you a tip. Lock your car. It would be safe on the square, because there’s always a lot of people around there, but not on a side street. Not even on a parking lot. The teen-agers in this town carry ignition jumpers. When they’re not turning in false alarms, they’re joy-riding in swiped cars. They always abandon them somewhere in town, so the owners get them back, but it’s a nuisance. Then, too, every so often they crack one up.”

“I’ll remember,” I said. “Now on further contacts, when’s the best time to catch you at home?”

“We eat at six. If you phoned at five of, you’d always catch me.”

“All right. I’ll make a point of calling you at five of six every evening, whether anything has developed or not. If something has, we’ll arrange another meeting.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll expect your call tomorrow then.”

I let him out and went to bed.

Saturday morning I put on a sport shirt and jacket so as to be less conspicuous in town. I skirted the square by taking the streets a block away from it and making a complete circle around it. There were parking lots behind the buildings on all four sides, I discovered the one immediately behind Fat Sam’s Bar and Grill was for the sheriff’s office, but on the east side there was a lot behind a supermarket. An alley running east and west cut into the northeast corner of the square and ran right past the parking lot, so that the tavern entrance wasn’t more than a hundred feet from the lot.

That would be the best place to leave the car while pulling the job, I decided. The next step was to carefully plan the escape route.

On the opposite side of the lot from the alley was East Central, the street by which I had entered town. I recalled that it was a stop street, clear to the edge of town, with no signal lights to slow you down.

Getting out a road map, I located a secondary road about a half-mile beyond the east edge of town which cut south for about two miles, then linked to a main highway which ran southwest. Southwest was the general direction in which I had been heading ever since I left New York.

I drove out East Central to the secondary road, cut across to the main highway, and turned right. I stayed on the highway for a good thirty miles to make sure no construction was going on which would sidetrack me into detours. Then I pulled into a station for gas, turned around, and drove back.

It would be unnecessary to heist a car for the job, I decided. Neither Fat Sam Cooney nor his bartender knew what mine looked like, and no one was likely to pay any attention when I drove off the parking lot after the job, because I planned to arrange things so that no alarm would be raised for some minutes afterward. I figured I should be thirty miles on my way before the cops could get road blocks set up or trace my car.

Parking on the supermarket lot, I carefully locked the car and walked up the alley to the tavern. I timed the walk by the sweep hand of my watch. It took me twenty-five seconds.

The square wasn’t as crowded as it had been yesterday, but there were still a lot of people roaming the sidewalks. Fat Sam’s was just as crowded, though.

Andy Carr wasn’t in the place.

I had one beer. Then, as it was now approaching noon, I crossed the square to a restaurant for lunch. I got back about one p.m. and sat at a table the rest of the afternoon.

The crowd never abated. As fast as customers left, others filtered in. As my partner had indicated, there was no period slack enough to make a heist feasible.

About four-thirty Andy Carr came in, gave me a distant nod and went to the bar, where he got into conversation with a miner. He was learning, I noted with satisfaction, because he didn’t throw a single furtive look in my direction.

He left again at five-thirty. I waited another twenty-five minutes, then phoned him from the tavern’s booth. He answered immediately.

All day I had been musing over what kind of diversion we could plan to take place at exactly a minute to five on Friday, but nothing had jelled. I said, “No ideas so far. How about you?”

“I haven’t figured anything.”

“Then I’ll call you again tomorrow,” I said, and hung up.

The tavern was closed on Sunday, which I didn’t discover until I had driven downtown in the afternoon and found the square deserted. I killed the day by checking the escape route once again, this time taking the main highway a full hundred miles southwest without running into any construction.

If only I could think of a practical diversion, it would be in the bag.

The idea hit me on Monday. After lunch, as I was leaving the restaurant across the square from Fat Sam’s, I noted a small crowd gathered at the southwest corner and ambled over to see what was going on.

I must be picking up the habits of the townspeople, I thought ruefully, when I discovered what the attraction was. Like them, I was beginning to rush to rubberneck at anything which might relieve the boredom.

A workman was removing a fire-alarm box from a post and installing a new one.

I had walked away before the idea hit me. The alarm box was diagonally across the square from the tavern. Fire trucks pulling up there with their sirens whining would certainly empty the tavern. And that was something which could be timed almost to the second.

When I phoned Andy Carr at the usual time that night, I said, “Meeting tonight, same time.”

Again he showed just before nine-thirty. When I had mixed drinks for both of us, I got down to business.

“I’ve figured out the diversion,” I said. “You know that fire-alarm box at the southwest corner of the square?”

After thinking, he shook his head. “I never noticed it.”

“Well, there’s one there. Friday, just before five o’clock, you’re going to turn in a false alarm.”

His eyes widened. “In front of everybody? The square’s jammed at that time.”

“You’d be surprised at what you can get away with in a crowd, if you act natural,” I said. “If you just casually reach out and pull the hook as you walk by, I doubt that you’ll even be noticed.”

“But there’s a glass you have to break first,” he objected.

“You can take care of that late Thursday night, when the square’s deserted. Nobody’s likely to notice the glass is missing, because they just installed a new box today. They won’t be checking it so soon.”

After thinking this over, he became a little more enthusiastic. “Yeah, it should work. When fire engines come tearing into the square, the tavern should empty like magic.”

“We’ll have to figure just how long it will take engines to get to the scene. Where’s the fire station?”

“Out West Central, six blocks from the square. I’d guess it would take them about three minutes.”

“We’ll have to time it exactly,” I said. “Do you happen to know where there’s an alarm box six blocks from the station in some other direction than the square?”

He thought about it, finally shook his head. “I never went in for false alarms like the other kids when I was younger. I don’t know where any of them are.”

“I’ll drive around and check tomorrow,” I told him. “Meanwhile, we may as well work out the other details. Can you drive?”

“Sure.”

“Then here’s the plan. I’ll handle the inside work, and you’ll do the getaway driving. The car will be parked on the lot behind that supermarket on the east side of the square. It’s a gray Plymouth sedan with New York plates. After you pull the alarm, walk without hurry over to the lot, get the engine started, and face the car toward the exit onto East Central. When I come along with the money bag and jump in, head up East Central at a normal rate of speed.”

“I’ll need the keys,” he said. “How do I get them?”

After a moment’s thought, I said, “I’ll drive onto the lot at four-thirty. You be there. I’ll toss you the keys and head for the tavern. You head for the southwest corner of the square. Okay?”

“All right,” he agreed. “What happens after we take off?”

“Nobody will know you were involved in the heist, so I think you ought to follow my original suggestion and stay right in town. I’ll divide the loot as we’re driving up East Central, you can pull over and get out with your cut, a few blocks from the scene. I’ll slip over in the driver’s seat and keep going.”

The plan seemed to please him, for he smiled. “That sounds smooth.”

“That’s all for now,” I told him. “I’ll phone you again tomorrow at the usual time.”

After he was gone, I considered means of taking off with the whole take. As I would have a gun and he wouldn’t, it would be simple merely to force him out of the car empty-handed when he stopped on East Central.

I finally decided against this, though. It probably would make him sore enough to phone the sheriff an anonymous tip describing my car and giving the license number. It seemed better just to short-change him. As I would be doing the splitting and his attention would be on driving, it would be easy to count most of the big bills into my stack and drive off with two-thirds of the loot. As he wouldn’t know exactly what the bag contained, he could never be sure he’d been short-changed, no matter what he suspected when he counted his cut.

Tuesday I reconnoitered the area immediately around the fire station. Aside from the one at the square, there were no alarm boxes exactly six blocks from it. I found some at four-block distance and at eight-block distance, but I wanted exact timing.

Finally it occurred to me how to get it without needing an alarm box.

That evening when I phoned Carr, I set up another meeting. When he arrived at the usual time, I explained how we would make the test.

“There are no alarm boxes at the right distance from the station,” I said. “But you can phone in an alarm as easily as you can pull a hook. At exactly five minutes to five tomorrow, I want you to phone the fire station and report a fire at West Central and Clark. That’s exactly the same distance as the square, but in the opposite direction. How good a watch do you have?”

“Pretty good. It loses about a minute a month.”

“That’s only two seconds a day,” I said. “Mine gains about the same, so I’ll set it four seconds slower than yours. Let’s coordinate watches.”

After we had adjusted our watches, there was nothing to do until the next day.

At ten of five on Wednesday I parked at the corner of Clark and Woodrow, which was a block north of West Central and gave me a good view of the intersection of West Central and Clark.

At four minutes of five I heard a siren begin to sound from the direction of the firehouse, which meant it had taken just one minute after the alarm for the first engine to get rolling. A minute and forty seconds later a pump truck pulled up at the intersection with its siren tapering off to a moan.

Andy’s guess of three minutes had been within twenty seconds.

We wanted the first engine to arrive at the square at one minute to five on Friday. An earlier arrival might cause Fat Sam to run to see what the excitement was, along with the customers, before he took the money from the safe. A later one would allow him to get out of the tavern while it was still full of customers. As a few seconds one way or the other wouldn’t matter, however, I decided that if Andy pulled the hook at four minutes to five, the timing would be just about right.

There was no point in holding another meeting just for that. When I phoned Andy at the usual time, I said, “All set. I’ll give you the exact time when I see you at the parking lot Friday.”

“Okay,” he said. “Until four-thirty Friday, then.”

I stayed away from the tavern the next day. At four-thirty p.m. on Friday I pulled onto the supermarket parking lot and backed into a slot. Andy Carr strolled over from the alley as I got out of the car.

I locked the car before tossing him the keys. He would have plenty of time to unlock it, and I didn’t want to chance some teen-ager lousing us up by deciding to take a joy ride at the crucial moment.

“Did you take care of that glass last night?” I asked.

“There wasn’t any. It’s a new type of box that just has a little door you lift. When shall I pull it?”

“Exactly at four minutes to five. Let’s check watches again.”

They were together to the second.

Minutes later I was seated at a table in Fat Sam’s with a beer before me. It wasn’t until then that it occurred to me that, while Andy and I had coordinated time, we hadn’t checked to see if we agreed with the tavern clock. Hurriedly I glanced at my watch, then at the clock over the bar.

I relaxed when I saw that they were within seconds of each other.

At a quarter of five the fat proprietor came from behind the bar carrying a stack of bills, which I assumed represented the day’s receipts so far. When he entered the small office, for an instant I thought he was going to jump the gun and spoil all our plans. But as time passed without the door reopening, I realized he was probably counting money and making up a deposit slip.

At four minutes to five my heart began to pump, as it always does just before a job. Andy would be pulling the hook right now, I thought. And now he’s walking toward the parking lot.

At three minutes to five there was the growl of a siren some blocks away. Conversation ceased, and customers cocked their heads to listen. As the siren neared, one or two began to drift toward the door.

At a minute and twenty seconds to five the scream of the siren rose to a crescendo, then died off as the first engine entered the square. Customers scrambled toward the door in a body.

My partner would be in the car by now, I thought, and would probably already have the engine going.

Because the patrons could crowd through the door no more than two at a time, it took a little longer than I anticipated for the room to empty. But it worked out just right. The door swung closed behind the last one exactly at five.

The bartender moved from behind the bar and started to walk toward the door at the same moment the office door opened and Fat Sam stepped out carrying a canvas money bag.

Standing up, I drew my gun and said, “Freeze, both of you!”

Both stared at me with their mouths open. The barkeep slowly raised his hands.

“Drop the bag, Sam,” I said, aiming the gun at the fat man.

The sack hit the floor with a plop, and his hands shot overhead.

“Into the office, both of you,” I ordered, gesturing with my gun.

They didn’t give me any trouble. Both scurried into the room, eager to please.

Standing in the doorway, I glanced around the room. The only window was identical to those in the barroom, high and barred.

I said to Sam, “Get up the key to this door. And do it fast.”

He dropped his right hand, still leaving the left raised, and felt in his pants pocket. Producing an old-fashioned key, he tossed it to me.

Backing out, I locked them in and dropped the key into my pocket.

When I hit the street, carrying the canvas sack, no one at all was on this side of the square. The opposite side was jammed, though.

Unhurriedly I walked up the alley. The car was parked exactly where I had left it.

But Andy Carr wasn’t in the driver’s seat, and the car was still locked.

I turned cold. Even if I had been able to get into the car, I had nothing with which to make an ignition bridge. Rapidly I strode back down the alley and gazed at the crowd across the square. What the devil had happened to the idiot?

Returning to the car, I stood next to it in frustrated indecision for a couple of minutes. When Andy still failed to appear, I started checking cars parked nearby. All of them were locked.

Too much time was passing for it to be safe to linger any longer. At any moment the first customers would be drifting back into Fat Sam’s.

In desperation I headed on foot up East Central, hoping that I could flag down a ride and take over the car at gunpoint.

There was a lot of traffic on East Central, but it was all heading for the square. I had plodded six blocks before a shiny black sedan going in my direction came along. When I signaled with my thumb, it pulled over to the curb.

Too late I saw the small round sheriff’s department insigne on the front door. Before I could reach for my gun, I was covered by the deputy seated next to the driver.

I let the sack fall and raised my hands.

On the way back to the sheriff’s office, I asked bitterly, “What went wrong?”

“A couple of things,” the deputy who had handcuffed me said. “For one, while it was smart of you to lock Sam and his bartender in the office, you neglected to notice the phone on his desk. He was phoning us about you as you walked out the door.”

After glumly considering this, I said, “What was the other thing I did wrong?”

“Your choice of a partner. Andy Carr is locally known as the gutless wonder. The minute we realized the false alarm had been turned in to clear the tavern, we knew Andy had to be your accomplice. It took us roughly two minutes to break him down and get the whole story.”

“But how did you catch up with him?” I inquired.

The deputy laughed. “We didn’t have to. He waited for us. We’ve had so much trouble with false alarms around here, the fire department just installed a new type of alarm box. When you pull the hook, a manacle automatically closes around your wrist and holds you there until the battalion chief arrives with a key.”