“I’ll keep in touch, Ella,” he said. “If anyone asks for me, tell ’em I’ve gone to Scotland on business. It’s important that no one should know where I really am.”
Leaving Ella thrilling with intrigue, he had picked up his hag, slung his mackintosh and overcoat over his arm and ran down the steps. It was while he was waiting for a taxi that Leo suddenly appeared. George put down his hag and stroked the cat. He suddenly realized that he was going to miss Leo. Leo meant so much to him: understanding, companionship, love even—odd things like that.
A taxi drew up, and George opened the door, put his bag and overcoat on the seat and gave the driver Eva’s address. Then, without stopping to think, he picked Leo up, and got into the taxi.
He was glad now that Leo was with him He had hoped that Cora would have filled the hollow loneliness of his life, but somehow, although they were together so much, she seemed like a stranger. She talked, but her talk meant nothing. There was no love nor understanding in her look. She might really not be there.
Leo did not like Cora, and whenever she was in the room the cat would creep under the settee; but alone with George it would reveal an affection for him which did much to comfort the big, wretched man.
Sitting in the armchair, Leo on his knee, George made plans to rob a bank. It would have to be a village hank, he decided. There was only one way to discover the right kind of bank. He would have to hire a car, and he would also have to leave Cora for a few days. He must never incriminate her. He guessed she knew that he was the mysterious robber who masked his face with a white handkerchief. But they had reached a silent understanding that they should not mention the fact. If he were caught, she must know nothing about the robberies.
So it was arranged. George explained to Cora that he had to go off on business. She gave him a quick look, read his expression correctly, and agreed without protest. He hired a car, and after putting Leo in a cat’s home for a few days—he did not trust Cora to feed the cat—he set off for Brighton.
It took him three days to find the bank he was looking for. It was a tiny place in a village a few miles from Brighton. The staff consisted of only a branch manager who opened the hank twice a week. It did not take George long to obtain the information he needed. It was extraordinary how easy it was to rob the place. Of course, he had thought out a plan and had spent a lot of time on the ground, but somehow he felt it shouldn’t have been quite so easy. He entered the hank at a few minutes to three, just as the branch manager was closing the door. There was no one else in the bank, and the manager, a red-faced, cheerful man of about sixty, shut the door and bolted it before attending to George.
“You’re the last customer, sir,” he said, rubbing his hands. “I want some golf this afternoon.”
George hit him with his clenched fist in exactly the spot where he had hit the garage attendants. The manager slumped to the floor, and that was all there was to it. George helped himself to two hundred pounds. If there had been more he would have taken it, but two hundred pounds wasn’t to be sneezed at. He left by the back way, drove to London without incident and handed the car hack to the garage where he had hired it.