Ruskin turned and walked out to the curb, cane in one hand, the other clutching the handle of the suitcase, the weight of its contents tilting his right shoulder downward. He pushed it through the cab’s door and reentered the backseat.

The desk clerk thought it odd that Ruskin hadn’t left the bag in the cab. He wondered why Ruskin would lug such a heavy case into the lobby and then carry it outside again. He speculated that something of value must be inside. His thought soon faded when another guest showed up to register.

Eight minutes later, Ruskin stepped from the cab, paid the driver, and entered the Salt Lake Bank & Trust lobby. He walked to the security guard who was seated in a chair near the door.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Cardoza.”

The guard rose to his feet and motioned toward a frosted-glass door. “You’ll find Mr. Cardoza in there.”

There had been no reason for Ruskin to ask the guard where to go. He could just as easily have seen the bank manager’s office door. The guard did not notice that Ruskin had observed him closely, how he moved, his age, and how he placed the holster, containing a new .45 caliber Model 1905 Colt Browning automatic pistol, at his hip. The brief study also revealed the guard was not particularly alert and watchful. Day after day of seeing customers come and go without the slightest disturbance had made him listless and indifferent. He didn’t appear to find anything unusual about Ruskin’s big case.

The bank had two tellers behind the counter in their cages. The only other employees except for the guard were Cardoza and his secretary. Ruskin studied the big steel door to the vault that was open to the lobby to impress the customers and suggest that their savings were in solid, protective hands.

He approached the secretary. “Hello, my name is Eliah Ruskin. I have a two-thirty appointment with Mr. Cardoza.”

An older woman in her fifties with graying hair smiled and stood up without speaking. She walked to a door with ALBERT CARDOZA, MANAGER painted on the upper part of the frosted-glass pane, knocked, and leaned in. “A Mr. Eliah Ruskin to see you.”

Cardoza quickly came to his feet and rushed around his desk. He shoved out a hand and shook Ruskin’s palm and fingers vigorously. “A pleasure, sir. I’ve looked forward to your arrival. It’s not every day we greet a representative from a New York bank that is making such a substantial deposit.”

Ruskin lifted the suitcase onto Cardoza’s desk, unlocked the catches, and opened the lid. “Here you are, half a million dollars in cash to be deposited, until such time we decide to withdraw it.”

Cardoza reverently stared at the neatly packed and bundled fifty-dollar gold certificate bills as though they were his passport to a banker’s promised land. Then he looked up in growing surprise. “I don’t understand. Why not carry a cashier’s check instead of five hundred thousand dollars in currency?”