Back in its cool, musty recesses I rented a safe-deposit box. Alma let me use her Xerox machine to copy the bonds and the title. I made two sets of copies. One I folded and tucked in the inside of my jacket; the other I placed in an envelope in my handbag. After putting the originals in the safe-deposit box I went back to Alma’s desk. She finished a phone call and looked at me inquiringly. Her warm smile seemed to be wearing a bit thin where I was concerned.

“You know how Lake View brags about being a full-service bank? I wonder if you’d keep this for me.” I held out the key to the box.

She shook her head, not even bothering with a smile. “I can’t do that, Vic. It’s completely against bank policy.”

I tapped my teeth with a knuckle, trying to think. “Could you mail it to me?”

She made a face. “I suppose. If you address the envelope and seal it yourself.”

She pulled an envelope from a drawer. I helped myself to a handful of scented tissues from the corner of her desk and wrapped the key in them. I addressed the envelope to myself in care of the owner of a bar I frequent downtown, the Golden Glow, and handed it to her.

“Now you have to admit that we are a full-service bank. Tell all your friends.” She laughed merrily and put the envelope in a tray marked for outgoing mail.

“Will do, Alma; you got my vote.”

I’d seen a pay phone next to the ladies’ room in the basement this morning on my earlier visit. I went downstairs to call Dorothy Fletcher, a broker I know.

“What can you tell me about Diamond Head bonds?” I asked after we’d exchanged pleasantries.

“Nothing. Want me to look them up and give you a call?”

“I’m not real reachable today. Could I hold while you check?”

She warned me I might have a long wait, but agreed to do it. I ended up watching the walls for nearly a quarter of an hour. Sylvia Wolfe came down to the ladies’ room and we exchanged waves. Nothing else disturbed the basement’s sepulchral air. As the minutes stretched by I regretted not carrying a book with me. Even a chair would have been welcome.

Dorothy came back on the line as I was counting the number of burned-out bulbs in the basement chandelier. “I hope you’re not thinking of buying these, Vic. They’re trading at nineteen—off a face value of a hundred, of course. That may sound like a bargain, but they didn’t meet their April interest payment and no one here believes they’ll be able to do it in October, either. On top of that they’re unsecured.”

“I see. Thanks, Dorothy—I’ll resist the impulse.”