use the kind of money I’m talking about. It would only scare folk like you. You wouldny know whit to do wi’ it. All you’ve got to do is tell me what Sammy fixed up wi’ Hamish and I can take it off your hands and give you plenty o’ money you’d be glad to use.’
‘Money, money, money!’ she cried. ‘I’ve told you. If you’re trying to tell me Sammy Phinn passed a lot of money to my man you’re up the wrong close. As a matter of fact many’s the time my Hamish lent his brother money, money he never got back.’
‘Oh aye, they were thick,’ the stranger granted. ‘Your man was good to his twin. Sammy told me that himself.’
‘Aye, they were twins but quite different,’ Mrs Phinn said proudly. ‘My Hamish was a good man. He was never the gambler and the drinker and the thief his brother was. It was Sammy broke old Granny Phinn’s heart. In and out of jail, in and out of jail.’
‘Look, missis,’ said the stranger aggrievedly. ‘Stop kidding me. You know fine it was Sammy did the Finnieston bank that Thursday.’
Mrs Phinn let out a little scream and her rough hand went to her flat chest and then fluttered to her mouth in alarm. ‘Sammy Phinn never did a bank in his life,’ she cried. ‘He wouldn’t dare. Wee sweetie-shops and pubs was his level. A bank! He could no more have did a bank than fly in the air.’
‘He did that one all right,’ the stranger answered. ‘The sweetie shops and the pubs all went to experience, missis. A man’s got to learn. He took a year working on it. Got it organized.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Mrs Phinn.
‘He brought out forty-five thousand pound,’ the stranger bashed on, clutching her elbow now though she was too shocked to move. ‘He had it in two suitcases and there wasn’t more than three quid in his pocket the day he was killed. It’s a lot o’ money, missis. It canny just have walked.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t help you,’ Mrs Phinn panted. She was frightened. ‘I never knew a thing about forty-five thousand pound, I can tell you that. And what’s more I don’t want to know about it. I’d rather have a clear conscience and my night’s sleep than all your money.’
‘You keep your conscience and I’ll rest content wi’ the money,’ the stranger bargained. ‘The point is I haveny got it. I think you’ve got it. Sammy had it all in two suitcases when I drove the car away that night. But we couldny stop and divide it at Anderston Cross at two o’clock in the morning, could we? Sammy said we was just to wait till things got quiet. He got out of the car at the Saltmarket and I know he took a taxi your way. I heard him. He went to see Hamish wi’ the money. The next thing I hears he’s deid and there’s nae money on him. Nothing in the bank, nothing in the post-office, nothing in his digs. Missis, this is serious. Hamish must have said something to you.’
‘No, I’m afraid you’re wrong,’ Mrs Phinn told him sincerely. She was beginning to think the man was mad, and she felt less frightened. He could be humoured. ‘Hamish never mentioned that kind of money to me, and I can assure you—’
‘You’re a bloody assurance society, you are!’ the stranger interrupted her peevishly. She was sure there was a mad look in his eyes the way he glared at her.
‘Yes, I can assure you,’ she sailed on, not at all put out by his rudeness. She was used to the way Percy talked to her. ‘I can assure you my man wasn’t the sort of man to get mixed up in bank robberies. Bank robberies! For goodness sake! Huh-hm!’
She gave one of her special snorts, the violent kind that jarred Percy’s nerves.
They glowered at each other, neither yielding, and Mrs Phinn jerked her elbow free from the stranger’s clutch.
‘Why don’t you just go home and go to your bed?’ she suggested. ‘You’ve been watching the telly too much.’
‘Oh, Jesus Christ!’ the stranger cried in pain. He seemed on the point of weeping.
‘Now, I don’t like blasphemy,’ said Mrs Phinn. ‘I’m not accustomed to it. If you must swear go and swear somewhere else.’
The stranger stared at her, shaking his head sorrowfully, and she was sure she saw tears glisten in his crafty eyes.
‘Missis, are you mad?’ he whispered. ‘Come on, don’t act it! This is serious. I’m only talking to you for your own good. I was just the driver but I’m entitled to my share. I’ll play fair wi’ you but there’s other folk starting to wonder and if they get on to you they’ll chiv you as soon as look at you. I’m telling you, missis.’
‘I’m sorry, I’ve got my work to go to,’ said Mrs Phinn calmly. ‘I told you, I’ve got to work for my living. We canny all go about robbing banks and living in the lap of luxury. Forty thousand pound! Did ye ever hear the like!’
‘Forty-five thousand pound,’ the stranger corrected her dourly.
She looked at him pityingly and tutted.
‘To a penny?’ she asked sarcastically.
‘I was talking to your son the other night,’ he said abruptly. ‘A big fella with splay feet.’
‘You can leave my son’s feet out of it,’ Mrs Phinn objected with dignity. ‘He canny help his feet. At least he’s no’ a wee Glasgow bauchle like you.’
‘Aye, all right,’ said the stranger huffily. ‘I’d rather be a Glasgow bauchle than a big drip like him. Oh, la-de-da. Called after Percy the poet says he. He could do wi’ a haircut at that.’
‘He never told me,’ said Mrs Phinn.
‘That’s funny,’ said the stranger. ‘Maybe it’s him that knows and he’s keeping something back from you.’
‘My boy’s a big simple soul,’ said Mrs Phinn proudly. ‘He wouldn’t do anything that’s wrong. He was never brought up to it.’
‘I could see he was kind of dumb,’ the stranger agreed neutrally. ‘He talks a lot but he doesn’t say very much. He’s not all that bright I don’t think. That’s why I never told him what I’m telling you. I wanted to see if he knew anything first. But I don’t think he knew a thing.’
‘He knows as much as I know then,’ said Mrs Phinn.
‘Unless he was acting it?’ the stranger suggested.
‘I can assure you he had nothing to act about,’ said Mrs Phinn.
The stranger brooded into Mrs Phinn’s thin sour face before he spoke again.
‘You see, missis, when Sammy left us at the Saltmarket he told us he’d cellar the money till it was safe to divide it. Aye, he was the boss. He liked acting the big shot. Wouldny trust us. No’ to spend it daft-like right away I mean. No, he’d take care of it. Don’t yous worry, he said. Ye can trust me. I’ll cellar it safe and sound where it’ll never be found. Now what did he mean, cellar it? The only bloke Sammy saw when he left us was your Hamish, and your Hamish has a cellar in the school there, hasn’t he?’
‘My Hamish is dead,’ Mrs Phinn reminded him with a widow’s proud sorrow.
‘Aye, but the cellar’s no’,’ the stranger commented.
‘Yes, the cellar is,’ she retorted. She was a contrary woman. She wasn’t going to have this layabout telling her about the school cellar. It had been the bane of her husband’s last years, it was in such a state, and she wasn’t going to have it talked about by any stranger. ‘That cellar hasn’t been used for twenty years or more. It isn’t a cellar at all now, not since they stopped the steam heating.’
‘But there’s a door there in Tulip Place,’ the stranger waved a hand. ‘That’s the door to the cellar, i’n’t it?’
‘That door?’ said Mrs Phinn, sneering at his mistake.
‘That door’s