Chapter 37
“The sheriff of Willow Bend, says he rode north yesterday,” said Bernie as he held out the telegram to Phillip. “Now where do you suppose he’s headed?”
“I’ll bet he’s heading for Kansas City and the Bank Account,” said Phillip. “That’s our money and as soon as he gets his hands on it, we’ll be there to collect it and give him what he has coming.”
“We’re going to Kansas City, Phil?” asked Bernie.
“That’s right . . . so don’t just stand there . . . get our bags packed. And don’t call me Phil.”
“They’re still packed,” whined Bernie “We just got home yesterday.”
Marvin Lipton was at his desk in the Kansas City Bank. A cashier pointed to him, so the gentleman, dressed in black clothing could locate him. He came to stand in front of his desk.
“Mr. Lipton,” said Chris.
“Yes,” said Marvin rising from his chair. He held out his hand. “How may, I be of service to you, sir?” They shook hands and Marvin motioned to a chair. Chris seated himself and then spoke.
“My name is Le Monte . . . Christopher Le Monte . . . I understand you have been holding some funds in your bank for me.”
“What is the name on the account?”
“Three names are on the account, Barbara Weston . . . Lucinda Le Monte . . . and Christopher Le Monte.”
Marvin wrote the names on a pad of paper. “This will only take a few minutes, so please, make your self comfortable, and I’ll be right back.” He rose and walked to the long rows of filling cabinets behind the teller cages. There he looked through several drawers and finally removed a file. He read the inside documents then went quickly to the bank manager’s office. He soon came out accompanied by the manager. Marvin came back to his desk; the manager motioned for the two bank guards to meet him at Marvin’s desk.
“Is something wrong?” asked Chris, seeing the other three men approching.
“Not unless you’re not who you say you are,” said Marvin nervously.
“Do you have a weapon on you, Sir?” asked one of the guards.
“I do,” replied Chris. “Is there a law against my carrying one?”
“Not unless you plan to use it,” said the Guard.
“I have no such plan . . . I only came here to check on my account,” said Chris.
“Can you prove who you are?” the bank manager asked.
“Not really . . . . Oh! yes there is . . . . The Lawyer Allen Jackson . . . he told me to use a seven sign code” Chris took a pen and Marvin handed him a sheet of paper. Chris thought for a few seconds then he drew an ‘ї,’ followed by an ‘Ø,’ then an ‘π,’ next an ‘۞,’ then an ‘µ,’ to be followed by an ‘=’, and finally by an ‘$.’ He handed the paper over to Marvin who quickly looked inside the file and compared them to those on the instruction sheet.
“They match,” said Marvin.
“I’m sorry if our precautions disturbed you in any way, Mr. Le Monte,” said the bank manager as he held out his hand to Chris. He took it and they shook.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Chris. The manager waved the two guards away and he returned to his office.
“Well I guess this belongs to you then,” said Marvin as he handed the file over to Chris. He took it and quickly looked though it.
“I don’t understand,” said Chris in a puzzled tone “Where’s the money?”
“Oh! Well if you will read the last page there at the bottom.”
“This is an address in Atchison,” said Chris “I’m supposed to go there?”
“You have to go . . . or else you don’t get the money,” said Marvin. “I am instructed to give you the balance of the account. That’s $50 and you’re supposed to use it for travel expenses to Atchison.”
“Who’s behind this?” asked Chris.
“I only have the instruction contained in the file, and now you have it . . . so you now know all that I know about it. Sign this release and I’ll get you your money.”
“Okay . . . I guess I’ll have to go on this . . . treasure hunt,” said Chris.
“I told you he would turn up sooner, or later here in Kansas City,” said Phillip to Bernie.
“Where is he?” asked Bernie.
“Our snitch, Marvin told me he was here yesterday . . .” Bernie cut him off.
“He’s got the money and gone.”
“Will you please not interrupt me when I’m trying to explain things to you,” shouted Phillip.
“I’m sorry Phil,” said Bernie with his chin on his chest.
“And don’t call me Phil . . . my name is Phillip,” he shouted.
“Okay,” said Bernie in a low tone.
“Now . . . like I was saying . . . my informant, at the bank told me there was no money . . . not at their bank anyway.”
“What happened to the $40,000 then?”
“Will you please, let me finish,” yelled Phillip.
“I’m sorry, Phil . . . era Phillip.”
“He has to go to Atchison to an address that was in the file,” explained Phillip.
“Did you get the address?” Bernie asked with a smile on his face and his hands rubbing together.
Phillip held up a slip of paper and with a chuckle and said slyly “Naturally.”
The address took Chris to a very fine mansion on a hill over looking the valley below, which was filled with all kinds of trains and rail lines. The huge house was surrounded by very neatly trimmed lawns and gardens. Flowers of all kinds were in full bloom. Their scent filled the air as he stepped from the horse drawn cabbie in front of the house. He stood and looked at the house for a few seconds.
“You sure this is the right address?” he asked the driver on top of the cabbie.
“Oh! Yes sir,” replied the driver “I recognized it to be the home of Judge William T Manson, the very minute you told me where you wanted to go . . . You want I should wait for you sir?”
“If I’m not out in ten minutes . . . send in the cavalry to drag out my body.”
“How’s that Sir?” the puzzled driver asked.
“Never mind,” said Chris as he past the driver a folded bill. “You may go.”
“Thank you kindly sir,” said the driver and he whipped up the horse and drove away.
Chris looked around once more then proceeded down the path to the huge double front door. He paused to check his clothing. He was dressed in a suit and ribbon tie with a lacy fronted white shirt. He stepped up to the door and lifted the knocker. He banged the knocker three times then took two steps back from the door. He was about to repeat the knocking when it opened to reveal a very young man, about the age of ten years, and very neatly dressed.
“You knocked, sir?” the lad asked.
“I was told to inquire at this address about an account at the Kansas City Bank,” explained Chris.
“Well sir . . . in that case, it would be best if you were to inquire at the Bank in Kansas City, not in Atchison at the home of Judge William T Manson.”
“They told me at the bank in Kansas City to come here and ask the Judge about the account,” said Chris trying to get his point across to the lad.
“You wish to see my grandfather on a legal matter then?”
“That is precisely what I mean . . . is the Judge at home?”
“He’s always home . . . now that he has retired,” said the youngster as he stepped to one side and held the door open. “You may enter . . . but first wipe your feet . . . grandfather does not like people tracking dirt into the house.”
“By all means,” agreed Chris. He wiped his feet on the door mat and entered the foyer. The inside of the house was very ornate with rich raised panels made from the finest cuts of oak. Elaborate and delicate chairs and tables were placed about the room. Multicolored lamps were setting on the tables as were books and pictures. Chris waited for the youth to enter the room also, but looking around the boy was no where to be seen. “Hello,” Chris called out in a low tone.
Soon an elderly man came into the foyer. “May I help you sir?” he asked.
“Judge Manson?” asked Chris.
“Yes,” said the man “do I know you, sir?”
“My name is Le Monte . . . Christopher Le Monte.”
“Ah! Yes! Mr. Le Monte . . . you’re from Louisiana . . . near Baton Rouge, I believe” the Judge held out his hand and they shook. “My wife has been waiting several years to see you . . . please sir, come this way.”
“There was a young boy here, but now he’s disappeared.”
“That’s my grandson Carl, he likes to play the butler . . . you see today is Wilfred’s day off. Carl used the hidden passage behind the panel to disappear . . . it leads to the servant’s quarters in that direction.” He turned and led the way down a long and wide hallway to a set of wide stairs. He slowly climbed the steps. Chris could see the old man was having difficulties in navigating the incline. At the top he took a sharp turn to his right and started down another hall that was very narrow. Three doors they past before the judge stopped in front to the fourth one. He knocked gently on the door. A woman in a nurse’s uniform came to the door and opened it a little. “Is she awake?”
“Yes, sir,” the nurse said and opened the door.
“My Dear . . . I brought someone to see you,” he said gently.
“Who is it?” asked a woman with a weak voice.
“It’s Christopher Le Monte, from Baton Rouge.”
“Christopher . . . he’s here . . . show him in,” her voice rose to a higher level.
“You may enter sir,” said the Judge.
Chris stepped into the interior of the room. It too, was very ornate and had very lovely furnishing. On the bed was a woman in a robe trimmed in fancy lace and she was in a setting position propped up by some pillows. He looked long at her face.
“Barbara,” he exclaimed.
“You haven’t forgotten me after all,” she held out her arms to him. He came to her bed side and knelt to embrace her. “You used to call me Aunt Babs . . . remember.”
“I remember . . . I thought you were dead,” he said.
“I had to let everyone believe that I was,” she said. Gregory Weston was going to kill me, so I ran away when he got drunk and past out. I hid out for several months and when I finally came out of hiding he was dead and you had disappeared.”
“You left Robert behind.”
“He was Gregory’s son, so I thought he would be fine until I could find a way to get him away too. But I never counted on Phillip and Bernie taking over and turning him out the way they did. Father Andres knew where to reach me so he sent me a message.”
“Where is Robert?”
“Hello Chris,” the voice came from behind him. He turned and drew his S&W from his waist band. “Are you going kill me, too?”
“That depends on what you intend to do,” said Chris.
Barbara took hold of his arm “Please Chris . . . put that away.”
“My father killed your mother and you killed him,” said Robert “I guess that sort of . . . . in a strange way, makes us even.”
“Phillip and Bernie don’t see it that way,” said Chris.
“That’s their problem . . . not mine,” he said and took a step toward him with his hand out. “Maybe we’re brothers . . . then again maybe we’re not . . . however I have no feelings of resentment against you. We were once playmates and good friends . . . . Now I hope we can be . . . at least friends once more.” He held out his hand. “The choice is yours.”
Chris slipped the pistol back into his waist band. He stood looking at the faces of the three people in the room for a short while. Then taking the hand that was offered to him he said “Friends.” Robert pulled him up tight and they embraced.