"Hi, Chuck," she said. "I seriously doubt it, though I'm sure you'd never get him to admit it. How are your wife and the boy?" "Fine. That boy, he's got some imagination. He's digging a hole in the back yard. Last week he told us he was getting close to China. This week it's Australia. He said at supper last night that they must have heard about this hole and started digging from the other end. They've connected up, according to him, and he had quite a conversation with a kangaroo." "A kangaroo?" Don sat up straight. "Yeah. You know how kids are. I guess he's studying Australia in geography." "What did the kangaroo tell your son?" The cab driver laughed defensively. "There's nothing wrong with the boy. He's just got an active mind." "Of course. When I was a kid I used to talk to bears. But what did he say the kangaroo talked about?" "Oh, just crazy stuff--like the kangaroos didn't like it Down Under any more and were coming up here because it was safer." * * * * * Later that morning, at about the time Don Cort estimated that Superior had passed the twelve-mile limit--east from the coast, not up--the Superior State Bank was held up. A man clearly recognized as Joe Negus, a small-time gambler, and one other man had driven up to the bank in Negus' flashy Buick convertible. They walked up to the head teller, threatened him with pistols and demanded all the money in all the tills. They stuffed the bills in a sack, got into their car and drove off. They took nothing from the customers and made no attempt to take anything from the vault. The fact that they ignored the vault made Don feel better. He thought when he first heard about the robbery that the men might have been after the brief case he'd stored there, which would have meant that he was under suspicion. But apparently the job was a genuine heist, not a cover-up for something else. Police Chief Vincent Grande reached the scene half an hour after the criminals left it. His car had frozen up and wouldn't start. He arrived by taxi, red-faced, fingering the butt of his holstered service automatic. Negus and his confederate, identified as a poolroom lounger named Hank Stacy, had gotten away with a hundred thousand dollars. "I didn't know there was that much money in town," was Grande's comment on that. While he was asking other questions the telephone rang and someone told the bank president he'd seen Negus and Stacy go into the poolroom. In fact, the robbers' convertible was parked blatantly in front of the place. Grande, looking as if he'd rather be dog catcher, got back into the taxi. Joe Negus and Hank Stacy were sitting on opposite sides of a pool table when the police chief got there, dividing the money in three piles. A third man stood by, watching closely. He was Jerry Lynch, a lawyer. He greeted Grande. "Morning, Vince," he said easily. "Come to shoot a little pool?"