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Scared

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“Okay,” he said to Mr. Argent. “You’re on. I’m all set.” He brandished his stapler.

The Banker nodded and swallowed. “Right. Here we go.”
He walked briskly across the double doors that led into the school hall and reached out for the handles. He took a deep breath, turned to a smile nervously at Rich, then heaved the doors open.

Rich held the stapler ready as the Banker stepped into the hall. Over the man’s shoulder he could see the gunman turning. The man’s face was a mask of surprise.

Then the doors were closing again as the Banker turned and ran. He skidded past Rich and pressed himself hard against the wall of the corridor behind him. Moments later, the hall doors sprang open again. The gunman stood there, looking around, searching for any clues as to which way the Banker had gone.

Rich hurled the stapler. Not at the gunman, but at the glass cabinet full of trophies. It stood close to where another corridor came into the reception foyer. The stapler smashed into the front of the cabinet, shattering the glass with a tremendous noise. A large silver cup fell from its shelf and bounced to the floor.



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