GIVEN that you should never shout “fire” in a crowded theatre, it was perhaps unwise of your correspondent to walk into his local branch of JPMorgan Chase and ask, “Could somebody please explain the deposit insurance rules to me? I want to know if my money will be alright if the bank goes bust.”

“Could you come with me, sir?” was the cashier's urgent reply, leading me briskly out of the public area where the question might alarm other customers. Once in a private room, she visibly relaxed. She explained that before the past few days, nobody had asked about the deposit rules in years—in fact, the first time she was asked, she had to look them up.

AP

Don't mention it

Recently, though, such questions have become quite common. She allows that if JPMorgan Chase is allowed to go bust, “we might as well as get on a boat out of the country.”

That is probably an accurate assessment. JPMorgan Chase, Citigroup and Bank of America have been allowed/required to scarf up the assets of troubled banks, effectively making them arms of the government as Hank Paulson, America's treasury secretary, desperately tries to keep the global financial system alive. Letting Lehman Brothers file for bankruptcy is one thing; but these three banks would probably fail only if the government itself went bust—and despite Uncle Sam's readiness to splash cash like there is no tomorrow, that is surely unthinkable.

And yet, the question remained: what are the rules? Is my money safe? It turns out each customer has protection from the federal deposit insurance scheme for savings of up to $100,000 per bank. Due to some combination of having had a decent year, and of an entirely justified reluctance to invest in either shares or bonds given the current uncertainty, I had a little over that in my accounts at JPMorgan Chase. So, I said to the banker, I had better take that uninsured money out of your bank and open an account at Citigroup.

At this point, the teller looked worried. “No, please don't do that,” she said. She explained that there was another option, which she had already done for several other customers in a similar situation to mine.

“Is there someone you know who does not have an account at this bank, that you could hold money in trust for?” she asked. I suggested my niece, after first being reassured that the money remained mine—the account would just get a new name, and her deposit insurance protection would apply to my money. A quick nod from me, a few clicks from the banker, and suddenly my money was safe.

Or so it seemed for a day or so. Now, this solution feels too clever by half. Several other people say they have done the same thing. But would such a sleight of hand really stand up to legal scrutiny in the aftermath of Armageddon? Might the politicians charged with cleaning up the mess decide, on populist “bash the rich” grounds, that anyone with more than $100,000 deserves to take a haircut on their savings, and thus that such schemes will not be given deposit insurance? Panic is unworthy, certainly, especially in a business writer who should know better. Yet why take the risk, however small? If the financial market mess gets any worse—and who would currently bet against that?—JPMorgan Chase may soon have a little less cash in its vaults, and Citigroup will have a new account holder.