by John Creasey
Mannering succumbed to the fascination of the colourful decoration of the shops and the houses, and the milling masses of Chinese; a European seemed out of place except near the main shopping and tourist districts. Ten minutes’ drive took them along a narrow street and then into an open square surrounded by modern buildings, none very tall. The Union Jack flew over all of the buildings, and two or three British soldiers in khaki were on guard duty. The sun was already high and warm, Mannering could have revelled in it had he been on board the Orienta.
As a uniformed policeman came from one of the buildings and opened the door for Mannering, young Dowl said: “I expect they’ll take you back, sir,” and drove off. Mannering, unescorted, went into the building, and was met by Lovelace coming down a wide stone staircase.
“We saw you arrive,” he explained. “Imagine adding punctuality to all the other virtues!”
“Before we go wherever we’re going, who am I likely to meet, and what is the general feeling?”
“You’ll probably be Mannering,” answered Lovelace. “Sir Hugh is in the chair, and our Assistant Commissioner is there, with the Chief Security Officer for the Combined Armed Forces—oh, and the American Consul-General and one or two other Americans, F.B.I., I shouldn’t wonder. So there are some here!” He laughed on a low-pitched note as they reached some double doors guarded by a Chinese in police uniform. “Here we are.”
The Chinaman opened the doors. Mannering stepped into a long, rather narrow conference room, which was bright in the morning sun. It was a contemporary room, with pale-brown highly-polished wooden-panelled walls, a long, narrow table of the same highly-polished wood, and a picture of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh on the wall above Sir Hugh Brabazon. He was sitting in the middle of the far side of the table, flanked by a man whom Mannering had seen at the reception, and the American Consul-General, who looked rather tired; but his highly sensitive-looking face seemed very alert. Two men sitting opposite these were obviously the Americans; each of them swivelled round to see him. Brabazon stood up, welcomed him with a wave of the hand, waited until he was sitting halfway between the two groups, and then introduced him as Mannering to the three Americans; the one name which registered was that of Dooley, the Consul. The man on the Commissioner’s right was the Assistant Commissioner; Mannering didn’t catch his name.
“… and we’re all grateful to you for coming,” said Brabazon, as if he meant it. “We are on what can truly be called the horns of a dilemma, and we don’t think that any official personage can help us out of it. There are representatives of both the Chinese governments in Hong Kong, and one of them could possibly be responsible for what’s happening over the Li Chen affair. If we make any official representations we’ll run into trouble, and anyhow each side will flatly deny it. What we want you to do – not as our representative but as a man highly respected in the antique business all over the world – is to try to find out what they will settle for. That means, what they really want. And you as an individual can really let your hair down,” added Brabazon, speaking as casually as if this were the most ordinary request imaginable. “You can accuse each of them of employing gangsters, say, and let us know their reaction. It’s really as simple as that.”
Chapter Seventeen
As Simple As That
“So it’s as simple as that,” Mannering said heavily.
No one responded, but everyone stared at him, the Americans with even greater intentness than the English. It would be easy to ask: “Why me?” but the question would lead nowhere. He could be sure of one thing: unless they believed that he had a chance of finding out what they needed to know, they wouldn’t approach him. For some reason he was regarded as the most likely man to get those results.
At last, Brabazon said: “There shouldn’t be any physical danger we can’t prevent, now we know the odds. Not in Hong Kong. And if we can find a way of putting an end to this business, there won’t be any danger afterwards. I’ve no doubt that a great deal of trade will result if we do allow the exhibition to open, and you will get your share, so there could be strong business incentives for helping us.” He frowned as he saw Mannering’s expression, hesitated, opened his mouth wide, and then said: “All right, I withdraw that.”
Mannering said drily: “I’ve no objection to making money, but if I were to make myself a millionaire overnight it wouldn’t help if I was found next day with my head looking like the head of the man who was pulled out of the harbour last night. Or the Indian woman, who—”
“Lovelace told us about that, and I’ve talked to the Bombay police this morning,” interrupted Brabazon. “They’re being as helpful as they can but it wasn’t one of the most important of murders, you know. One of the things which a lot of police would prefer to pretend had never happened. I have to admit that there’s a risk. What would tempt you to have a go at this, Mannering? You could perform a great service to your country, or at least this Crown Colony. You have some idea of the tightrope we’re walking. And you know how Peking and Formosa love to get at each other’s throats. One of these days something could happen which would make Peking decide that we’ve outlived our usefulness as their back door to the world’s trade, and—”
“Do you seriously suggest that this could precipitate that kind of crisis?” demanded Mannering.
“I don’t seriously suggest, I say flatly that if this thing goes sour on us any more, it could be disastrous. Look what’s happened already. In view of the United States’ attitude towards Peking, if there’s even a suspicion that a Chinese spy bought his way on board the Chesapeake last night and actually attempted to poison a guest at the reception—” Brabazon broke off, looking across at the American Consul-General as if appealing for help.
Dooley said: “Mr. Mannering, we’re talking confidentially here, I’m sure you understand that. And confidentially, I can tell you that if this story were to leak into any of our newspapers it could become a very great sensation, possibly the spark to set off a lot of dangerous fireworks. That never helps. If it happened at the wrong time it could cause a shift in emphasis which could disturb the present uneasy truce between us and Peking. I hope you will accept Sir Hugh’s assurance that this is a very grave issue indeed.” He smiled faintly, and went on: “Now if I were addressing Mr. James C. Mason I would appeal to him as a patriotic American, but I can’t hope to influence Mr. John Mannering in that way.”
Mannering smiled, very thoughtfully.
“What’s on your mind?” demanded Brabazon.
“Heavy doubt as to whether I could be any good at all,” replied Mannering.
“Oh, but you could. What we would like you to do is go first to the Peking government’s representative – they have a Consul here of course – and tell him what’s happened to you. Perhaps tell him you have been told that this is the work of his agents, and—”
“Have him throw me out,” said Mannering.
“I wish he would,” said Brabazon, warmly. “Then we’d know that he had an outsize in guilty consciences. No, whatever else, they’ll be polite.” He paused, and rubbed both of his big, very white hands together for what seemed a long time, staring into Mannering’s eyes all the time. Then he went on with great precision: “We can’t make you go. We can only tell you that we have been trying to heal this breach for weeks, and have failed. I admit you are a forlorn hope, but we know you as a man of great integrity and of great ingenuity. We would very much like you to try.”
Slowly, Mannering responded: “You want me to see the consuls of both Chinese governments, tell them what you suspect without letting them know that you suspect it, and ask them if there are any conditions on which they will do a deal?”
Brabazon’s eyes lit up. “That’s it, in a nutshell!”
“That’s it exactly,” said Dooley.
“What kind of deal do you envisage?”
“That will probably have to come from them,” said Brabazon. His lips curved as if he were trying to stifle sudden laughter. “O
r from anyone who happens to have an idea. The whole point of this, John, is that it is an unofficial approach. There must be a way of finding out who is causing all the trouble, and if they are then this should help. It’s possible that agents of each or one of the governments is doing it without his government’s knowledge, of course. We might be able to get a clue to that, too. Will you have a go?”
“What about the exhibition?” asked Mannering. “Is that on or off?”
“Oh, on,” said Brabazon without hesitation. “There’s a limit to how much face the Li Chens will lose, and in any case everything is now ready. All that’s needed is a final polishing up of all the exhibits, and that’s being done now. The only possible cause for cancelling the opening would be if a raid on it was likely. We can only say we think there possibly might be but that no one is going to kill the goose of the golden eggs, if you see what I mean. We have a strong guard over the galleries day and night, and no one is allowed in without the Li Chens’ written authority. The value, either in hard cash or in foreign exchange or what-have-you, is in the actual objets d’art, of course. Someone might destroy one or two as a token, or even smash up the contents of one shop, but the hard core of the valuables should be safe enough. That’s what they want to get their hands on.”
“Safe except for one thing,” said Mannering mildly.
“Eh?”
The American Consul-General leaned forward.
“What one thing?” demanded Brabazon.
“If the Peking government think the Formosa government will get the best of this affair they might destroy them simply to make sure that can’t come about. And vice versa. You could call it a kind of scorched earth policy. It’s certainly a risk we ought to take into account.”
Brabazon was breathing very hard; Dooley was smiling, but there was a bleakness about his expression.
“You see what we mean,” Brabazon said, gustily. “What is needed in this is a fresh mind. You’re right of course, but it hadn’t occurred to us. We’ve taken extreme security precautions and now we’ll double them, we—” He broke off with his half-scowling stare, as if he read the answer in Mannering’s expression and was prepared to argue about it. “What’s on your mind now?”
“A different kind of approach,” Mannering answered. “One you could do as well as I could, and probably much better, but I would try if that is how you prefer it.” He waited, less to keep them on tenterhooks than to put his own thoughts in lucid order; the notion had come to him quite without warning, and he had not yet had a chance to see its disadvantages. “Supposing each government was asked to assist in the security arrangements at the exhibition? That would be a tacit admission that each has some rights, it might lead the way to some kind of agreement, some way out of the dilemma. And even if I were to make the suggestion,” Mannering added drily, “I don’t think either side would want to throw me out.”
When he finished, Dooley was smiling broadly, as if nothing could have pleased him more. His rather prominent mouth and high cheek-bones made him look not unlike a Red Indian. Brabazon sat with the heels of his hands beating against his forehead, as if this were more than he could stand. Lovelace kept nodding, very slowly and deliberately. The others round the table watched Mannering as if they were hypnotised. No one spoke for several seconds, and the silence seemed to be almost profound.
“Well, now I know one thing,” Brabazon burst out. “When Scotland Yard tells me I can rely on a man, I can rely on him.” He looked almost shamefacedly at Dooley. “Believe it or not, I nearly stopped Mannering from joining us in this matter.”
“I have a feeling that he might have been more difficult to stop than you think,” said Dooley drily. “Will you make the approach to both parties, Mr. Mannering?”
“If that’s what you would like,” Mannering said. “I wouldn’t take it for granted that it will come off, but I’m sure it’s worth trying.”
The Englishman sitting on Brabazon’s right, who had not said a word but looked rather solemnly, perhaps worriedly, about him all the time, leaned back in his chair as if he were at last able to relax. He was middle-aged, fresh-faced, and had very clear blue eyes.
“Now I’m beginning to think I can report back that it’s a fair risk,” he remarked. “Why didn’t someone think of this before?”
“Chiefly because it wouldn’t occur to anyone in our situation that either side would think of joining in,” Brabazon said. “That’s one of the troubles when we’re stuck out here in an outpost, so to speak, all so damned conscious of the delicacy of the position that we look at everything too closely, never see the whole picture. Well, if you’re satisfied, Jim, I am.”
There was a murmur of agreement round the table. Mannering felt a natural glow of satisfaction, and at the same time a measure of disquiet; if this failed they would be back where they had started, and he did not think there would be time to find another way out of the impasse. He was watching the man with the very clear blue eyes, whose opinion had obviously carried a lot of weight. He wondered if this were Brabazon’s Assistant Commissioner, and asked with a chuckle in his voice: “Does anyone mind telling me who Jim is? I think I’ve been able to place all the rest of you.”
“Didn’t you know?” Brabazon could be too ingenuous to be true. “Jim Finnigan represents the combined insurance companies in the Colony. They’ve a lot at stake in this one way and another. In fact they were all for postponing the exhibition or cancelling it altogether, and Jim wasn’t too happy when we decided that we couldn’t recommend that. Some of the insurance was taken out by American owners, some by the Li Chens. Every item insured is covered individually, of course.”
“How much is insured?”
“Seventy-five per cent of it,” Finnigan said. “I know one thing: it’ll never be renewed.”
“Now, gentlemen, how about some coffee?” Brabazon asked. “Or would any of you care for something stronger?”
It was nearly eleven o’clock. Mannering settled for coffee, several of the others decided to go back to their own offices. Dooley asked Mannering if he could give him a lift back to the hotel. It was a quarter to twelve when the Consul-General dropped him, got out of the car to shake hands and say goodbye, and: “I must admit I wish that you really could claim American citizenship, Mr. Mason. Thank you again.”
Mannering said: “I’ve a nasty feeling that we’re counting our chickens too soon.” He watched the big blue Cadillac move off, then turned round. Christiansen was standing by the foot of the big staircase, talking to Vansitter, who seemed always to be pulling at his beard. Mannering approached them and both looked towards him. Had he been his real self, recognition would have been instantaneous; now, neither of them gave him a second look, although he walked straight past them. Vansitter was saying: “Shall we have a drink?”
“And why not?” asked Christiansen. They sat down, and Mannering sat behind them, so placed that he could hear all they said. The most likely subject was shop, and after they had ordered drinks, Vansitter said: “It’s a remarkable thing, but it doesn’t look as if anyone else is coming. I should not think the Li Chens are very pleased with that.”
“In their position I would be most offended,” said Christiansen. He had a formal way of talking and his English, although word perfect, was uttered almost as if it were coming from mechanical lips. “I wish I had not changed my mind, but Mannering himself told me that he would be here. In fact …”
Mannering did not wait long enough to hear what he said next, but the little he had heard made him very thoughtful indeed. The two Hos from London, Christiansen and Vansitter. It was incredibly meagre a response to a widespread invitation, and virtually an affront to the Chinese hosts. He had an odd feeling; that he wished he could go back to the couple as Mannering, and exchange opinions and ideas, but it was impossible for the time being. He took the lift from this first floor, with two elderly American women who had just come out of a shop called the Star of Siam carrying silk dresses over their arms, as exc
ited as if they were buying their first expensive dress.
“… and back home this real Thai silk will be the envy of everyone—”
“And it’s so cheap, compared with prices in London or Paris, and as for New York, it’s a quarter of the price.” They got out at the fifth floor.
Mannering walked along to his own room. Wang Lu was not in sight until he drew near, when the room boy came at a double shuffle, half smiling. He unlocked the door and stood aside. His eye was bruised but it did not look so angry, and the cut on his lip was almost healed. One of Lovelace’s policemen, in the white dress of a houseboy, stood watching from the passage. Mannering closed the door behind him, did not lock it, but looked about him intently. He would not really feel safe until this affair was over.
There was nothing to suggest that anyone but the servants had been here.
Mannering went into the bathroom. The bath was half filled with water, reminding him vividly of what had happened here yesterday afternoon. Involuntarily, he shuddered. He had been close to death, but he did know how prodigal these people were with life. A little woman in Bombay, a little man in Hong Kong. Who else had died? Who else would die?
He stood looking at the harbour and the unceasing flow of traffic, at the subdued, almost autumnal colouring of the hills of the island beyond, fading into the distance as if it were actually drifting into the sea. The fascination remained; it was almost as if the scene had a mesmeric effect on him, and he started when there was a tap at the door, and Wang Lu said: “There is gentleman to see you, Mr. Mason.”
Mannering turned round as Raymond Li Chen came into the room.
Dressed in a pale-grey, beautifully cut lounge suit, with a single pearl tie-pin in his off-white tie, his hair greying at the temples, Raymond Li Chen was as distinguished now as he had been in full evening dress at the reception. The skin about his hazel eyes was a little puffy, as if he never got enough sleep, but their gaze was very direct. He shook hands as the door closed, glanced out of the window, hesitated, and then turned to face Mannering almost as if he had something unpleasant to say.
