Sport For The Baron

by John Creasey

  Mannering protested mildly.

  “You’re not really being fair.”

  “Fair!” she cried. “Is it fair to break up this collection? Is it fair to rob Australia of so much of the culture, of the beautiful things which belong here? Fair? What do you know about being fair? You hated the idea of an Australian buying the Alda insignia so much that you lied and cheated him out of it. Don’t talk to me about being fair! And don’t buy anything here, do you understand? Don’t take anything away from here.”

  Much more warily, Mannering said: “I’ll be one of dozens of buyers, remember.”

  “But you’re the only one I know, and you’ll bid higher than most, if you really want a thing. So if I can scare you off, I’ll go a long way towards keeping the prices down, so that Australian collectors and Australian museums can have a fair chance. Does that make sense to you?”

  “I think you overrate my importance,” said Mannering slowly. “But how do you propose to work on me? Scare me away by inciting a gang of Sydney hoodlums to attack me, and to beat up my wife as well?” There was more heat in his voice than he had intended, anger suddenly clutched him. She stood gazing at him, open-mouthed, and he gripped her arm and actually shook her. “Go on! Answer me! Is that the way you plan to get your fair chance?”

  As he stood glaring, he was aware of movement behind him, and as she didn’t answer, he turned his head. A youngish man was half-way between him and the door, a powerful youth wearing a white T-shirt and red shorts. He was tanned to a mahogany brown. The muscles of his arms and legs rippled, the thin interlock cotton did little to hide the power of his shoulders.

  He headed straight for Mannering.

  “Mannering,” he said, “I’m going to teach you not to put your filthy hands on my sister.”

  13: CRACK OF THE WHIP

  Mannering did not turn back to Venella, but watched the youth’s approach. The other was not as tall as Mannering. He was not particularly good-looking, but there was a marked resemblance between him and at least two of the portraits in the hall. He moved with the springy resilience of one who was magnificently fit. His eyes were clear, his lips were closed, and he was breathing easily.

  Mannering said: “Stop him, Venella.”

  “Nothing and no one will stop me,” young Melbury said. He was only two show-cases away now, approaching more slowly but with absolute relentlessness.

  “Stop him,” Mannering said again.

  “Ralph,” Venella said in a taut voice.

  “You keep out of this,” ordered Ralph Melbury. He was near enough now to reach Mannering in a couple of strides.

  There was something cat-like in the way he slowed down, and then came on a step at a time. His hands were bunched, his biceps bulging, the muscles on his forearms stood out with quivering strength.

  Mannering said: “I warned you.”

  “Warned!”

  “Ralph,” Mannering said, “did you hire those louts in Sydney?”

  “Ralph!” Venella repeated, “Did you?”

  “Supposing I did? If he’d had any sense he would have gone home.”

  “Did you hire them?” Venella almost screamed.

  “Yes, I did!” Ralph bellowed at her. “I ought to have made them break his neck! I ought. . .”

  He jumped at Mannering.

  Mannering thrust out his right leg, driving his foot towards Ralph’s stomach, and Ralph did the obvious thing, thrusting a hand down to grip the ankle. Mannering drew his leg away swiftly, and Ralph, off-balance, clutched at thin air. He lurched forward, his head and shoulders unprotected. Mannering locked his hands, raised them, and brought them down with tremendous force onto the back of the youth’s neck. Ralph did not groan or grunt, but flopped down in a heap; he lay inert, arms sprawled over Mannering’s feet.

  Mannering drew away, looking at Venella. It was impossible to read the expression in her eyes or on her face; she was transfixed and horrified, but whether at what she had learned or at the total defeat of her brother, Mannering could not guess.

  She began to tremble, in a state of shock.

  “Take it easy,” Mannering said quietly.

  She didn’t look at him, but murmured: “I didn’t know.”

  “What didn’t you know?”

  “That he’d hired anyone to attack you and-and your wife.”

  “I’m very glad you didn’t.”

  “I swear I didn’t.” After a pause, Venella went on with a gulp: “Is she-is your wife all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t she come with you?”

  “She’s gone to see Brutus.”

  That startled Venella, making her look away from the inert body on the floor and into Mannering’s eyes.

  “Brutus? Why?”

  “She wants to convince him that what you call ‘doing him down’ was with the best of intentions. She didn’t like what I did at Catesby’s either.”

  “Your wife didn’t?” Venella sounded unbelieving.

  “I get mixed up with some peculiar women, don’t I?”

  Venella moistened her lips.

  “Will Ralph be all right?”

  “If I haven’t broken his neck.”

  “My God. You haven’t!”

  “He looked quite capable of breaking mine,” Mannering reminded her. Then he saw the horror in Venella’s eyes, relented quickly and went on: “He’ll be all right, where’s the nearest bathroom or shower?”

  Venella looked dazed for a few moments, and then seemed to comprehend. She turned towards a door at the end of the room. Mannering bent over Ralph, steadied and poised himself, then hoisted him in a fireman’s hold over his shoulder. He followed Venella along a wide, stone-walled passage. This was hung with rush mats, carpets, paintings, masks and drums from the South Sea Islands, Fiji and New Guinea, all strangely impressive. Two doors along, Venella turned into a room, and a moment later Mannering stepped into a bathroom with two open showers, and two closed closets. Ralph Melbury was heavier than he had anticipated, and handling him was more difficult than he wanted Venella to realize.

  He lowered the youth into one of the showers, and saw his eyes flickering. He allowed Ralph’s knees to bend until he was squatting beneath the spray, pulled the glass door to, leaving just room for his hand to reach the cold tap. Leaving the door partly open he backed away, bumping into Venella.

  “The fool,” she said fiercely. “The silly bloody fool. He actually did that”

  Above the hissing of the water, Mannering said: “At least he did stop short of murder.”

  “If you knew the kind of yobs he mixes with in Sydney you would realize how lucky you are,” Venella said, and there were tears in her eyes; tears of anger. “Do you know why I’m not one of the executors? Because of Ralph. He must have been born bad.” Still fiercely, she went on: “Ever since he was a boy at school he’s been irresponsible. He’ll do anything for a kick, anything to get money for nothing. For years he sponged on my cousin and then-do you know what his fine Sydney friends put him up to? Stealing some of the jewels from here, and selling them. That’s what my precious brother did. He became a miserable thief. It finished my cousin-and he had been father and mother to us both since our parents died-I can hardly remember them, they died so long ago. From that day until the death of my cousin, Ralph never came here again.”

  She was really crying now, and every impulse in Mannering made him long to believe that they were genuine tears, but-were they? Her voice faltered: “I was too soft with him. I know it, and my cousin knew it. But he is my only brother. And my cousin kept me short to prevent me from giving Ralph money, prevented me from having any say in handling the estate because he couldn’t trust me not to give it to Ralph. And then-then when he died he was so much in debt, that now we have to sell everything.”

  “Are you and Ralph the sole heirs?”

  “Yes, except for small bequests. Oh, it’s hopeless! But to think Ralph would do this. . .” She sniffed, rubbed her eyes with the ba
ck of her hand, and then suddenly yanked open the shower door and shouted: “You-bloody-fool!”

  Ralph Melbury was trying to get to his feet. Water streaming off him, into his eyes, his mouth, down his fine body. The shower sprayed over Mannering before he managed to turn the water off.

  “Get up, get dressed and get out,” Venella said furiously. “Get out. Don’t come back. If you’re seen anywhere about during the sale, I’ll-I’ll tell the police about your Sydney cobbers. Get out.”

  Almost blindly, Venella led Mannering out of the shower room, along the passage, and to another door on the left along the semi-circular wall. She flung it open. “This is yours. I hope it’s good enough for you!” As she swung round and ran along the passage, he thought that she was crying. He looked after her until she disappeared, then gazed curiously round the room, noting the high ceiling and painted brick walls, the wall-to-wall carpet, the heavy oak furniture, the cumbersome four-poster bed. In a corner by the window was a doorway leading to a bathroom large enough for a small apartment. Mannering looked quickly inside, then went back into the main room, and saw his two bags-a suitcase and a hanging clothes-bag, on a luggage stand, together with his brief-case. So there were servants about. He was glad to take off his jacket and shirt; a shower would be a good idea. He glanced out of the window, and saw a terrace in several serried stages; at the bottom was a swimming pool glistening and inviting.

  Suddenly, Venella appeared-running. He could not see her face, but saw her dash her hand across her eyes. Without a pause, she reached the edge of the pool and dived in. She disappeared beneath the water, broke surface, and began a furious crawl which sent her cleaving the water at terrific speed. Mannering smiled rather grimly, turned to his case, rummaged for a pair of bathing trunks, showered, slipped into the trunks and then pulled on a pair of slacks and slid his feet into slippers. He took the key from the inside of the door, locked it from the outside, and strode along the passage. Not far away was a secondary staircase, and coming up it a small, dark-haired man, obviously Southern European.

  “Which way do I get to the swimming pool?” Mannering asked.

  The dark eyes were puzzled for a moment, then understanding dawned.

  “Swim pool, yes, sir!” He had a gentle voice, a beautiful complexion, a nicely proportioned body in a close-fitting pale grey suit. “This way, please.” He turned and ran lightly down the stairs, and along several passages. If Mannering had been by himself he would certainly have got lost. The other man opened a door which led to one side of the terrace, and now he could see the swimming pool, and Venella still moving through the water at the same furious speed.

  On one side were some open huts, with raffia curtains. Stepping inside the first one he came to, Mannering slid out of his clothes, and approached the pool. Venella was slackening speed slightly, but her pace was still remarkable. He waited until she made a racing turn, then dived in, unnoticed, just behind her. She was definitely slackening speed, and he had no difficulty in catching up with her. He paced her for a length of the pool, and they turned together. That was when she caught sight of him. She leapt up into the air, dropped, went under, and came up spluttering. She was only a little out of breath.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Cooling off.”

  “I didn’t see you come.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t see.”

  They began to tread water, for this was the deep end. Venella bobbed up and down very easily and obviously didn’t give a thought to where she was.

  “I can see through you” she said.

  “Like you saw through Ralph?”

  “That’s just the kind of thing a bloody pommie would say.”

  “Tell me something, Venella.”

  “If I want to and if I know the answer.”

  “You know the answer. Ralph isn’t interested in keeping the treasures in Australia, is he?”

  “No.”

  “Then why is he so anxious to get me out of the country?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do.”

  There was a moment’s silence, broken only by the sound of eddying water, as Venella, closely followed by Mannering, swam towards the side of the bath and hung on to the rail.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I know the reason.”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a dealer in Sydney who would like to pick up a lot of the sale goods here on the cheap, and he doesn’t want too many big overseas buyers. Ralph thought he could kill two birds with one stone-please me, and make a dishonest thousand quid or so on the side.”

  “Would it really interest him to please you?” Mannering asked.

  Venella frowned, moved back without any effort, and answered quietly and with obvious feeling.

  “Too right it would please him. He’s my kid brother, I’m his big sister. We can quarrel, we can even fight, but don’t let a third party start interfering.” Her eyes flashed. “And that goes for you.”

  “I can imagine,” Mannering said. “If Ralph tries any tricks against me or my wife again, I will show you how interested a third party can get. Venella, I don’t really understand your reasoning. You want to keep the Melbury Collection in the country. You think that Nathaniel Brutus is the only man who both could and would do it. You know I might take some of them out of Australia, but you also know I’m not the only overseas buyer to show interest. A punk like the man who is bribing Ralph might think that scaring me off would scare others-he might even think that if he succeeded with one he could deal with the others in the same way. But you don’t think like that. You may believe your body beautiful could be used against me, you might even be prepared to pop into bed with me, or anyone else for that matter, if you thought it would help you. But you can’t seriously think that you could work that way on half-a-dozen or so men.”

  She was still hanging onto the rail.

  “You may underestimate me,” she said, and there was a glint in her eyes.

  “I may underestimate your prowess, but not your mind. Why did you really want to talk to me? What do you think I can do for you that others can’t? There must be something.”

  After a long pause, Venella let go of the rail and sank slowly into the water until she floated face upwards, keeping still with only the slightest motion of her hands. Mannering let himself fall forward, and floated towards her, then turned slowly on his back.

  “What is that something?” he demanded.

  “If you’ve such a brilliant mind, why don’t you guess?”

  “I don’t want to guess if the answer is what I think it is.”

  “What you think-what do you think?” she turned her head towards him.

  “That you believe I might still be able to influence Brutus.”

  Venella caught her breath so sharply that she took in a mouthful of water. She began to struggle, turned over, splashing and spluttering, and then gradually recovered until she was able to speak.

  “I might really get to like you,” she said again. “I could never trust you, though, you’re too clever by half. All right, I think you could influence Brutus, even after what you did to him. I certainly want you to try. He might listen to you. After Catesby’s I don’t think he will, but he might.”

  “Venella,” Mannering said, “why won’t he listen to you?”

  “Oh, you fool!” Venella said. “You big sap-headed English fool. I’m the last person in the world Nat Brutus will listen to, especially now. I made him go and see you. I told him that the great John Mannering was the one dealer in the world whose integrity was absolute. So he went to Quinn’s, and you won him over. That evening after he’d first seen you he was bubbling over with satisfaction, because I was so right.” She caught her breath and grabbed at the rail again to keep herself up. “You should have heard him after the auction! Do you want to know the whole truth? He’s afraid he will be swindled. No one ever trusted my cousin, Brutus least of all. He’s afraid he will buy a
load of junk if he comes here, or else be landed with a fortune of stolen goods. He wanted an adviser, a counsellor and friend -someone money wouldn’t dazzle, who would know the odds, know if goods were stolen or if they were fakes.”

  She was bobbing up and down with rage as she spoke, and spluttered so much that she could hardly get the next words out. Mannering made no attempt to speak, and at last she recovered enough for him to understand what she was saying: “And you, the great trustworthy John Mannering, the English gentleman, whose word was better than his bond, sold him down the river. You were so determined not to let those Alda jewels go to a raw Australian, you pretended not to hear what Brutus said. If you would do that, what were the chances you would advise him honestly about the Melbury jewels? How does he know you haven’t come to take these treasures out of Australia because you think Australia’s too crude for culture? That’s the problem, Mister Mannering. Have you got that into your head?”

  14: SURPRISE, SURPRISE

  Mannering felt sure that Venella Melbury was absolutely serious. There was an underlying note of passion in her voice and in her bearing. She threw the words at him as if in challenge, then suddenly turned, and hauled herself out of the pool. Her long, slender legs, the whole of her body, were quite beautiful, but the thing which most caught his eye was the speed and grace of her movements. She rose without effort reached the side, spun round and glared down at him.

  “Did you hear me? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Mannering hoisted himself out of the water; he was conscious of the fact that he took twice as long as Venella and put more exertion into the task, but at least he didn’t have to struggle over the tiled edge.