by John Creasey
‘There isn’t too much panic in accepting a million pounds while retaining control of two thirds of the business,’ Rennie said drily. ‘But I do understand, John. I would hate to be caught up in a situation like this. Don’t you think Lorna should take a holiday? She would be very welcome to come to us in New York.’
‘I wish she would go but can’t imagine she will,’ said Mannering. ‘Nice of you, though.’
‘John,’ said Rennie. ‘Are you seriously interested in my offer? Really?’
‘Yes,’ said Mannering flatly. ‘Enough to consider it seriously.’
‘Can’t you give me a time limit?’ Rennie leaned back in his chair again looking at Mannering through lowered lids. ‘Surely a month would be long enough for you to make up your mind one way or the other.’
It certainly would be, Mannering thought. The uncertainty about Lorna shouldn’t be allowed to drag on for anything like four weeks. If it did, then he, Mannering, would need to concentrate all his time and energy on that. And he wasn’t being asked to sell everything, remember, and would retain control of Quinns here and in Paris. It was unlikely that he would ever have such a good offer again.
‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll decide within a month. Will that suit you?’
‘If I cable my Texan and Californian friends that I need a month for certain negotiations they’ll allow the extension,’ Rennie said confidently. ‘Thank you, John. I wish you had made a snap decision but I quite understand why you didn’t.’ He sat up in his chair again, pursing his lips. ‘Can I do anything at all to help you with the problem of Lorna?’
‘You’re very kind,’ Mannering said, ‘but I don’t think so.’
‘Who is involved?’ asked Rennie. ‘I may know something that will help. You would be surprised how much Londoners confide in me – in Americans generally for that matter. We’re birds of passage and never likely to appear at moments which could be embarrassing.’
‘It must be confidential,’ Mannering said.
‘Or I might say something indiscreet?’
‘Yes,’ said Mannering. ‘Even you!’
Rennie laughed with obvious enjoyment, stood up, studied the portrait of the cavalier, which he had seen often before, and shook his head slowly.
‘Lorna is remarkably talented. I know of no better living portraitist. I should hate—’ He broke off, looked straight into Mannering’s eyes, and then went on in a different tone. ‘John, let me stand in for you here while you concentrate on your personal problems. I would learn a great deal about the business, and—but that possibility would probably be enough to make you say “no.”’ He broke off, wryly. ‘Forget it, John.’
Very slowly, Mannering said, ‘But I’m not at all sure I want to forget it. Sit down, let’s have some tea and think this over.’
Rennie laughed with unexpected gaiety.
‘The Englishman’s panacea,’ he said. ‘Very well, we shall have some tea and think this over!’
Mannering spoke to Lionel Spencer on the internal telephone, ordered tea, and made a quick mental check of the stock here, its value, the list of customers, the ‘special customers’ for whom Quinns was seeking particular items. It would not really matter if everyone in the business knew these things. What could matter was that in order to learn and to stand in for him, Rennie would have to know all the secrets of Quinns. There were safety precautions which no one dreamed of unless they were told. For instance, the fact that the chair covering the trap-door leading to the strong-room, on which Rennie was now sitting, could only be shifted more than an inch or two by pressing the right button at Mannering’s side. There were a dozen such secrets, and only he and Larraby knew them all.
He could trust Rennie absolutely, of course. Couldn’t he?
There was a tap at the door and, as Mannering called ‘come in’ the telephone began to ring.
He picked up the receiver, and said, ‘Mannering of Quinns.’
‘John,’ said Bill Bristow, ‘I’ve some news for you. Can you come and see me within the next hour?’
Chapter Six
News From Bristow
‘Yes,’ said Mannering. ‘I’ll be with you at’—he glanced at a French clock on a corner shelf; it was twenty to four—’a quarter past four.’
‘Don’t be later,’ Bristow urged, and rang off.
By the time Mannering had put down the receiver, Lionel had brought the tea-tray and departed. Rennie was ostentatiously looking at an illustrated catalogue of a sale at an Elizabethan manor house in Cheshire, one of several catalogues on a table by the side of the winged chair. As Mannering started to pour out, he began to hitch the chair forward.
‘That’s too heavy,’ Mannering said, taking tea to him. He proffered a plate of chocolate biscuits and some plain ones but Rennie waved them away. ‘I have about twenty minutes,’ he went on. ‘Do you really have the time to spend a month here?’
‘I certainly have,’ Rennie assured him. ‘I can hardly wait to find out all the secrets of Quinns! It has the reputation of being the best protected privately-owned shop in the world, although we in the States know a little about burglary precautions and crook-proof vaults!’ He spoke so disarmingly that Mannering warmed to him.
‘If I call you about seven o’clock this evening, will you be in?’
‘I will. I’ve an evening of letter writing, and will be dining in my room.’
‘Then I’ll call you,’ Mannering promised. ‘You’re very patient.’
‘My dear John! You’re half-ready to sell and three quarters ready to let me loose among the treasures here. I would be a lot more patient for half the chance!’
Five minutes later he left Quinns.
Five minutes after that Mannering set out for Scotland Yard, on foot.
Bristow’s office was now in the new building, near Lambeth Bridge, ten minutes farther away than the old building near Westminster Bridge, but Mannering had half-an-hour to walk it in, which would be ample time. He strode through Hart Row, across Piccadilly, and then into Green Park and, very soon, St. James’s. Normally he would have reflected on the green pleasance of the parks and even lingered by the lake, as much to watch the delight of children in the many-hued ducks and water-fowl, as to study them and relax. Today, however, he was too preoccupied to do more than enjoy the clean, crisp air. He reached Birdcage Walk, crossed to the western side of Parliament Square, and by back ways continued on to the new building of the Metropolitan Police. He did not really like this building. It would always, for him, lack the sense of stability and tradition of the old place in Scotland Yard, though younger men on the Force might scoff at such a sentiment.
There was a welcome sight in an elderly sergeant on duty in the bright, new hall.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Mannering. It’s a long time since I’ve seen you.’
‘I wish I had as good a memory as yours,’ said Mannering.
‘No reason for you to remember me, sir. Roberts – Sergeant Charlie Roberts. I used to drive Mr Bristow sometimes. He says, will you go straight along, sir?’
‘Thank you,’ Mannering said
He wasn’t quite sure that he knew the way, but it was at least worth finding out how good his memory was. First floor, by lift or stairs – the lift was engaged – he chose the stairs. Ah! Turn right and two or three doors farther on – there it was! ‘Chief Supt W. E. Bristow.’ Mannering tapped, and almost at once Bristow opened the door.
‘Come in, John,’ he said.
Mannering had often visited this man, outwardly calm but inwardly agitated and afraid of what Bristow might have discovered about his most recent activities. But he had never been more troubled and anxious than he was now. Bristow led the way to an angular desk and waved to an angular but surprisingly comfortable armchair, then rounded the desk and sat down.
‘There’s a limit to what I can tell you,’ he said without preamble. ‘But I’ve had a man checking closely, and I’ve reason to believe that Vandemeyer is in some kind of trouble.’
‘Financial trouble?’ asked Mannering quietly.
‘If you mean has he lost his fortune – no, there’s nothing to suggest that he isn’t as wealthy as ever. But there’s a lot to suggest that he is acting out of character. In fact, acting as a man might if he were being blackmailed.’
‘Ah,’ breathed Mannering. ‘And I mustn’t ask how you gathered that impression?’
Bristow said slowly. ‘The entire household staff was given three months wages in lieu of notice, about the time Lady Vandemeyer fell ill.’
Mannering’s breath came quickly. ‘My God! Do you realise what you’re saying?’
Bristow shrugged. ‘Obviously it could have been to make sure that none of them noticed any change in Lady Vandemeyer, who was confined to her room with an unspecified illness for about ten days. The staff change took place during those ten days. Vandemeyer’s valet and general factotum, a man who had served him most of his life, was the last one to be seen at the house by tradesmen.’
‘Not Gillespie?’ Mannering asked.
‘I wondered if you knew him. Yes. He knew a lot about his employer’s collecting, I gather.’
‘He came to Quinns now and again,’ Mannering said. ‘And I’ve known him buy at the sale rooms for Vandemeyer. Where is he now?’
‘No one appears to know,’ Bristow answered.
‘You mean—’
‘I am not implying that he may not be alive,’ interrupted Bristow drily. ‘I simply know that he left, and no one knows where he went. He has no known family, no friends outside his employer and the staff.’ Bristow shrugged.
‘What about his personal belongings? Had he any home except with Vandemeyer?’
‘No,’ answered Bristow. ‘He’s worked for Vandemeyer for over thirty years, remember.’
‘His home and his life have been built around Vandemeyer and his household,’ Mannering observed heavily. ‘He must hate Vandemeyer for throwing him out at a moment’s notice.’
‘That wouldn’t be surprising,’ Bristow agreed. ‘We could find out a lot if we could talk to him.’
‘Are you looking for him officially?’
Bristow took a cigarette from an open box of fifty on his desk, lit it, and answered, ‘Yes, though I’ve no ostensible reason to suspect Vandemeyer of any crime, and I’m conducting the line of inquiry very discreetly. I thought you ought to know what I’ve discovered already.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mannering warmly. ‘We know that something out of the ordinary happened at Vandemeyer’s place about three or four weeks ago, but we haven’t the slightest idea what it was. Do you know anything about the staff who’ve replaced those who were fired?’
‘They all seem to be all right, but we’re checking,’ Bristow answered.
‘Has Gillespie been replaced?’
With great deliberation, Bristow said, ‘No, John. He will be a very difficult man to replace. I can tell you that Saxon’s, the agency which has supplied his staff in the past, are on the lookout for someone.’
Mannering went very still.
‘If you see what I mean,’ added Bristow, without a change of expression.
Slowly, Mannering replied, ‘I see exactly what you mean. Vandemeyer needs a man he knows he can trust, who is knowledgeable about miniatures and objets d’art generally and who knows the trade. And we want someone who can get close enough to Vandemeyer to find out what is happening, someone uninhibited by official rules and regulations.’
‘Right,’ said Bristow, smiling almost frostily. ‘There’s another requirement, however.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Vandemeyer mustn’t be able to recognise the replacement.’
‘No,’ said Mannering. ‘No.’
They sat silent for some minutes but there was no quiet in Mannering’s mind. He now knew exactly why Bristow had asked him to call, and what Bristow hoped he would do. At first thought it seemed utterly impossible, but was it?
Bristow knew that there was no man in the world more capable of disguising himself than Mannering. He could be two different men virtually within an hour; in the past his expertness at disguise had, time and time again, saved him from capture and disaster. The moment he had realised the significance of Gillespie’s disappearance Bristow must have thought, ‘John Mannering could replace him.’
It meant other things, too.
Bristow was extremely anxious to find out what was happening in Vandemeyer’s house, and this could only be because he suspected something both grave and unlawful. No doubt, too, he was influenced by the murder of Josephine.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Mannering said, slowly.
‘Don’t take too long,’ advised Bristow. ‘Vandemeyer might fill the post, if you do.’
First Rennie, now Bristow, trying to pressure him into making a quick decision. Mannering was aware of the irony of that and saw its humour, but he wasn’t in a mood to laugh. A dozen thoughts were flashing through his mind at once, and each of them came back to Lorna.
If he took on this task, how could he personally help to protect her?
He smiled drily at the thought that he was taking it for granted that if he wanted the vacant post with Vandemeyer he could have it. That was a long way from certain, and was a challenge in itself.
‘The very idea is absurd,’ declared Mannering.
‘Ludicrous,’ agreed Lorna, solemnly.
‘Bristow can’t have been serious,’ Mannering declared.
‘He was pulling your leg, darling.’
‘No policeman in his right mind could be serious.’
‘He was daring you to do something he knew you couldn’t possibly attempt,’ said Lorna. ‘And if you did you would almost certainly fail.’
‘Oh,’ said Mannering. ‘Was he?’
‘And in any case you wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.’
‘It’s years since I put on a disguise, remember.’
‘You’ve almost forgotten how,’ Lorna said, straight-faced.
‘Damn it, this isn’t a joking matter!’ protested Mannering.
‘No, darling, I can see how serious you are.’
‘Lorna—’
‘And just a teeny-weeny bit devious,’ Lorna declared; her eyes were laughing at him but her voice was serious.
‘I am not, even the slightest bit, devious,’ stated Mannering flatly.
‘Aren’t you, darling? Didn’t you know perfectly well the moment Bristow put this idea into your head that you would take Vandemeyer’s job if you could possibly get it? And aren’t you scheming like mad to make me talk you into it?’
Mannering looked at her for a moment in silence, and then laughed with sudden and complete good-humour.
‘Believe it or not,’ he said, ‘but I hadn’t realised it. I suppose you’re right.’
He moved across the dining-room and put his arm around her. She looked up into his face, her expression more serious than before – as if his laughter had taken away the mood of teasing. He stood back from her, still holding her shoulders, and went on, ‘I can’t possibly do it, of course.’
‘Why not?’ she asked.
‘I can’t leave you, for a start. And—’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m going to leave you.’
Again he looked at her, this time without understanding.
‘John,’ Lorna said. ‘I’ve been thinking on and off all day about Josephine. I never seriously doubted that she was killed in mistake for me, and I suppose I’ve taken it for granted that they will try again. They are likely to, aren’t they?’
‘There’s certainly a real danger,’ Mannering agreed.
‘So – it’s silly to stay here and feel that I might be attacked at any moment,’ Lorna went on. ‘I suppose if the truth be told, I’m scared. I know nothing on this earth will stop you from trying to find out who killed Josephine and why, and if you were always looking over your shoulder in case I was in trouble, you couldn’t really concentrate on the investigation, could you?’<
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‘I would make quite sure you weren’t in danger.’
‘I know you’d try to,’ Lorna corrected. ‘It would be much better if I went off somewhere, and I’ve wanted to spend a few days in New York for some time. I think those portraits I did for the New Arts Society need varnishing and I’d loathe anybody else to touch them. I’d love to see the new exhibition at the Guggenheim and the Modern Art Museum, too. I could go off tomorrow. I’ve no very pressing commitments – the Cobe portrait being indefinitely deferred – and it won’t take long to pack. As a matter of fact I would like to buy a few summer clothes in New York.’ She paused for a moment and then went on rather quickly, ‘I’ve made up my mind, John; please don’t try to dissuade me.’
She was, he could see, making it possible for him to devote himself wholeheartedly to the Vandemeyer problem, and he knew as well as she that there was nothing he would like more.
Chapter Seven
Disguise
Mannering watched the VC10 climbing into the sky, dark trails from the jet engines like the exhaust of rockets. About him on the Observation Roof at London Airport were dozens of people – tearful relatives, solitary wives, here and there an airport official, and here and there an airport policeman and a plainclothes man from Scotland Yard.
The aircraft became a speck against the azure blue of the clear sky.
Mannering turned and went down to the main building of the Ocean Terminal and walked over partly-made roads and paths towards a multi-story car park. He took the wheel of Lorna’s car, a Morris 1800, looking intently about him, but no one showed any interest. As he drove off he watched in the mirror but no one followed him. Once on the Great West Road he felt fairly secure, but from time to time he checked to make sure.
When he reached his flat he parked the car outside and a plainclothes man – one of a team on duty there since the murder – came up.
‘Any problems?’ asked Mannering.
‘No, sir, nothing at all. Mrs Mannering hasn’t come out.’
Mannering kept a straight face. ‘That’s good,’ he said.
