The Unfinished Portrait

by John Creasey

  He wanted to know the whole truth.

  And he wanted to find the real Deirdre Vandemeyer.

  ‘We ought to get a move on,’ he said again.

  ‘I’m not stopping you. Can you get into the study?’

  ‘Not—not without the keys,’ he lied.

  ‘I’ve got the keys to the study door. Do you know the corner cupboard? Can you open it?’ Words spilled from the woman’s lips.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You’d better be sure,’ ‘Deirdre’ said. ‘You lead the way. And don’t forget I’m just behind you with the gun.’

  He went ahead, knowing that with a single movement he could kick the gun out of her hand. There was a risk that she would press the trigger and shoot him, but that risk didn’t keep him back. He had to find out all she knew.

  He reached the landing, and the study door.

  ‘What about Wells and the other servants?’ he asked.

  ‘They can’t hear from this part of the house, and they’re off duty. Stand aside – and don’t think I won’t shoot you.’ He moved as he was told, and she took a key from a pocket in her skirt. The muzzle of the gun made patterns in the air, he was on edge lest it go off by accident.

  The door opened.

  ‘You go in first,’ she insisted. ‘Go on. Hurry!’

  He went in and crossed immediately to the corner cupboard. She watched him groping much more than he needed to; it would not be wise to find the way into the treasure house too easily. He was thinking that there must be a way from this floor to the tunnel but he hadn’t yet found it.

  Suddenly he muttered to himself, ‘He does something at the desk before he opens this.’

  He strode past her, making no attempt to get the gun, hoping to convince her that she had nothing to fear from him. He reached the desk and began to press from a position in Vandemeyer’s chair.

  ‘For God’s sake hurry!’ she screeched.

  ‘I’m being as quick as I can.’

  ‘You’re like a snail. Here, let me—’

  ‘I’ve found it!’ exclaimed Mannering. ‘Didn’t you hear that click?’ He jumped up and passed her again, reached the corner cupboard and pressed the side, and the cupboard began to move away from the wall.

  ‘It’s opening!’ she cried. ‘It’s opening!’

  ‘Yes, I can see it is.’

  ‘Stand back! You’re in the way!’

  He moved a foot, watching the door and the hole in the floor appear. Her eyes glistened and she moistened her lips in an almost lascivious way.

  Very slowly and deliberately, Mannering asked, ‘Do you know where the real Lady Vandemeyer is?’

  She hardly reacted at first, obviously not taking the question in. Then she jumped round and thrust the gun closer to him, eyes blazing with anger. His heart began to thump.

  ‘What the hell do you mean? I’m Lady Vandemeyer.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd,’ Mannering said. ‘I came to get some of these jewels but I couldn’t get them on my own. You can’t get them without help, either. If you were the McCoy you wouldn’t have to take them this way.’

  ‘You—know that?’

  ‘Yes. Where is she?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter where she is,’ ‘Deirdre’ said harshly.

  ‘I want to know.’

  ‘If you don’t get a move on you’ll never know anything again!’

  Mannering stood in the entrance to the treasure house and spoke with flat finality.

  ‘I want to know if she’s dead. If she is, it’s a murder rap, and I don’t intend to—’

  ‘She’s not dead! He wouldn’t let them kill her, wouldn’t—’

  ‘Who is “he?”’

  ‘Vandemeyer, of course!’

  ‘Who wanted to kill his wife?’ asked Mannering quietly.

  ‘They did. Buff did! She knew too much—’ She broke off and screamed at him, ‘Stop asking these questions. Go ahead – go on!’

  She gestured with the pistol, and Mannering shrugged as if with resignation, and went into the first chamber.

  With the gun in his back, the knowledge of all that had happened, the dangers and the fears, he was still swept to astonishment at the scintillating radiance about him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the woman open-mouthed in wonder, as if stupefied by the sight of so much jewellery, so much beauty, so much wealth.

  The gun dropped towards the floor.

  Mannering simply turned round, as if marvelling, and took the gun from her. She was so affected by all she saw that at first she didn’t try to stop him. Then she realised what he was doing, tried to snatch it back and when she could not, flung herself at him.

  Mannering was carried almost off his balance by the fury of her onslaught. He grabbed a shelf, sending diamond rings and brooches flying in cascades of radiance to the floor. She clawed at his eyes, at the same time bringing her knee up towards his groin. He twisted his body and took the blow on his thigh. Her mouth wide open, she was screaming on an uncanny, stifled note, as if she had some measure of control despite the unbridled fury of the attack.

  Suddenly, instead of backing away, he went forward. Their bodies collided, the force of the impact proving the furious intensity of her attack. She tried to draw back but he flung his arms round her and held her, vice-like, against him. He could feel the thump of her heart as she strained to get away. Then she lowered her head, to butt him in the face, but he dodged in time and simply raised a hand to the back of her head, and crushed her to him.

  She began to gasp for breath. She was up to any trick, he knew.

  She began to pant, and her body went limp, her eyes closed, her head lolled to one side. Very slowly and carefully Mannering eased his hold – and in a flash she was writhing and kicking again, and the toe of her shoe caught him on the shin.

  He winced with pain, and anger suddenly took over.

  He spun her round, pulled her arms behind her, holding her wrists in one hand. He took the blue scarf from his neck and used it as a rope to tie her hands behind her, and only then did he let her go.

  She staggered against the shelves, and priceless jewels fell to the floor like pebbles.

  He dabbed at his lacerated face, conscious, too, of his abraded shin. He moved back a pace in case she decided to kick out again – and as he went out of reach, she did.

  On the same instant there was a thump of sound beneath them.

  ‘What’s that? What was it?’ she gasped.

  There was another thump, almost immediately beneath them.

  ‘Someone’s coming!’ she informed him mechanically. ‘Someone’s heard us!’

  Mannering took her gun from his pocket, and spoke for the first time since her onslaught.

  ‘If they have, blame yourself.’ He moved farther away so that he could watch both her and the opening into the study, ears strained to catch any sound of footsteps. There was none, but bumping and thumping went on below.

  ‘It’s not in the house, it’s in the tunnel!’ she said, whispering. ‘It’s beneath us.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Mannering. He went to the opening and peered about the study; the room was empty and the house seemed silent. ‘Deirdre’ did not launch another attack, her fears had transferred to the threat down below. As he looked back at her, Mannering was caught by her beauty again; fear and rage had given life to her expression, put fire into her eyes.

  ‘What—what are we going to do?’ she asked huskily.

  ‘I know what I ought to do,’ said Mannering harshly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I ought to take the jewels and run, locking you in here until the police find you.’

  ‘Oh no!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, dear God, please don’t do that.’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’

  ‘I—I’m sorry, I lost my head. But don’t—don’t leave me. You can have half the jewels, take any you like but don’t leave me here.’ She moved towards him and asked as if in a wondering voice, ‘Did I do t
hat to your face?’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I really am. Please don’t leave—’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Mannering said, still harshly. ‘I’ll let you go with half of this if you’ll answer a few questions.’

  ‘But there’s no time. Listen! Men are moving about downstairs, they’ll soon come up. We’ve got to hurry.’

  ‘We don’t move from here until you answer my questions.’

  ‘Then ask them, you fool!’ she screeched, deep in her throat.

  ‘Who are you?’ Mannering demanded.

  ‘I—I’m Lily Davies. I—I’m an actress. I’ve known Buff for years. Years.’

  ‘Did he make you stand in for Lady Vandemeyer?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and words spilled out of her. ‘He said there was a chance in a million. I had to stand in as Vandy’s wife. I said it was crazy but he said Vandy would go along with it – and the old creep did! It was all laid on. Lady Vandemeyer went away, I came back in her place. I’m very like her, that’s why Buff thought of me, I didn’t need to do much, just make up a bit older, that was all. They changed all the servants, no one here could have spotted the change except old Gillespie and Judy and Judy was supposed to be in France, she was going with a party of friends but some of them caught chicken-pox or something and she came back. She knew I wasn’t her stepmother but Vandy persuaded her not to talk about it. I don’t know any more, I swear I don’t—we’ve got to go. Hark at those men downstairs.’

  ‘I can hear,’ Mannering said.

  ‘They’re hammering something!’

  ‘I can hear that too. What happened to Gillespie?’

  ‘He knew something was wrong – his sight was failing, he couldn’t see me properly, but he knew from my voice. He told Vandy he knew Buff was blackmailing him, begged Vandy to go to the police. And he and Judy hatched up some plot which Buff found out.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ Mannering demanded remorselessly.

  ‘They took him away! I don’t know any more. They didn’t let me know much but I saw these jewels once. Buff said I’d get as many as I could cram into my biggest handbag when it was all over.’

  ‘What did you have to do to help?’ demanded Mannering.

  ‘Just—just pretend to be Vandemeyer’s wife. Just put on the act, that’s all.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I tell you I don’t know!’ The woman was at screaming point.

  ‘Is Buff blackmailing Vandemeyer?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’d call it. He can twist Vandy round his little finger, there were times when I was almost sorry for the little squirt. Buff’s got something on him all right but don’t ask me what, he—’

  She broke off and caught her breath, her eyes rounded with astonishment. She was facing the opening that led to Vandemeyer’s study. Mannering thought on the instant that she was trying to make him believe someone else was coming, but he glanced round as she screeched, ‘It’s closing!’

  And the wall was closing up. The corner cabinet was swinging into position. Mannering made a wild leap forward, but as he touched the back of the cabinet it clocked into place.

  And the lights went out.

  Lionel Spencer pulled up outside 17 Ellesmere Square, switched off the engine, and jumped out. His movements were quick and decisive; he was breathing a little faster than usual, that was all.

  A light shone brightly on the white paint of the porch.

  He rang the bell, drew back a pace, and forced himself not to look round. It was some reassurance that police were on the roof and at each entrance to the Square, but Larraby had been shot so cold-bloodedly, he was prepared for anything to happen almost before he could think.

  No one came. He pressed again, with the same result; then rat-tattatted on the brass knocker, the hard metallic sound echoing all about the Square. As the echoes faded footsteps sounded behind him. He turned, to see Superintendent Bristow and two police officers.

  ‘There’s no answer at all,’ Lionel said, puzzled. ‘They can’t have flown, can they?’

  ‘We’ll have a look,’ Bristow said. ‘Get in through the window or break down a door,’ he ordered his men.

  Ten minutes later, they had been through every room in the house. Upstairs there were signs of hurried packing; downstairs, there was no sign of haste at all. No one was in any of the rooms – but in the cloakroom by the front door were frayed ends of cord, suggesting that a man had been tied up there, and cut free.

  Bristow himself opened the door to the cellar, and in the dim light from behind him he saw a man lying bound and gagged, with his head crushed in.

  For a dreadful moment he thought it was Mannering.

  For the same agonising moment, Lionel Spencer thought so too.

  Then in a tone of indescribable relief, Bristow said, ‘It’s not Mannering.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Lionel breathed. ‘But – where is he? He wouldn’t have gone with the others willingly – he couldn’t have!’

  ‘Knowing John Mannering, I’d believe him capable of anything,’ said Bristow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Walls

  Mannering stood absolutely still in the pitch darkness. He could hear Lily breathing agitatedly, but that was the only sound, for the hammering below had stopped. It seemed an age before she said huskily, ‘We—we’re buried alive.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Mannering said.

  ‘We—we are!’

  ‘They’ll open up again soon.’

  ‘You—you’re only saying that.’ There was a rustle of movement before she went on, ‘I’m terrified.’

  ‘Take it easy,’ Mannering said soothingly. ‘It is frightening, I know. Stay where you are a minute.’

  ‘I—I want to be near you.’

  ‘I won’t run away,’ Mannering said drily. ‘I’ve a torch.’

  ‘A torch – a light! Oh, thank God!’

  He took a slim pencil torch from his pocket and a thin beam of intense white light cut like a dagger through the darkness. There was a rumbling noise below, but nothing like as loud as before. Mannering twisted the top of the torch and the light became diffused, spreading much farther but not dazzling. Lily had come only a little nearer, and he remembered almost with a shock that her hands were still tied behind her back. She looked unbelievably handsome, had a certain magnificence with her shoulders back and her figure like a statue.

  ‘Lily,’ Mannering said, ‘will you promise not to play any tricks if I untie you?’

  ‘Tricks?’ she echoed. ‘I’m too terrified to try anything.’

  ‘You’d better be, because I would have to get rough if you did.’

  ‘I—I won’t be silly,’ she said. ‘I—I’d be a raving lunatic if I were here by myself. I’ve never needed a man around so much!’

  Mannering laughed, in spite of himself. He went nearer, saying, ‘Turn round.’ He untied the scarf, still not absolutely sure that she would not attack him again, but all she did was to rub her hands and wrists, making a little slithering noise.

  ‘How—how long will that torch last?’

  ‘Two or three hours,’ he answered.

  ‘Sup—supposing they don’t come back?’ She was close to him, now.

  ‘They will.’

  ‘You can’t possibly tell!’

  ‘Use your head,’ urged Mannering. ‘How much are these jewels worth?’

  She ejaculated, ‘Of course!’

  ‘The question is, how long will the others be?’ Mannering went on as he placed the torch carefully on a shelf, resting it between a diamond and sapphire bracelet and a ruby corsage pin – each worth tens of thousands of pounds.

  ‘Can—can you do anything?’

  ‘I’m thinking as fast as I can,’ he told her. ‘Keep quiet for a bit, while I concentrate.’

  She was staring at him intently, and he wondered what was passing through her mind. While there was the chance that he could help her she was unlikely to lose her self-con
trol again. Later if the situation seemed to get worse, she might go berserk.

  ‘Can—can we sit down?’ she asked suddenly. ‘My legs are aching.’

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Mannering.

  She slumped down, her limbs falling almost unconsciously into a pose of studied allure. ‘Do you think I can smoke?’

  He lowered himself rather stiffly beside her. ‘It will be much better if you didn’t.’

  ‘So you do expect to be here a long time?’

  ‘I think we might be, so why use up what air we’ve got.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. She put her head on his shoulder. ‘Go on, then. Concentrate.’

  He leaned back against the wall, and brought all his concentration to bear on the situation. There was a fortune here, but a far greater one down in the other chambers, worth ten, twenty, thirty times as much. Vandemeyer or Buff might well decide to sacrifice these treasures, if there was sufficient risk to themselves in coming back for them.’

  No one else knew of this store-house, so the only hope was for Buff or his men to come back for the jewels.

  Hope, thought Mannering, almost desperately. What hope would there be of being left alive?

  He pushed this fear to the back of his mind, wondering whether Buff had been released. And what about Vandemeyer and his drugged sleep?

  There were many things still unknown, but their significance faded into the background. The only thing of vital importance was to find a way out of here. His thoughts veered towards what he knew of the control system. The first switch was at Vandemeyer’s desk, the second at the corner cabinet. If the switch itself was in the desk there was no chance; if it was in the side of the cabinet he might conceivably get at it, if he could make a hole in the wall.

  He needed an explosive, such as … dynamite! My God! Lily had come prepared to blow up the tunnel!

  ‘Lily,’ he said, hoarsely.

  ‘Hm—hm?’ She turned her head to look at him, surprisingly relaxed. Perhaps the outburst had drawn all the energy out of her, leaving her subdued and lethargic.