The Unfinished Portrait

by John Creasey

  He looked very, very old. He began to move forward, slowly. ‘We can talk later, can’t we?’ he pleaded. ‘I must telephone—’

  ‘Lionel, go with Sir Cornelius,’ Mannering said. ‘Do whatever he asks, and stand by. And I mean stand by.’

  ‘I will, sir,’ promised Lionel. ‘I—oh, lord! I’d forgotten.’ He stood in sudden alarm and his expression was such that he struck a knife of fear into Mannering. ‘I—I hate to say it, sir, but Josh Larraby’s been shot. He’s at the St. Stephen’s Hospital in the Fulham Road.’

  Mannering asked roughly, ‘How badly is he hurt?’

  ‘Not too badly, I understand, sir.’

  ‘All right,’ said Mannering. ‘You carry on.’ He was gritting his teeth as he turned away, after a glimpse of Vandemeyer’s bowed shoulders and Lionel striding after him. In the other direction, the police were herding the prisoners together and Bristow was looking down at the litter of precious things.

  ‘Bill—’ began Mannering.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ said Bristow. ‘Utterly unbelievable. There must be … millions upon millions of jewels here. I mean, pounds worth of jewels. And surely that—that diamond and emerald crown is the Maharajah of Kanab’s. Surely—’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Mannering. ‘I’ve never seen a collection like this, Bill – and every piece was stolen. You’re going out in a blaze of glory. Do something for me, will you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Bristow replied.

  ‘Come with me to see Gillespie’s body, and to see Lady Vandemeyer before Vandemeyer comes back,’ said Mannering. As he drew level with Lily, who was leaning against the wall with someone’s whisky flask in her hand, he went on, ‘And let Lily Davies turn Queen’s Evidence. I think it’s time she had a break.’

  Lily gave a mirthless little laugh.

  ‘Thank heavens I didn’t shoot you,’ she said.

  Mannering led the way along the tunnel. On the bed, still chained to the wall, was Gillespie. There was no doubt at all that he was dead. Bristow’s expression hardened when he saw the emaciated face and the sores at the chained wrist. A plainclothes man came hurrying along, and as he drew up, he said, ‘I’ve a key for that damned ring, sir.’

  ‘Get him free,’ said Bristow.

  ‘But don’t move him until a doctor’s seen him,’ Mannering pleaded. ‘I have a feeling he was suffocated, not simply left to die.’ He was thinking that had things worked out differently he might have saved Gillespie’s life, but he made no comment, and nor did Bristow.

  They found more men in the house across the Square, which was now in the hands of the police; and they found the real Deirdre Vandemeyer in an attic room at the top of the house. It was plainly but comfortably furnished. Nothing suggested that she had been ill-treated, but she was drugged to the point of coma.

  ‘So Vandemeyer was blackmailed by the threat to his wife’s life,’ Bristow said. ‘I’ve never ceased to wonder what a man will do for a woman. Or a woman for a man for that matter.’

  ‘Nor a wealthy man for the treasures of the earth,’ Mannering said grimly. ‘Bill, listen to me …’

  As he talked, he looked down on Deirdre Vandemeyer who was so calm in sleep, so lovely. And as he looked at her, her face seemed to fade and Lorna’s to replace it.

  Lorna, who was now in no danger but who, because of this sleeping beauty had come so near to death.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Wicked One

  A full eight hours sleep had done Cornelius Vandemeyer a world of good. The years seemed to have rolled off him, his eyes were bright, his movements brisk as he led the way into his study. A cupboard from another room had replaced the damaged one. Behind the walls the police were searching with rare diligence for the scattered gems. Other police, with help from the British Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum, Christies and Sothebys, were cataloguing the rediscovered stolen goods. With them were several experts from those insurance companies most likely to be affected.

  The morning newspapers had been too late for the story; the London evenings carried a little, but within an hour or so new hordes of newspapermen would flood this house, the Yard and Quinns with questions.

  ‘First things first,’ said Vandemeyer, as the others sat down. ‘You say that Judy is quite unhurt, Mannering.’

  ‘Yes, and well cared for.’

  ‘I am—well, needless to say I couldn’t be more glad. Or grateful. I’m sure you know that.’ Vandemeyer picked up three sheets of paper, filled with typewriting, and handled them with a curious kind of fastidious care. ‘Now, Superintendent, you will require a statement, I suppose by way of a confession from me. I have typed it out. Would you like me to read it, or give you the salient points?’

  ‘Let’s have the salient points,’ said Bristow.

  ‘Very well. You need no telling of the background – my own love of and collection of precious stones, miniatures and objets d’art. I make no secret of it – I made my millions and invested in these treasures. My love for them developed gradually. Sometimes I overstretched myself but my wife, wealthy in her own right, came to my rescue. I had this house converted and the chambers built underground to protect my possessions. And I bought other property in Ellesmere Square and let it.

  ‘One of my tenants was a man named Buff.’

  Vandemeyer paused, but neither of the others spoke, so he went on, ‘I knew that Buff let off rooms and small apartments – a common practice in this neighbourhood. So it did not surprise me that a lot of different men went in and out of the house opposite. Buff paid the rent regularly and so far as I knew was a good tenant. What I didn’t know was that he was a very clever thief and buyer of stolen jewels, and that he was tunnelling towards my tunnel.’

  Vandemeyer drew a deep breath and looked extremely distressed.

  ‘I learned long afterwards, that he had bribed my old and as I thought most faithful servant, Gillespie, to give him the information. Gillespie was in my full confidence; he even knew how far my secret chambers extended. It was a very simple matter for him to tunnel through until only a few inches of earth separated the two places.

  ‘Then, Buff brought his secret hoard of stolen gems and objets d’art to the tunnel,’ went on Vandemeyer, ‘and he was ready to put his major plan into operation. He wanted me to buy the stolen jewels or to put them on the market. Of course I refused – I would not listen.

  ‘But I had to listen, gentlemen, when he threatened to harm my wife. He knew what you will now know to be true, that there was no law I would not break, no sacrifice I would not make, for the safety of my wife. I needed one absolute assurance: that she would live with me in comfort, would be free from all fears and dangers.

  ‘Buff undertook to ensure these things, and for a long while, did so without question.

  ‘Gradually, however, his demands on me and on my one confidant, Gillespie, grew more excessive, more difficult to carry out. I had not known of the enormous hoard of stolen treasures kept in my property – I knew of some, not of all. Buff, obviously fearful that he would be suspected by others, perhaps by the police, whom he had so long deceived and in fact derided’—Vandemeyer looked levelly at Bristow—’demanded that I should buy any of his stolen hoard that I could not sell. It was impossible. I told him so. As a result – he kidnapped my wife.’

  Vandemeyer’s voice seemed to fade into silence, and he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. It was a long time before he spoke again, and then it was hesitantly and huskily.

  ‘Buff had planned this for a long time. When the moment came to act, he put on tremendous pressure in order to make the quickest possible killing. He created a reign of terror, threatening Judy, threatening me – and yet keeping my hopes alive by promising not to kill my wife, simply to make a getaway. Once the police investigated, after he had gone, they would know I was not to blame.

  ‘He had trained a woman who was like my wife in outward appearance, to impersonate her. To the outside world, all was to appear normal, otherwise
I could not sell for him or buy from him. He knew that I could not go on for very long, that sooner or later I would give way. Our servants were dismissed, some who had been with the family for years. Every precaution was taken but’—Vandemeyer drew in a hissing breath, as if seized by sudden pain—‘Gillespie became concerned and knew that I was being blackmailed. He thought the only way to help me was to fight Buff, and he threatened to go to the police. He was locked away in the tunnel – kept alive only because of his knowledge of certain of the treasures, their value, and who might be persuaded to buy them. And my daughter came home unexpectedly and realised at once that the woman now established as her stepmother, was in fact another person. For a few days she and Gillespie worked together, and after he disappeared she was frantic. Frantic! But’—again the old man’s voice broke—’she listened to my pleading, my assurance that this nightmare life would not go on forever.

  ‘Then something happened – a chance encounter between your wife, Mannering, and the woman who was impersonating mine.

  ‘I can tell you this. When at first I agreed that your wife should paint Deirdre’s portrait, I had some vague thought of asking your help. I knew of your great reputation, your extensive knowledge of the market and your trade connections. But Buff insisted that all the sittings for the portrait be here – where he could have all the conversations with your wife recorded, and so I dare not give her even a hint. I did not know – I beg you to believe that I did not know – that he planned your wife’s murder. I knew of nothing until afterwards, when it became obvious that things were coming to a dreadful climax.

  ‘But he held my wife captive and threatened such dreadful things. And he had at his command so many men, all thieves and hardened criminals, many of them vicious and brutal.

  ‘I was too afraid to fight. To my eternal shame, I was too afraid.’ Vandemeyer’s voice died away into a sighing whisper of sound, and for a long time there was silence. There was no movement in the room nor any they could hear outside it, until the old man picked up the sheets of typewritten paper and they quivered in his hand.

  ‘Vandemeyer,’ Mannering said, ‘will you answer me one question?’

  ‘If I can – yes, of course.’

  ‘When did you first begin to buy stolen jewels, and begin your unique collection?’

  Vandemeyer started violently. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘When did you first buy stolen jewels—’

  ‘But that is not true! I had all the money I wanted, I had no need—’

  ‘Vandemeyer,’ interrupted Mannering, ‘Buff didn’t suddenly acquire such power over you, and you would never have made such sacrifices for your wife.’

  ‘Mannering! What a thing for you, of all people, to deny! Your wife is everything to you, she—’

  ‘Gillespie and your wife were beginning to know too much,’ Mannering said, quietly. ‘And for years Buff must have been carrying out daring thefts and bringing the stolen goods to you. He had all the men, experts at safe-breaking, at picking and blowing locks. Some of the goods in your strong-room were stolen twenty years ago, and a man like Buff wouldn’t have hoarded that kind of fortune for twenty years. When did your partnership begin? You, the buyer: Buff, the man who knew that whatever he stole, you would buy.’

  ‘Superintendent!’ cried Vandemeyer, ‘this is utterly nonsensical!’

  ‘I hope so,’ Bristow said heavily.

  ‘You must not listen—’

  ‘The police will listen and soon a judge and jury will listen,’ said Mannering. ‘When did it begin – and when did you and Buff fall out? What really happened? Did you decide to pay him off, or even to kill him? Did you want to rid yourself of the past – and did Buff then show his hand? Is that why you killed him last night?’

  ‘But he was going to kill you!’

  ‘Nonsense. I was in no danger, and you know it. Is that why you finally killed Gillespie, too – to make sure he could never tell the truth?’

  ‘Oh, God, this is dreadful—dreadful!’ gasped Vandemeyer. ‘There is not a word of truth in it. What malice has got into you, Mannering, to invent such wicked charges?’

  ‘Not malice,’ Mannering said evenly. ‘Facts. First, Lily Davies told me that you talk in your sleep – so presumably you slept with her, which means you weren’t quite so distraught as you made out about your wife. Second, you took me on, as Marriott, and let me know the secrets of your strong-room; I didn’t believe you would take such a chance with a stranger unless you planned to kill him when he had done what you wanted, which, in this case, was to check everything Buff had done with your treasures, making sure there were no fakes. You said that Buff suddenly started buying stolen jewels, but you could be using him as a cover, rather than Buff using you. So many things didn’t square with you being the victim. And if I had any doubts they vanished when I found a tape-recorder attached to your bed – he was anxious to know what you were planning. Doubtless when all was over, you meant to kill him as well, and put all the blame on his shoulders.’ Mannering took a tiny tape-recorder from his pocket and placed it on the desk. ‘This was built into the head-board, would you like to hear—?’

  Vandemeyer snatched up the recorder, sprang to his feet and stood glaring, as if he did not know what to do.

  ‘Sir Cornelius Vandemeyer,’ Bristow said formally, ‘I must ask you to come with me to Scotland Yard to answer certain questions.’

  Two hours later, Mannering, Judy, Lionel Spencer and Brian Rennie were gathered in the office at Quinns, when the telephone rang. Mannering had just finished relating the story of what had happened, and Judy was sitting almost limp with distress.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mannering. ‘Yes, Bill.’ He saw the others tense as they realised the caller was Bristow. ‘Yes? … Full confession? … Yes, I’m very glad … It will make it easier for everyone … I’m sure she will, you can reassure him completely.’

  Mannering put down the receiver, and looked at Judy.

  ‘Judy,’ he said. ‘He wants you to go and see your stepmother, and try to help her. Will you go right away?’

  ‘Of course!’ Judy sprang up, eager to have something to do.

  ‘May I take you to Ellesmere Square?’ asked Lionel, quickly.

  ‘Oh, please – and may Lionel stay for a while, Mr Mannering?’

  ‘For as long as you need him,’ Mannering told her.

  He went with them to the door, and watched them drive off. He felt tired and in no way elated, but was glad at least that there would be some comfort for Deirdre, and her stepdaughter. As he went into the office, Rennie was answering the telephone, and he held the receiver out to Mannering.

  ‘Thanks. Who? … Josh! Am I glad to hear you.’ Mannering sounded delighted.

  ‘And I to hear you, sir. I have a telephone next to my bed, and can keep in touch with everything that goes on … The doctors say I will be walking in ten days or so. Would you mind telling me what has happened.’

  Mannering told him, in most lucid outline.

  ‘May I offer my deep congratulations, sir,’ said Larraby.

  ‘Thanks, Josh, but they’re not due to me … All right, I’ll believe you! … Take it easy, I’ve a suspicion that we shall be asked to sort out the collections and value them on today’s market, there’s no peace for the wicked.’ He laughed again and then rang off.

  ‘He must be nearly eighty, and he can’t wait to get back to work,’ he said.

  ‘A remarkable man,’ remarked Rennie, with feeling. ‘Nearly as remarkable as you, John.’ He paused. ‘So you’ll have the job of sorting all this out, dealing with owners and the insurance companies and salerooms. I can’t think of a better man for the job. John—’

  ‘Yes,’ Mannering said mildly.

  ‘Will you forgive me if I renege on my offer?’

  Mannering’s smile broadened, and he shook his head.

  ‘It’s a fabulous business,’ went on Rennie, ‘but it’s too risky for me, and no one could ever take your place. And from what J
osh has told me, this kind of thing has been going on for over twenty years. It’s part of Quinns. I just couldn’t stand it, and I know my wife wouldn’t stand for it.’

  ‘And mine certainly wouldn’t blame her,’ said Mannering. ‘Are you going to fly back to New York?’

  ‘Tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mannering. ‘Will you tell Lorna just what’s happened and assure her that there’s no danger now – and that before too long I think she will be able to finish the portrait.’

  ‘I’ll be delighted to,’ said Rennie.

  When he had gone, Mannering was alone in his office. Lionel wouldn’t be back today, and Judy needed him as much as her stepmother needed Judy. A very promising young man, the most promising he had ever employed. There was still a lot of energy left in Josh Larraby who would want to work until he dropped, but Mannering needed help and the enthusiasm of youth. With the old man and the young, he could make a good team.

  But not a big enough team.

  A thought which had entered his head fleetingly a few days ago, came back. Bill Bristow was soon to retire. If he felt like helping part-time at Quinns …

  ‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed Mannering aloud. ‘It’s impossible!’

  But the idea did not leave him again, and he began to hope, if not to think, that it might become a reality.

  Series Information

  Published or to be published by

  House of Stratus

  Dates given are those of first publication

  Alternative titles in brackets

  ‘The Baron’ (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)

  ‘Department ‘Z’’ (28 titles)

  ‘Dr. Palfrey Novels’ (34 titles)

  ‘Gideon of Scotland Yard’ (22 titles)

  ‘Inspector West’ (43 titles)

  ‘Sexton Blake’ (5 titles)

  ‘The Toff’ (59 titles)

  along with:

  The Masters of Bow Street