by John Creasey
‘Thank you, Peters, I know. How are things here?’
‘I’ve just been talking to Mr. Jameson,’ said Peters. ‘We feel that Mr. Mannering would wish us to open as quickly as we can. Three gentlemen from the United States are expected today, as well as one from Paris, and I believe that Signor Benito is due from Milan, today or tomorrow. I had agreed with Mr. Larraby that, subject to your approval, we would open.’
‘We can manage quite well for a week or two,’ said Jameson. ‘Mr. Larraby won’t be in for some time, but if we engage a messenger, there should be no difficulty.’
‘Right,’ said Lorna, ‘we’ll open—it’s past time I learned more about the shop.’
‘But your own work—’ protested Peters.
‘I can do with a rest from it.’ Lorna walked along the narrow shop to the office. She noted with a shiver that the blood-stains had been removed from the Queen Anne desk, the chair and the floor. A pile of correspondence lay on a silver salver.
Lorna spent an hour with Peters dealing with it, and had only just finished when Chittering arrived.
He greeted her warmly.
‘Thanks to a girl with a pair of very sharp eyes, the police made a raid this morning on a gentleman named Reginald Allen. He was dead when the police arrived.’
Lorna paled. ‘You mean he was murdered?’
‘Yes, and that makes it a bigger job than we thought at first. There’s no doubt that Allen came here, his prints tally with some the police found. Two of the smaller diamonds were sewn in the lining of his pocket, too. Apparently he worked with someone else, handed over most of what he stole, but kept those two for himself.’
Lorna said slowly: ‘So it wasn’t on the spur of the moment.’
‘No, there’s some kind of organization behind it. I have a feeling that Bristow has a feeling that it will be a nasty job.’
A week later, Lorna went into Mannering’s ward, and found him sitting up.
He kissed her. ‘I’m beginning to feel almost human again,’ he said with a ghost of a smile. He went on a little querulously: ‘Donald Law has been full of dire warnings. Apparently I’m to be here for another two weeks, and then a nursing home for two more. After that, he insists I should convalesce in the country.’
‘Larraby and Peters are coping very well under the new manager,’ Lorna said gently.
‘New manager?’ repeated Mannering, blankly. ‘I’d rather close down for a few weeks than take a chance on a new man …’
‘It’s not a new man, it’s me!’ said Lorna laughing. ‘I promise I won’t lose you more than a thousand or so a week.’
‘But—’
‘And I have a secretary,’ said Lorna. ‘The girl who answered Chittering’s plea for help. Her father is retiring, so it all happened very neatly. The two men look after the shop, and I see the people you’d usually see. Larraby will be back in three weeks’ time, so don’t worry, darling.’
A nurse looked in. ‘Only two or three more minutes, Mrs. Mannering, please.’ She went out again.
‘Marching orders,’ said Mannering wryly. ‘But you’ve left a happier man.’ There was a gleam in his eyes as he went on: ‘Is there any news from Bristow yet? I would like to know about the man who killed Reginald Allen.’
‘We all would,’ Lorna said; and shivered, because she knew that John was already longing to be in the hunt for the murderer of the man who had so nearly killed him.
For the whole of that week, a Mr. James Arthur Morris had searched every newspaper article about the Mannering case for any indication that the police believed that they could get beyond Allen. He found none. References in all the newspapers became shorter and shorter. The Echo kept it going more vigorously than any of the others, but at the end of the week, even the Echo had only a brief mention in one of the inside pages.
Morris, who had a small jeweller’s shop near Hatton Garden and was believed to be honest, watched his assistant put up the wooden shutters. He locked the door, and walked briskly towards a bar near Leicester Square. Here he met Courtney.
‘We’ll soon be on to some big stuff,’ Morris assured him, ‘if you can fix the girl at Quinns.’
‘I can fix her,’ declared Courtney confidently.
Morris nodded his satisfaction, talked for twenty minutes, then left Courtney at the bar, going by Underground to his home in Ealing.
His wife, a plump and fading woman in the early forties, arranged a whisky and soda on the table by his chair, and opened the door to him as she had done every night for twenty years.
‘Hallo, dear, had a tiring day?’
It was a nightly question needing no answer, and Morris looked round him with new eyes. ‘We’ll buy a bigger place than this, before long, my dear, and live in style.’
‘Just as you say, dear. Shall I pour your drink, or will you?’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Morris. He poured himself out a generous tot, and held it up to the light. ‘Yes, business is going to be very good, from now on. I’ve started a new line.’ He chuckled.
‘I’m so glad,’ said Mrs. Morris. ‘Dinner’s nearly ready.’
Morris smiled as he sipped his drink. He had taken a big chance, and it had come off. He had never trusted Allen’s trigger-happy attitude, but Courtney was made of different metal.
He poured himself another drink, then picked up the paper. He saw a small paragraph that he hadn’t noticed before. John Mannering, injured in the Mayfair jewel robbery, was now out of danger.
‘Why should I worry?’ Morris asked himself. ‘If Allen were alive, it might be tricky. As it is, there’s no problem.’
Like a shadow in the back of his mind was the fear that Courtney might become one; but whisky drove that fear away.
Chapter Six
Full Recovery
Lorna and John Mannering sprawled happily on the beach, the sun, warm and benign, beating down on to the sea and the distant cliffs. An Indian summer had lingered into early November, and this was the Mannerings’ last day in Devon. It had been a restful, lovely holiday; one to remember.
All that was missing at Quinns, when they arrived the following afternoon, was the red carpet. Jameson stood ahead of Peters, and Sylvester and Anne Staffer stood behind them.
The greatest moment came when Mannering saw Josh Larraby just ahead of Jameson. Mannering gripped his hand.
‘It’s wonderful to be back,’ he said a little huskily. ‘Thanks, all of you.’
He went along to the office, leaving Lorna to talk to Sylvester and the girl, taking Larraby with him.
‘And things are really going well?’
‘Very smoothly, sir.’
‘The girl?’
Larraby smiled.
‘Until a few weeks ago I should have said that the last thing we wanted at Quinns was a young lady assistant, but I must say the patrons seem to like her. I expected some of our regular patrons to feel a little perturbed, but they haven’t shown any sign of it. With the increasing volume of business, we could use her permanently.’
‘Then we will.’
‘I wonder if you’ll tell her at once?’ said Larraby. ‘I think she is rather anxious about her future. I’ve had that impression during the past few days. It seemed to become more noticeable as the time for your return drew nearer.’
‘I’ll see her in five minutes,’ said Mannering.
He sank into the chair in which he had been shot, and remembered everything that had happened as vividly as if it were taking place at that moment. Young Allen with his pleasant manner and his apparently genuine inquiries, then the gun and the realization that the youngster meant business. Mannering could recall the way his heart seemed to stop when he saw the fingers tighten on the gun; the way he had flung himself sideways; but for that, the bullet would have gone straight through his forehead.
Now, part of the Fesina collection was gone.
The insurance had covered that, so there was no financial loss. Lorna was probably right, and he was a fool to want
to make inquiries, yet the compulsion had been working in him almost from the time that he had come round in the hospital. He was impatient to see Bristow, as impatient to see Chittering.
There was a tap at the door.
Anne Staffer came in. He liked the way she moved; there was a frankness about her eyes which he liked, too.
‘Come and sit down,’ Mannering said. ‘I’ve a feeling that you like it here.’
‘I do—very much,’ she said warmly.
‘And you’d like to stay?’
She clasped her hands.
‘I’d give anything to be able to. I love the shop and the work itself, and I can’t imagine anything I’d enjoy more. But I know you don’t normally employ women, and I shall quite understand, if …’
‘Five hundred pounds a year until the end of the year, and a rise then if you’re worth it,’ offered Mannering unsmiling.
Her eyes glowed. ‘Oh, thank you!’
Mannering leaned back, studying her. There was a hint of anxiety in her eyes, something he couldn’t place. ‘Happier now?’
‘Much!’
Mannering said mildly: ‘If you’ve ever anything on your mind, tell me—or tell my wife, if you’d rather. The job needs all your concentration, and you can’t concentrate if you’re worried.’ He stood up and offered his hand. ‘I hope you’ll be with us for a long time.’
When she had gone, he sat back, frowning. She was relieved by this decision, but it hadn’t driven all her anxieties away. Was there domestic trouble? A boy friend? He shrugged the thoughts aside, and started to look through some papers on the desk. There was another tap at the door.
It was Larraby.
‘Come in, Josh,’ said Mannering. ‘And tell me how good it is to see me back again!’
Larraby smiled sedately. ‘I didn’t come about that. In fact I’m not sure that I should have come at all. I am a little anxious, possibly without reason. May I ask—?’ he paused.
‘Anything, Josh.’
‘Have you engaged the young lady permanently?’ When Mannering didn’t answer, Larraby went on: ‘I like her very much indeed, she does an excellent job and doesn’t mind what hours she works, but—these last few days, I’ve had a feeling she had something on her mind. Sylvester blamed it on to the possibility that you’d dismiss her, but I’m not so sure. You see, sir, she’s been followed from the shop several times in the past week or ten days, and I have a feeling that she’s frightened.’
Chapter Seven
Boy Follows Girl
‘Frightened,’ echoed Mannering.
‘I assure you I’m not exaggerating,’ Larraby said. ‘I deeply regret worrying you with anything like this just now, but I’d be wrong to keep it back.’
‘You certainly would,’ agreed Mannering. ‘And it’s good timing, Josh, I’m not in an office desk mood. A little mental exercise before I really settle down to work will do me a world of good. How long has this been going on?’
Larraby paused to consider.
‘It began on the Monday of last week, precisely nine days ago.’
‘And the follower?’
‘Oh, a young man.’
‘Attractive looking chap?’
‘If it were simply a case of a persistent suitor, why should it worry Miss Staffer?’ asked Larraby. ‘I would say the girl is alarmed. Frightened.’
‘Have you followed the chap?’
‘Only a little way along Bond Street. I felt that if he were to be investigated, it should be by someone who won’t be recognized as being from the shop.’
‘I think I know just the man,’ said Mannering. ‘Thank you, Josh.’
‘I did take one precaution,’ Larraby said diffidently. ‘I told the police-sergeant on the Hart Row beat that I was nervous here at nights, and he has doubled the patrol.’
‘Nice work,’ approved Mannering. He waited a moment and then dialled a Central number.
A girl answered: ‘Daily Echo.’
‘Mr. Chittering, News Room, please.’
Almost at once, Chittering came on the line, brusque and businesslike.
‘Chittering here.’
‘And Mannering here.’
‘John! You mountebank, why didn’t you tell me? I’d have been on Quinns doorstep and you would have had a headline. How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks. Are you busy?’
‘Certainly I am. Aren’t I a newspaperman?’
‘Could you find time to look in here—just by chance?’
After a lengthy silence; Chittering spoke with a curious kind of mildness.
‘You’re not up to mischief already are you?’
Mannering laughed. ‘We close at half-past five, and have tea at four o’clock. That’s in twenty minutes.’
Larraby brought in tea on a Georgian silver tray, at four o’clock precisely. Lorna was pouring out the second cups, when Chittering arrived.
She pushed up a chair, and proffered a walnut cake.
Twenty minutes later, she left them to it.
Chittering lit a second cigarette, and looked at Mannering expectantly.
‘Now what, John?’
‘Did you know that Anne had a boy-friend?’ asked Mannering.
Chittering said: ‘I did not.’
‘Could you find out if she has, and who it is?’
‘I’m not paid to spy on young love.’
‘I’m interested in the youth who followed her last Monday, Tuesday and Friday, and again this week,’ Mannering said. ‘Josh isn’t happy about it. He thinks the girl’s frightened.’
Chittering stopped smiling.
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Josh doesn’t scare easily. I’ll see what I can do. Expecting the chap again tonight?’
‘I think he is,’ said Mannering.
Chittering saw the young man at twenty-five minutes past five, when he approached Hart Row from the Oxford Street end of Bond Street. He wore a well-tailored suit of dark brown, and smoked a cigarette as he studied the window of a silversmith’s shop, not far from Hart Row. Chittering contemplated the window of a lingerie establishment; there were mirrors in that window, and he could see Hart Row.
Anne Staffer came out.
Chittering couldn’t see her face in detail, but noticed the agitated way she hurried across the street, as if she wanted to avoid the young man. As she drew nearer, Chittering could see her expression, and did not like what he saw. Was fear too strong a word?
Anne turned briskly towards Piccadilly, and the young man followed her.
Chittering kept pace with them on the other side of the road.
Several times the girl glanced at a taxi, but all were engaged. She reached Piccadilly and darted across the road, but was trapped on an island by the traffic. The young man was able to follow. Chittering made a dash in front of a taxi, and reached the middle of the road two yards away from them. He noticed the young man speaking to Anne. There was a smile on his face, but it was not the smile of an anxious lover; there was something of a sneer in it.
Anne took advantage of a break in the traffic to reach the pavement. The young man was now only a few yards behind her. He kept one hand in his pocket, and seemed quite unaware that he was being followed in turn.
They reached Green Park.
A taxi came along, its hire sign alight.
She waved, with a touch of desperation, and it slowed down. The young man made no attempt to follow, merely waving sardonically as the car sped away. Nevertheless, Chittering saw that he was glancing at passing taxis. Chittering moved under the collande in front of the Ritz, where he couldn’t be seen – and luck favoured him, an empty taxi came up.
‘Straight ahead, and pull up past the bus stops. I’m Press.’
The driver nodded.
The young man was smoothing down his thick, wavy brown hair as Chittering passed. Soon, another empty taxi appeared, and the young man hailed it.
As it passed them, Chittering said sharply: ‘Follow that cab.’
‘How f
ar?’
‘Destination.’
The driver nodded.
Chittering sat back and marvelled at the things that happened to John Mannering, and his extraordinary gift for smelling out crime.
Chittering tossed a half-finished cigarette out of the window. He knew exactly where the girl lived, for he had seen her home twice. When he saw the next turn which the young man’s taxi took, he needed no more telling where he was going.
He got out of his own cab, told the driver to wait, and reached the corner the precise moment that the young man’s taxi drew up outside Anne Staffer’s.
Chapter Eight
Mannering Pays A Call
Mannering sighed, with the contentment of repletion, as Lorna poured out their after dinner coffee.
‘Still brooding over my follies?’ Mannering asked.
Lorna said: ‘John, it’s absurd, but I’m worried.’
Mannering said soberly: ‘I know, my dear. But even if I were to promise not to probe into the Fesina diamond business, it wouldn’t work out. It’s been nagging at me for weeks. I’ve been hoping against hope that Bristow wouldn’t settle the whole business before I had a chance to get restive.’
‘Oh, that’s to be worried over too,’ said Lorna, ‘but at the moment the worry is Anne Staffer.’
Mannering looked more surprised than he felt.
‘I could see she was on edge when we arrived,’ Lorna went on. ‘There can’t be anything wrong, can there?’
Mannering pressed her hand.
‘I can assure you that the situation’s under control.’
‘Then you noticed it too?’
‘Josh did, that’s why Chitty came in. He followed Anne tonight. Josh told me that a young man has been trailing her.’
‘I ought to have guessed,’ said Lorna. ‘You’re not safe to let out of hospital.’ She laughed with relief. ‘It’s saved me the trouble of telling you all about it, anyhow. More coffee?’
The telephone bell rang as she spoke. She looked at it wryly, and then picked up the coffee pot, while Mannering took the receiver.
‘Hallo?’
‘John?’ It was Chittering.
