by John Creasey
‘No!’
‘There you are, you see.’ He kissed her again, more gently. ‘I couldn’t resist this mystery any more than I can you, my darling. You know it. But if—’
‘If it’s dangerous, you’ll tell Bristow. That is, when it’s so dangerous you’re half dead. Did you buy the Adalgo because you wanted excitement?’
‘I bought a lovely jewel, and I didn’t think of it as a gem of ill omen. Just as a jewel. This other business may peter out.’
The ringing of the front door bell broke across his words.
Chapter Five
A VISITOR AND A REQUEST
Lorna pulled herself free.
‘That’ll be Pudding-face.’
‘Who?’
‘The man who brought the packet this afternoon.’
‘And started all this.’
‘So it’s only just started!’
‘Let’s say it’s warming up.’ Mannering stood and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed. She’d made up carefully before dinner and was at her best; it was a lovely best. She wore a black dinner gown, with a high neck; one creamy shoulder was uncovered, one long, slender arm was bare.
‘Hate me?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’
‘Good! Open the door to Pudding-face while I see what he’s brought, will you? Keep him amused. Ask him if he’s really a thief or a murderer, anything will do.’
‘I could ask him how much he’d want to murder you.’
‘That’ll be fine.’
The bell rang again.
Lorna said in a choky voice: ‘Darling, be careful.’
He nodded and hurried into the study. As he opened the settle and went through the various processes to get at the safe, he listened. Lorna hadn’t yet opened the door, and the bell rang for the third time. Lorna wanted to compose herself before meeting a stranger.
Mannering took out the packet, and heard Lorna open the door. When she spoke, the surprise in her voice made him look up sharply.
‘Good evening.’
A woman answered, not Pudding-face.
‘Good evening. Is this Mr. Mannering’s apartment?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please, I must see him,’ the woman said.
She sounded young and alarmed; Mannering could hear her breathing, as if she had hurried up the stairs. He opened the packet. Inside was a small jewel case, without a lock. Inside the case, a single diamond glowed up at him from a velvet lining; few would have been able to tell the difference between this and the one on display at Quinn’s.
He slipped it into his pocket, then went to the door. Lorna was taking the caller into the drawing-room. Her profile hadn’t much wrong with it. She was very young and had fair hair, wavy, attractive. She wore a perfect fitting dark suit, and walked well.
They entered the room, and Mannering heard her say:
‘I must see him quickly. I hope it’s not a bad time, but—’
‘I think he’s free. Who shall I tell him?’
‘He doesn’t know me. I’m Marjorie Addel – Miss Addel.’
‘Do sit down,’ said Lorna.
The girl wouldn’t sit down. Mannering knew agitation when he saw it, so did Lorna.
Lorna came hurrying out of the drawing-room, saw him, but spoke as if he could have heard nothing, pitching her voice rather high.
‘John, a Miss Marjorie Addel says she is anxious to see you. Can you spare her a few minutes?’
‘Eh?’ Mannering stepped close to Lorna’s side, speaking quietly, to sound as if he were in another room. ‘Who did you say?’
He stood by the partly-open door of the drawing-room, peering at the girl through the crack between door and wall. Agitated? She was anguished. Her hands were raised to her breast, she stared at the door as if ready to rush at him when he appeared. He saw that her eyes were a clear, cornflower blue; beautiful eyes; she was really beautiful.
‘Coming,’ he said more loudly, stamped his foot several times, then pushed the door open.
She rushed towards him.
‘Mr. Mannering!’
He smiled. ‘Hallo. Do we know each other?’
‘No, no, we haven’t met, I’ve called on behalf of a friend.’ She could hardly get the words out.
‘A friend of yours?’
‘Yes, I—he came to see you this afternoon. He left a packet with you. I must have that packet, he—he can’t come here to collect it himself. He’s changed his mind about it being for sale and asked me if I would come to collect it.’
He didn’t answer.
‘You must let me have it!’ the girl cried. ‘You must!’
‘I’m afraid it isn’t quite so simple as that,’ said Mannering, recovering slowly.
Lorna followed him into the room and closed the door. She looked dazed by the tempestuous Miss Addel.
‘It must be!’ cried the girl. ‘What do you want to know? Don’t you believe that I’ve come from him?’
He considered.
‘Well, you certainly know that he brought it.’
‘Of course he did. We’re friends.’
He did not know Pudding-face well; he did know him for a man who did not move in the same circles as this girl, whose clothes came from Mayfair, whose youthful intentness could not rob her of an air of good breeding; of quality. She hadn’t even named the man.
‘Just a friend?’
‘Yes! Yes, of course. He told me he’d brought it to you, who else could have done? He—he’s had to go away and can’t get here himself. He was going to offer it to you for sale but he’s changed his mind. I have come from him, honestly.’
‘Perhaps he gave you a note,’ Lorna suggested, faintly.
The girl glanced round at her.
‘What? I—oh, no, there wasn’t time. He had to hurry away. Mr. Mannering, please believe me. I’ll give you a receipt for it. I—I’ll pay a security, if you like, and leave you my name and address. I’ve brought some money with me.’
Lorna glanced at Mannering in blank astonishment. He watched the girl, fascinated. She had opened her bag, and began to take out a bundle of five-pound notes; several hundred pounds were there. She thrust the untidy wad into his hands, and went on:
‘Here are three hundred pounds. I wouldn’t give you that unless I meant what I said, would I?’
‘I suppose not.’ Could anyone be so naive as this?
‘You will give me the diamond?’
Mannering frowned, and did not have to try very hard to sound undecided. ‘It’s most irregular, you know.’ Lorna stifled a snigger. ‘Where do you live, Miss Addel?’
‘Here’s my card.’ She thrust a white card into his hand, to join the money, and watched him intently as he read:
Miss Marjorie Addel,
Gowns,
21, Lander Street, W.1.
‘I have a shop in Lander Street,’ she said, superfluously. ‘Mr. Mannering, I must have that diamond. My friend told me it—it was a serious matter, he must have it back. There’s the money and you can check my identity, if you like, but please let me have it.’
‘Where do you intend to take it?’
‘To—to my friend.’
‘I see,’ said Mannering. Lorna glanced at him over the girl’s head. ‘Let me have a few minutes to think about it, will you?’
‘Please hurry!’
‘I won’t be long,’ promised Mannering.
‘I’ll get Miss Addel a drink,’ Lorna said, brightly.
‘No, thank you, I—oh, well, thanks.’
Mannering went out, closing the door. Lorna would keep the girl occupied for ten minutes, while he dealt with as odd a situation as he’d ever met. There was an attractive honesty about the girl’s appearance.
Honesty?
Mannering grinned to himself as he switched on a special light above the writing-table in the study. He took out the diamond, and studied it closely. The girl, Lorna, everything but this jewel, faded from his mind.
The diamond was real.
Its brilliant, darting lights were dazzling; the colours were beautiful; and there was a faint rose tint at one side; very like the Adalgo. He took out a glass and screwed it into his eye, to make quite sure.
This was a beauty.
He went to the settle, unlocked it, and took out another jewel case. Inside was a diamond which looked like the first, but had no real sparkle; it was paste. He put it in the original jewel case, and placed the real stone in the safe. When he’d locked up again, he went into the hall.
Marjorie Addel was saying: ‘Can’t you please ask him to hurry?’
Lorna promptly said: ‘I’ll try,’ and opened the door. Mannering stood waiting near the study. She came across, quickly.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Give her a fake, and follow her.’
‘I was afraid of that.’
‘Nice girl, isn’t she?’
‘She’s frightened out of her wits.’
‘That’s why I want to see where she goes.’
Mannering went into the drawing-room. The girl jumped up from an easy chair and knocked an empty glass from the arm. She did not seem to notice that as she stared at him with desperate eyes. He drew the jewel case out of his pocket and opened it. In the comparatively poor light, the paste gem sparkled as if it were real.
‘That’s—that’s it!’ the girl cried.
‘I shouldn’t really do this,’ said Mannering, ponderously, ‘but you’re leaving a security, and – well, I’ll take a chance.’
‘I—I do appreciate it, I really do,’ said Marjorie Addel.
She still hadn’t named her ‘friend.’
Mannering made a great fuss of preparing a receipt for her to sign. Lorna found a pen. The girl looked down at the jewel case, clutched tightly in her hand, and seemed as if she had been given the world. Naivete could hardly be carried further. She believed that she had a diamond worth a fortune, and that he’d given it to her, on a flimsy excuse, for a tenth of its value.
Her hand was unsteady as she signed the receipt.
‘There!’ She was radiant. ‘He’ll be so glad. Thank you very much, Mr. Mannering.’
‘Not at all.’ Lorna, behind the girl, raised her hands in mock despair.
‘I must go now.’
Mannering showed the girl out, and watched her hurry down the stairs. She tripped, halfway and grabbed the hand-rail. The only light came from the flat. Lorna was just behind him, as Mannering closed the door loudly.
‘Is she real?’
‘Of course she isn’t, none of this has happened. Put the light out,’ he said.
Lorna touched the switch. Mannering opened the door again and stepped on to the dark landing. The girl had reached the front hall.
‘John! Have you anything—’ Lorna’s whisper was hoarse.
‘To defend myself with? Forget it!’ Mannering didn’t laugh, but she could imagine his smile as he went down the stairs, sure-footed, ignoring the darkness. He made no sound.
Lorna closed the door quietly and hurried to the drawing- room. She moved the curtain aside. A street lamp showed a small two-seater parked a little way in front of Mannering’s Talbot. The girl took the wheel, and drove off.
A minute later, Mannering followed.
Lorna didn’t move when the car’s rear-light disappeared, but let the curtain fall a little. Her face was pale and tense. There was no sound anywhere.
Suddenly, a man moved from the doorway of a house opposite. He walked beneath a street lamp, and she saw his tall, clumsy figure and familiar features; she knew him as Sergeant Tanker Tring, of the Yard.
Tring walked heavily towards the end of the road and entered a telephone kiosk.
Lorna said involuntarily: ‘Darling, be careful!’
The words echoed about the room, mocking her helplessness. She knew Tring’s tenacity; knew that he had never given up hope of catching the Baron. Day in, day out she was haunted by the fear that one day, perhaps soon, John would make some trivial slip with which the police would brand him for all the past.
He was no longer the Baron, but nothing else in him had changed. He’d want to know why that girl had come, who had sent and frightened her, why there were so many diamonds like the Adalgo. Wherever the trail took him, he would go.
She turned away from the window, lit a cigarette, and poured out a drink. Then she picked up an illustrated book, which Mannering had brought home a few days ago. Jewels and their wearers filled its pages. She found what she wanted; a portrait of a dark-haired beauty: Zara, fifth Duches of Adalgo, the first owner of the diamond; and in an inset was a drawing of the diamond.
Lorna closed the book and went up to the studio.
The sketches of Larraby were on the easel.
As she studied them, she imagined a sinister twist in his expression. Imagination? Now that she knew about his past, how could she believe that he had come into Quinn’s by chance? Once a thief, always a thief.
She caught her breath.
That wasn’t true; mustn’t be true.
She made herself work on one of the sketches. Every line and stroke of her pencil seemed to increase the touch of the sinister. She dropped her pencil, tore the sketch across and across, and flung the pieces aside. Then she took a new sheet of paper, picked up the pencil, and began to draw blindly. A likeness of the pudding-faced man appeared on the sheet, then one of Marjorie Addel.
The girl was a picture postcard beauty.
No, that wasn’t true. She had – quality. It forced its way through into the sketch. Lorna caught her expression of delight when she’d been given ‘the’ diamond. Youthful, naive – and relieved beyond words.
Lorna said: ‘I wonder what he’ll learn about her,’ and made a colour sketch of the girl. It absorbed her. She was putting the finishing touches to it when she heard a creaking sound behind her. She turned.
‘John—’
It wasn’t John, but a stranger, with a gun in his hand.
The man stood behind her, near the door to the studio. She had left the hatch at the top of the rickety staircase open, and he’d stepped on a loose board.
He was squat and broad-shouldered, with a handkerchief over the lower half of his face, and an old trilby hat pulled low over his forehead, the brim shading his eyes. His right, gloved hand pointed the gun towards her. He stood quite still, a figure of silent menace.
Lorna did not speak; her mouth went dry.
‘Come here, sister,’ the man said. His voice was low-pitched and hard; with an accent.
She did not move.
‘I told you to come here,’ the man repeated and advanced a step. ‘I don’t want trouble.’ He moved the gun.
Swift, wild thoughts flashed through Lorna’s mind – of Tring, outside; surely he was still there, he must have seen the man come in. If she flung her palette it would spoil his aim. A brush would do, any missile. If she screamed, people in the neighbouring flats would hear her; people in the street would raise an alarm.
‘If you open your mouth, I’ll shoot you in the stomach. You wouldn’t like the feel of that.’
He meant it.
Would sounds travel far from the attic?
‘Get a move on,’ the man said.
She had to obey. Every step was mental agony. She could not see the man’s eyes clearly, but they seemed dark and brilliant. If she could strike at his arm—
As she drew nearer, he stood aside, out of reach.
‘Turn round and go down, backwards.’
/> She glanced down through the open hatch. Another man stood in the hall below. She hadn’t a chance. If she weren’t careful, she would fall. She fumbled for the top step, then went down slowly. The man below moved forward and caught her arm as she reached the bottom. He also wore gloves. Without a word, he pulled her towards the drawing-room door, and the other came down; both moved with uncanny silence. When they were all together in the big room, she waited for the next order.
Would it never come?
They just stood staring at her. They were trying to frighten her. Trying! They were hoping to break her nerve, and were already near success.
The squat man spoke abruptly.
‘We don’t want trouble. We have come for the Adalgo. Understand?’
She didn’t speak. That accursed diamond—
We’re going to get it. Don’t make any mistake about that. Because you’re going to tell us where it is.’
‘I don’t know!’
‘That’s a lie!’
‘It’s at Quinn’s!’
‘Make up your mind.’
‘My—my husband doesn’t tell me where—’
‘Forget it. Which room?’ asked the squat man.
The other moved forward swiftly and seized her arm again. His fingers were cold, like steel bands. He twisted her arm; it didn’t hurt much, but carried the threat of torture.
‘Which room?’ he demanded again.
‘I tell you I don’t know whether it’s here.’
‘You know, all right.’ The man waved his left hand to the other. ‘Fix her. Be quick about it.’
Her arm was bent back so that she couldn’t move without pain. The man pulled a scarf from his pocket, and twisted it round about her face, covering her mouth. The other moved and held her arms as the scarf was tied behind her head, drawn tightly across her lips, pressing them against her teeth, blocking her nostrils, making it hard to breathe. Then they pinioned her arms with cord, and moved away. She swayed, drunkenly. The men watched her, their glittering eyes very bright. She lost her balance, tried to save herself, but fell. Either of them could have saved her, but neither moved.
