The Blood Diamond

by John Creasey

  ‘Make for the High Street,’ he said. ‘Straight on.’ He sat nursing his knee, damning it and himself. He’d made a mistake in calling for the police, and—

  Had he? What would have happened to Marjorie Addel if he hadn’t?

  He thought of Larraby, and forgot his knee, until they reached the top of the High Street.

  ‘Second right, and then left,’ directed Mannering. There was some traffic about, and a policeman stood at the kerb; he looked at the car as it passed, but made no move to stop them. In the road which ran parallel to the High Street, Mannering said: ‘This will do. I’ve another car farther down.’ Lorna pulled up, and Mannering got out but nearly fell. Lorna took his arm firmly and reassuringly, and he hobbled towards his hired car. A few passers-by looked at them curiously, because he was so obviously in pain. Another policeman drew near, and stopped: ‘You hurt, sir?’ the law asked. Mannering forced a grin,

  ‘Old trouble, trick knee,’ he said, ‘My car’s farther down. I’m all right.’

  ‘Let me give you a hand,’ offered the law.

  Lorna began: ‘No, I—’

  ‘Thanks, thanks very much,’ said Mannering. ‘Save me leaning on my wife. Supposing you go and start the car, darling?’ He used the harsh voice.

  Lorna hurried off, and the policeman’s supporting arm was sturdy.

  ‘Yes – old knee joint trouble,’ Mannering said. ‘Twisted me knee coming out of a show. Careless of me. I’ll be all right – and you’re very good.’

  ‘Glad to help, sir.’

  The car seemed a mile off, but at last Lorna reached it. They made their way slowly, passing hundreds of people, some curious, some oblivious. Mannering’s heart was thumping, but his lips quirked. What could be better than a police escort, at a time like this?

  Lorna looked out of the window.

  ‘Here you are, sir,’ said the police. ‘Back or front?’

  ‘Oh, front, I think. More leg room.’ Mannering put his hand to his pocket and touched coin; then he drew it away; a coin might have a fingerprint on it, there was danger in that.

  ‘You’ve been very good,’ he said. ‘Number XL5.I won’t forget XL5.

  ‘Only too glad to help, sir,’ said Constable XL5.

  Lorna started the car; the policeman closed the door, and stood watching them as they drove off.

  Mannering said little, and Lorna drove fast; she did most things well. Thoughts fought one another. Had the police caught Lopey and the brute and the man in the grounds? Had they caught Larraby – he could not think clearly about Larraby. Would the diamonds be found and Marjorie rescued? And—had he left anything at all, to show who had broken into the house? Motive wouldn’t matter, if he had left any clue.

  It was always like this; a frenzy of fears.

  How would they explain Lorna’s escape?

  That was the most pressing problem, and Bristow would—

  He exclaimed: ‘Fool!’

  He had forgotten that he still had on the make-up.

  Constable XL5 had surely noticed.

  Mannering laughed. He’d twisted his knee ‘coming out of a show.’ What could have explained make-up more convincingly?

  ‘Let’s laugh later,’ Lorna said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE LADY AND THE LIE

  At Green Street, Lorna helped Mannering on one side, a policeman from downstairs supported him on the other. Mannering was past enjoying the irony of helpful policemen.

  Judy opened the door.

  ‘Judy, I told you—’

  ‘I had to come back, sir, my friend couldn’t put me up for the night.’

  ‘Where’s Mr. Larraby?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him, sir. Have you had an accident?’

  ‘It’s all right, Judy,’ said Lorna. ‘Telephone for Dr. Kennedy, and tell him that Mr. Mannering has put his knee out again.’

  ‘Yes—yes, ma’am.’ Judy hurried off.

  Lorna led the way to the bedroom, the policeman went out, Mannering hobbled across the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. He was past talking, could only grit his teeth and glare at his knee. His face was chalk white. Between spasms of pain, he tried to think. If Bristow came now, how could he fool the man? He wasn’t up to a battle of wits. There was Lorna’s account of her escape to fix; he must think up something good.

  Lorna was speaking; he had to concentrate to hear her.

  ‘Stop worrying,’ she said. ‘Let me get your shoes off.’ She went down on her knees, unfastened his shoes, pulled off his socks. He plucked at his collar and tie, but there was no strength in his fingers.

  Judy entered the room.

  ‘Is there anything I can do, ma’am?’

  ‘Come and help me,’ said Lorna.

  They put him to bed, and he caught a glimpse of the swollen and discoloured knee. The doctor would lose no time, but would Bristow? He had probably heard already of the affair at Guildford, and would jump to the truth.

  The front door bell rang.

  ‘Bristow,’ he muttered. Perspiration stood out on his forehead, and the veins on his neck were thick.

  ‘He’ll be in bed, idiot, it’s probably the doctor,’ said Lorna. She gripped his shoulders and forced him to look at her. ‘I told you not to worry. If Bristow comes, I can handle him.’

  She would try; she hadn’t turned a hair since he’d found her, hadn’t complained or relaxed.

  ‘Don’t tell him a story I can’t corroborate.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  She kissed his forehead.

  ‘Listen to me. That house was raided, and your captors alarmed. They neglected you, gave you a chance to get out.’ He paused, gripping her hands. ‘No, not good enough. How—how did you and I meet?’

  ‘I telephoned you—’

  ‘But Judy might have been here, she’d know—’ Mannering gritted his teeth.

  Then the door opened and Judy said:

  ‘The doctor, sir.’

  Mannering looked at Judy, not at the doctor, a youngish man with a fresh complexion, athletic figure and amiable eyes.

  ‘Judy, what time did you get back?’

  ‘About an hour ago, sir. I—’

  ‘Now don’t worry about anything, Mannering,’ said Dr. Kennedy. ‘You’re not looking too good.’

  Lorna said, ‘Judy wasn’t in when I telephoned you, John.’

  Mannering relaxed; damn this pain, he couldn’t think even of the obvious. ‘No. No,’ he said. ‘I—but—I’d have been seen, I—’

  Kennedy looked puzzled. Lorna glanced at him knowingly, brows raised.

  ‘He’s put his knee out for the third time this year, and had to walk some distance. He’s a bit light-headed.’

  ‘Oh. Now go easy, Mannering—’

  No one seemed to understand, not even Lorna. Of course, she was right to stop him from saying too much in front of Kennedy, but why didn’t she understand how easy it would be for Bristow to disprove a story which wasn’t absolutely water-tight? They could make up a convincing one together but if Lorna told one and he another, the damage would be done. Once Bristow proved that he had forced entry, the door to jail would be wide open. Bristow had been almost vindictive in this show; Tring certainly was. Past and present merged together in a nightmare of uncertainty, while the doctor prodded and probed at his knee and the waves of pain filled him with nausea. It was no use, his mind was hazy, he would have to leave it to Lorna.

  The doctor was saying something briskly. The doctor was rolling up the sleeve of his pyjamas jacket; there was a sharp prick. The doctor spoke again, soothingly. Lorna stood by with her hand on his forehead – a cool hand.

  She was smiling, reassuringly and confidently; but her face was going round and round.

 
There were voices; followed by a sharp ring of a bell. The front door – this was Bristow, Bristow was here. Mannering tried to ease himself up on his pillows, but they pressed him down. The bell rang again. The bedroom door opened, and he saw and recognised Judy. She said something; he could not catch the words but he thought he heard ‘Bristow.’

  Kennedy left him. Kennedy and another man were talking in the doorway. Lorna leaned over him, as if to stop him from seeing who was at the door, and whispered:

  ‘Leave it to me, darling. Leave everything to me.’

  Bristow stood in the drawing-room, stiff, aloof. The gardenia in his buttonhole was wilting; he looked tired, but Lorna didn’t like his stony expression. He’d obviously called at the Yard after a report from Guildford, and had not lost a minute getting here. Tring was in the hall, looking at her without friendliness as she entered the drawing-room.

  ‘Well, Mrs. Mannering?’ Bristow was abrupt.

  ‘Well, Superintendent.’

  ‘I want to see your husband.’

  ‘If you disturb him, I shall make an immediate complaint to the Home Office. Dr. Kennedy made it clear that John, in severe pain, was given an injection of morphia. In spite of that, you tried to force your way into the room and to question him.’

  Bristow lit a cigarette.

  ‘”Forced” is a bit strong. What’s the matter with Mannering?’

  ‘He has put his knee out.’

  ‘At Guildford?’

  Lorna said icily: ‘I’ve been to Guildford. I understood that the police were watching me, but that didn’t help much. It certainly isn’t to their credit that I wasn’t murdered. You’re hardly covering yourself with glory.’

  ‘Mrs Mannering—’

  ‘Don’t Mrs. Mannering me! If you want a statement, you’ll have to change your manners.’

  Bristow bit his lip.

  Tring, near the door, stared, wide-eyed; Mrs. Mannering was usually quiet and reasonable. Bristow was looking pretty sick.

  ‘Well?’ Lorna’s voice was sharp.

  ‘I am sorry that I have given you cause for annoyance, Mrs. Mannering,’ said Bristow, formally. ‘I shall be glad if you will make a statement, and—’

  ‘I’ll begin now. I was at home, working, protected by policemen back and front, when—’

  Bristow said: ‘Now, look here—’

  ‘Don’t you like my statement?’

  Bristow said slowly: ‘I don’t know which of you I’d rather deal with.’ He laughed, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, actually patted her hand. ‘All right, all right, dress it up as you like. Mind if I have a drink?’

  ‘Help yourself.’ A friendly Bristow was more dangerous than a hostile one, but he had a welcome trick of laughing at himself when things wouldn’t go right.

  ‘Thanks. Did John get you out?’

  ‘I got out.’

  ‘Did they do you any harm?’

  ‘Only damage to my opinion of the police.’

  ‘Let’s leave out that one,’ Bristow said. He measured whisky. ‘Drink for you?’ Lorna shook her head. ‘I know what happened and I shall probably be able to prove it, so the nearer you stick to the truth, the better. How long were you at Leverson’s house?’

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He’d been offered the jewels taken from here, and the seller said he would meet Leverson late in the day. Leverson thought that John might prefer to keep the appointment. I was coming back to tell John when I was caught – I didn’t think of a pirate taxi. The police might do something about that.’

  ‘We will.’

  ‘One of the men who robbed the apartment was in the cab – the squat one. He held a handkerchief over my face until I blacked out. I woke up as we ran into Guildford. He blindfolded me and I didn’t see the house we went to.’

  Bristow said: ‘Hm. Go on.’

  It had been easy, so far; but Bristow was ready to pounce if she made one false move.

  ‘The others called him “Lopey,” don’t ask me what that means. He wanted to know where the Adalgo diamond was, and I said I didn’t know.’

  ‘Did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t. He didn’t get rough, but talked about breaking my fingers, even sending one to John. You let some some nice people roam about, don’t you? Something prevented him from forcing the issue then, thank God, and I was left alone in a room. Someone broke in. I managed to get out, and climbed over the garden wall – it had a nice thick hedge in front of it, look at my stockings.’

  Sheer nylons were holed and laddered, and her legs were covered with scratches.

  ‘All by your little self,’ said Bristow.

  ‘I am a grown woman, and I don’t like the thought of losing my fingers,’ Lorna said, coldly. ‘I took to my heels and ran. There was another man running away, I saw him in the garden. Dozens of men seemed to be about. I turned a corner and bumped into John.’

  ‘Aren’t the fates kind.’

  ‘You’d expect him to look for me, and expect him to try Guildford, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if he went to the moon disguised as a Martian. Go on.’

  ‘That’s all. John ran with me, we didn’t want to get mixed up in the free fight that was going on. He slipped off the kerb and put his knee out. You know he’s had trouble with it before.’

  ‘I know he has a wonderful wife,’ said Bristow, and sounded as if he meant it. ‘Why did you telephone the Guildford police?’

  The trick questions always came so glibly.

  ‘Telephone? I was so anxious to get out of that house I couldn’t have talked sense to anyone. What happened at the house? Half the Guildford police force seemed to be there when I left.’

  ‘Ask John what happened,’ said Bristow.

  ‘You love that old story, don’t you? I suppose you won’t tell me about it, but you may as well. We have friends on newspapers, you know.’

  Bristow said: ‘I know that, all right. That bright specimen Forsythe was there on our heels. He’s nearly as slippery as John.’ Bristow still seemed good-humoured. ‘He could tell you that we found your missing diamonds, two unconscious men—’

  ‘My man? Lopey?’

  ‘Not a squat one, if that’s what you mean. A gorilla and a man who answered the description you gave of one of the men who came here. Forsythe can also tell you that this chap had gone to meet Mannering in Guildford, and was met by a stranger. He thinks. He doesn’t know how John loves greasepaint! Forsythe can tell you that we found Marjorie Addel, doped and just coming round, but he can’t tell you what she said to us.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Lorna. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘One policeman had a head wound, but not serious – he was keeping an eye on a car he didn’t recognise, hoping to pick a winner. You’ll sign a statement to the effect of the one you’ve just given?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘John’s had better square with it,’ Bristow said.

  ‘Well, I’ll have plenty of time to tell him about it, won’t I?’ Lorna asked, sweetly. ‘Or are you going to leave a man in his bedroom?’

  Her heart nearly betrayed her as she spoke, it was thumping so hard. If Bristow left a man, it would be because he had some evidence to justify it; if he didn’t—

  ‘Not this time,’ Bristow said. ‘Relief for you, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m more than sorry, I love strange men about the house,’ said Lorna. She turned away, to hide her expression. ‘I hope there isn’t much else. I’m tired.’

  Bristow said slowly: ‘There’s one other thing. Only a fool would let you take risks like this, Mrs. Mannering. Tell the fool that he’s wasting his time and is storing up trouble for himself. And tell him—’

  He broke off.


  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Bristow, gruffly.

  The telephone bell rang. Tring shifted about the hall, Lorna looked at the instrument, Bristow watched it with his head on one side. Then he said: ‘Goodnight,’ went out and closed the door.

  He hadn’t any evidence against John, he was just guessing; and he could guess right a thousand times and do nothing about it. That didn’t matter so much as the obvious fact – he was glad that he had no evidence.

  The bell kept ringing.

  Lorna took off the receiver slowly.

  ‘Hallo.’

  ‘Mrs. Mannering?’ It was Forsythe, and the relief made his voice shrill. ‘Why, that’s wonderful! John was in a hell of a stew.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And he found you! I shall always believe in miracles after this. I’ve just come from Guildford, there’s quite a story. Want it yourself, or shall I speak to John?’

  ‘Leave it to the morning, will you? John’s asleep.’

  ‘Like an innocent babe, I bet! But—’ Forsythe’s tone changed. ‘It’s the very devil. I’m dreadfully sorry, you know, we all liked what we knew of Flick Leverson.’

  Lorna caught her breath. ‘What’s happened to him?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘He was all right when I left him.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Forsythe. ‘Is John asleep or unconscious? He couldn’t forget to tell you that. Leverson was killed. Nasty business. Is John all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lorna. ‘Yes, he’s fine. I won’t stop now.’

  She put the receiver down and went slowly into the bedroom.

  Mannering looked pale and drawn. They’d made a little cage for his knee, to keep the bedclothes off it. That injury would probably stop him from getting up tomorrow; for days. It must.

  She knew that it wouldn’t.