by John Creasey
‘Are they back?’ That was Harrison.
‘No.’ That was a woman’s voice.
‘Any news at all?’
‘None.’
‘I’ll break Rundle’s neck,’ growled Harrison. ‘But no harm’s done: they didn’t see Mannering. Take these, I mustn’t leave him alone too long. Where’s the old man?’
‘He’ll soon be down.’
‘Let me know the moment there’s any news,’ said Harrison.
When the man returned to the room, Mannering was standing with his back to the fire, drinking a whisky and soda. He smiled pleasantly. Harrison did not appear to notice that the door had been opened. He slammed it behind him and came briskly to the table.
‘It is cold for the time of the year, and Mr. Bellamy thought you’d be glad of a fire. If the moor’s like this in autumn, what the devil’s it going to be like in winter?’
‘Is this your first year here?’ asked Mannering.
‘Oh, yes. We’ve only recently bought the place,’ said Harrison. ‘Lock, stock, and barrel! All we want is a moat and drawbridge, and it would be a feudal castle.’ He poured himself out a stiff peg, put in a splash of soda, and tossed the drink down. ‘Ah—h, nothing like whisky to warm the old cockles, in there? ‘Nother?’
‘No, I’m all right, thanks.’ Mannering was conscious of his own tension and restraint, and hoped Harrison would put it down to a diffidence in new surroundings.
‘Plenty of time,’ said Harrison, and poured himself a second stiff drink. He sipped it this time, and took a cigarette-case from his pocket. ‘Smoke?’
He gave Mannering another bold, piercing look as he proffered his case. Was it suspicious?
Mannering took a cigarette, and said: ‘I never like thunderstorms.’
Harrison gave an explosive laugh, and his face cleared; that had reassured him. But Mannering saw beneath the surface. The cloak of bonhomie would drop from Harrison’s shoulders in a flash, if he chose. He was undoubtedly a personality – and not quite so young as he had at first appeared; in the early thirties, Mannering judged. His curly hair was cut short at the sides, his face was lean and his cheeks were pleasantly tanned; a strong, well-built and healthy man, with fine ease of movement and a nonchalant manner. He had clear blue eyes, a short straight nose, short upper lip, and a wide, well-shaped mouth; a sensuous mouth.
He was taller than Mannering, who stood six feet; a powerful adversary. Adversary?
Yes, the thought was in Mannering’s mind, put there by the old man and the girl. But would he have thought of hostility but for those warnings?
‘You’ll want to see your room,’ Harrison said at last. He seemed unable to keep still. ‘Come on.’
They went up the great staircase, past oil paintings of full-length figures, along a wide passage, and into the huge, end room. A four-poster bed against the door-wall was lost in it; large furniture seemed dwarfed by an open fireplace and window.
‘You’ve your own bathroom and what not,’ Harrison said, pointing to a door in the corner. ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll see you downstairs.’
‘Thanks very much.’
Harrison waved and went out.
Mannering washed, then took stock of the room. The furniture was massive and really old; the dark-brown carpet had a thick pile. His suitcase had been brought up, and so he put on a clean collar, anxious not to stay upstairs too long. For there was mystery here, even if there were no danger; and Harrison might give him a clue to the mystery.
Mystery and crime were part of his business.
Harrison was sitting alone in the big room. He looked up eagerly.
‘Can’t say how grateful we are to you,’ he burst out. ‘Coming this frightful journey. Benighted place. Live here for years and no one would know. Die here, if it came to that!’
Was that just a casual remark?
‘With the moor as a burial ground,’ murmured Mannering.
‘Hold it!’ protested Harrison. ‘Creepy thought! Still, it is lonely. And Mr. Bellamy can’t get about much, you now. Told you, didn’t I. Paralysis. Goes about in a wheelchair. Lucky thing it only affects his legs. All right otherwise. Got full possession of his faculties, I assure you. Brilliant man – absolutely brilliant! And he’ll be grateful because you’ve come, Mr. Mannering.’
‘Well, I want to buy what he has to sell.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Harrison. ‘Business – but I hope it will also be a pleasure. How’s life at Quinn’s?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘You’ve a wonderful little shop. Been told that you do more business there than at half the bigger places in London. Fascinating. Had a look round there myself a year ago. Must have a fortune in stock.’
‘It is quite valuable,’ agreed Mannering.
Harrison started to laugh. ‘Ha! Quite valuable! You will have your little joke, Mr. Mannering. Don’t mind admitting that I’ve never seen a collection like it, although I’ve lived among antiques and objets d’art all my life. Brought up among them – that’s how I came to suit Mr. Bellamy. I’m glad I can hold the job down – you’d be amazed if you knew what I’m doing.’
‘Would I?’ asked Mannering.
‘You would. Cataloguing the contents of this place – and Mr. Bellamy’s collection. Stupendous! Fascinating! I—’
Someone tapped at the door.
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Harrison, jumping up. ‘That might be a message from Mr. Bellamy.’ He strode out of the room and closed the door with a snap.
It was too risky to open it again, but Mannering crossed the room and listened intently.
‘…serve her damned well right,’ Harrison was saying. ‘Where is she?’
‘Gone to her room.’ That was the woman who had spoken before. ‘Do you want to see her?’
‘I’m going to see her all right.’ There was menace in the words.
The voices stopped, and footsteps rang out clearly. Mannering opened the door an inch or two, and looked into the hall.
Two dim lamps were on, and the light from this room made a bright oblong on the floor. He slipped out, closing the door, and stood quite still, able now to hear two sets of footsteps – those of Harrison, who was near the landing, and of the woman, who had gone into another room on the ground floor. Slowly all sound faded, and the house was silent except for the heavy ticking of a huge clock near him. Tick-tock-tick-tock. It reminded him of the girl riding across the moor. Tick-tock. Clip-clop … ‘Don’t go!’
He could just see Harrison’s shadow on the landing, and suddenly heard a tapping sound; a knock at the girl’s door? He mustn’t stay here too long.
‘Stella!’ Harrison’s voice boomed out impatiently. ‘Let me in!’
Mannering heard a rustle of movement, and looked towards the stairs, alarmed lest he were being spied on. There was no cause for alarm, but for astonishment. A shadowy figure was creeping down, hand on the rail, glancing behind her; a girl—the girl! She reached the hall and, without noticing him, hurried to the door of the room which he had just left.
‘Stella, old dear.’ Harrison began to wheedle; at least he believed that the girl was still in her room.
The girl opened the door and slipped into the room. As she closed the door behind her, Mannering heard an exclamation of dismay. When he went in, she was staring towards the far corner. She heard him, and swung round; her face was a mask of fear.
‘Oh!’
‘All’s well,’ murmured Mannering.
He closed the door and leaned against it. Behind the girl the fire blazed, filling the room with light and shadow. Her yellow, woollen jumper clung to her fine figure; her hair was plastered about her head and forehead, and stuck to her cheeks. She was trembling, perhaps from both shock and cold.
‘So—you’ve come.’
‘I told you I was coming, and I’m very glad I’m here.’
‘You must go away!’ she said hoarsely.
‘Now don’t let’s go over that again,’ said Mannering.
Her eyes were feve
rishly bright; despite her appearance and her agitation, her beauty shone through. She was nearly as tall as he, but above all those things, he saw her as a woman in desperate straits.
‘I’d like to help you,’ he said.
‘I – I don’t need help! You do. They’re going to—’
‘Stella!’
The door burst open, Mannering moved hastily, and Harrison strode in. Had he heard those last words? Mannering scanned his face, trying to judge. ‘Stella,’ Harrison repeated more quietly, and the girl raised her head as if in a gesture of defiance. ‘Why on earth did you go out in the rain? You’ll catch your death. And why did you come in here?’
‘To—to get warm.’
‘A hot bath is what you need,’ said Harrison, heartily. ‘Then a hot toddy and bed!’
He looked over his shoulder, and a woman came into the room.
She was short and stocky, dressed in a long dark-blue frock, which looked like a uniform. Her jet-black hair was plaited and coiled tightly about her head. Her face was pale, her lips a faint pink mark against the whiteness. Mannering noticed all those things, but her eyes held his attention; these were round, light grey, and curiously dull and lifeless, as if they were without sight.
The girl’s lips tightened, and she sent the woman a look of hatred.
‘Oh, Mrs. Dent,’ said Harrison, ‘run a hot bath for Miss Bellamy at once, will you? Go upstairs with Mrs. Dent, old girl,’ he said to Stella. He was desperately anxious to make this appear normal, and not to arouse in Mannering any suspicions of his behaviour, and he over-elaborated.
Would she defy him again?
No, she hadn’t the strength of will. She walked past him, head high, yet unable to conceal her fear both of the man and the woman. She did not look at Mannering again as she entered the hall, followed by the older woman.
Mannering turned to the table and picked up his glass casually. Some remark was called for.
‘She looks chilled through and through.’
‘She is. Mannering—’ For the first time Harrison dropped the ‘Mr.’ ‘Did she say anything to you?’
‘She was about to when you came in,’ said Mannering. ‘I’d advised her to change her clothes, and she’—he shrugged his shoulders—‘rather let off at me. She didn’t want help or advice, I gathered.’
Harrison’s explosive little laugh burst out.
‘Ha! No – she wouldn’t want help, she’s an independent little devil. Strong-willed?’ He tapped his forehead significantly. ‘Up to a point. Mr. Bellamy’s niece,’ he declared. ‘She was never very strong. This house upsets her. If I were the old man, I’d have her put away somewhere. Or have someone here to look after her. But she won’t worry us anymore.’ He sauntered over to the door and picked up his half-finished whisky. ‘Ready for another?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Mr. Bellamy won’t keep you long,’ said Harrison. ‘We’ll have the preliminary chat before dinner. Dinner’s an event here! The old man’s something of a gourmet. Makes your mouth water, doesn’t it?’
Mannering smiled. ‘It sounds attractive.’
‘We knew you’d appreciate it,’ said Harrison, and finished his drink. ‘Won’t mind if we don’t change tonight, will you? Changing is a bit of an ordeal for Mr. Bellamy, and he only gets into a bow tie on great occasions. Ha! Not that this isn’t a great occasion – family occasions, I really meant! I was saying, before I went out, he’s a remarkable man. Brilliant. And wealthy. There can’t be many men left in the country as wealthy as Silas Bellamy. Although you haven’t many paupers among your customers at Quinn’s, have you?’
‘Not many,’ murmured Mannering.
‘I’ll bet you haven’t! It isn’t often we put anything on the market,’ Harrison went on, ‘but when we saw your advertisement in Apollo, we answered it. I think the old man was as anxious to see you as he was to sell the emeralds. Oh, he’ll sell ’em all right – he’s a man of his word, but he’ll think a talk with you worth as much as the money. You’ve got a buyer, I suppose?’
‘At a price,’ said Mannering cautiously.
‘Oh, the boss won’t sting you,’ Harrison assured him. ‘He’s fair – too fair, I sometimes think. Too soft-hearted. I suppose his own affliction makes him—’
Harrison broke off and turned round, although Mannering had heard nothing. The door opened, and Harrison hurried across and pulled it wide.
A man in a wheelchair came slowly into the room.
Chapter Three
Silas Bellamy
It was all wrong.
No man who looked as big and healthy as Bellamy, should be tied to a wheelchair, his withered legs hidden by a black rug. He wore a dark-grey coat and waistcoat, across which stretched a gold albert, and he was perfectly tailored. He had a fine face and plentiful grey hair, parted in the middle and waving back. His smile of greeting radiated good will as he turned a wheel of his chair with his left hand, and held his right out towards Mannering.
‘Well, Mr. Mannering, I’m delighted to see you – really delighted!’
‘Nice of you,’ said Mannering, smiling in turn.
Bellamy’s handclasp was strong, his hand cool. His voice held a faint American accent.
‘Not at all, Mr. Mannering, nice of you to travel such a distance at the whim of a helpless old man.’ Bellamy looked no more than fifty-five. ‘I just had a desire to see you, sir, to meet you in the flesh; I’ve heard so much about you and Quinn’s. There aren’t many shops famous throughout the world, Mr. Mannering, but Quinn’s is one.’ He glanced at Mannering’s glass. ‘Come on, now, you aren’t drinking. Fill Mr. Mannering’s glass, Jim.’
Harrison sprang to obey.
‘Now sit down, Mr. Mannering – I can see you better when we’re on the level. I don’t mind admitting, sir, that wherever I’ve been I’ve heard of the reputation of Quinn’s. New York, Cairo, Bombay, Paris, Buenos Aires – but you don’t need me to tell you what you know already. It’s a fine little place you’ve got, and one of these days I’m going to see it, or my name’s not Silas Bellamy.’
‘Which,’ said Harrison, coming forward with the glass, ‘it is.’
‘If you’ve travelled so far, I can’t understand why you haven’t been to London,’ Mannering remarked.
‘Well now, there’s quite a story behind that,’ said Bellamy. ‘I wasn’t always like this. I could get about when I was younger, but I didn’t go to London. For some peculiar reason I couldn’t make London – three times I was on the point of going when I was recalled. I lived and worked in New York, Mr. Mannering. And the fates played a cruel trick on me, they kept me away from what you folk call the largest city in the world.’ When Mannering made no answer, he chuckled. ‘Mr. Mannering, I’ve taken quite a liking to you already – forgive an old man for being frank. Most English people would shout: “so it is” when I said that about London.’
Mannering laughed. ‘I know it is.’
‘Well, that’s a good one – that’s what I like – a man who knows. Joking apart, Mr. Mannering, I’m proud to have you under my roof. I hope you’ll enjoy my hospitality for more than one night. Yes, yes, I know that’s what was arranged, but sometimes the best of us change our plans, don’t we?’
Was it imagination, or was there a threat in the words? The emphasis on the desire to bring Mannering down here; the hint that he might stay longer than he expected; the curious way that Harrison had said, ‘which … it is,’ when his employer had said ‘or my name’s not Bellamy.’
‘I’m sorry you arrived late, and it’s dark now,’ Bellamy said. ‘I was looking forward to showing you over this old house tonight, Mr. Mannering, but that will have to wait until the morning. You couldn’t see much of it, could you?’
‘Very little,’ said Mannering, ‘but it’s imposing.’
‘I always dreamed of owning a house like this,’ Bellamy said, ‘a long, long while before I was rich enough to hope for it. A real English castle! And I guess that’s what it is. Why,
parts of this building are over six hundred years old, Mr. Mannering. The chapel is in its original state. Some of the furniture goes back to the twelfth century – you’ll see that’s true when you’ve had a good look round. It makes me feel like a piece of old England myself when I realise I own this place.’
And you do,’ Harrison drawled.
‘Surely! Now, Mr. Mannering, you’re a business man and a good one, or Quinn’s wouldn’t have the reputation it has. And as a business man, you want to get business done. That suits me. Jim—’
Harrison went to a Jacobean dresser in a corner, while Bellamy watched smilingly. Harrison opened a cupboard and took out a black leather jewel-case. He brought it to Bellamy, who held it in one hand, weighed it up and down slowly, then opened it.
The lambent green beauty of emeralds stole into the room, glistening on a pad of black velvet. There were three stones; the largest, in the centre, was shaped like a heart; those on either side were oval-shaped, and all were beautifully cut.
Bellamy handed the case to Mannering, who took it without comment and stepped nearer the light. He did not need to use his glass or to inspect them closely to see that these were the Lake Emeralds.
He was here to buy them for a dealer who said he had been seeking them for years. They had last been heard of in the United States; but no one had admitted possession until Bellamy had answered his advertisement for them. Precious stones like these gave rise to many crimes.
Had Bellamy a right to them?
Both men were watching him. Cat and mouse?
He looked up.
‘Very few men would like to part with these, Mr. Bellamy.’
‘I’m not saying I want to part,’ said Bellamy, ‘but I reckon you wouldn’t want to buy them for someone else if that someone didn’t want them mighty bad. It’s a small sacrifice for getting you to come down here, and if we get the business over, we can enjoy ourselves. What about the price?’
‘Three thousand pounds,’ Mannering said, and did not miss the emphasis on ‘getting you to come down here.’
‘They’re worth all of six!’
