The Baron Returns

by John Creasey

  It was the obstacle to their marriage, the reason for Mayfair rumours that they were next door to engaged. It was the one thing, he knew, which made Lorna brood too often and made her gloomy. While Rennigan was alive they could only carry on: hoping, loving.

  Mannering knew just how worried Lorna was, knew that when she was not working – her painting was winning some critical acclaim – or playing with him, she was thinking of Rennigan. She held her mother in veneration allied to an appreciation of Lucy Fauntley’s faults which had made her keep her marriage secret. In a way she was fond of her father.

  Fauntley was on Teevens’s black list; so Lorna was on it, indirectly.

  Mannering imagined he could see into the future. Teevens, clever and unscrupulous, scheming with his equally astute solicitor Lobjoit, was quite capable of forcing Fauntley near bankruptcy. That would smash Fauntley and his wife, and be a terrible blow to Lorna.

  John Mannering seemed to warm in advance to the fight that was inevitable.

  Theft for theft’s sake had little appeal; theft for gain was no longer necessary. But a campaign against Teevens, a Teevens who had issued that challenge in his talk with the Press, a Teevens who was as cold-blooded as well as unscrupulous – or the doublecross of Alice Purnall would have been impossible – gave the Baron a new zest for life.

  It was good to be alive!

  And it was time he saw Fauntley.

  Chapter Five

  FAUNTLEY CONFESSES

  ‘Come in, John, come in! Devilish hot today, devilish hot! Gregory, telephone Mr. Teevens that I will see him just after four at his office. Well, John, how are you?’

  Lord Fauntley, greyer, more peppery than ever, but obviously tired and worried, shook hands with the man he hoped would one day be his son-in-law, if only Lorna would make up her mind to marry him, and smiled. It was a brave smile, if not a particularly successful one, Mannering saw the dark rings round his eyes and the thin lines at his mouth.

  ‘I’m doing fine,’ Mannering said. ‘And you?’

  ‘We—ell, not so bad. Not so bad, certainly not so bad as a lot of others. These are dicey days on the market, John. These confounded strikes and rumours of strikes, everyone’s unsettled, and money’s easy to lose and damned hard to come by. I’m seeing Teevens this afternoon about some shares. He’s a good man that – damned clever.’

  ‘Not averse,’ said Mannering, pleased that the opportunity for discussing Teevens had come so quickly, ‘to making money without being too particular how.’

  Fauntley shrugged his thin shoulders.

  ‘I suppose not. Most people are taking what they can get these days, John; they can’t afford to be too particular. But I’m still able to keep my gems, eh? You haven’t been along to see them lately.’

  It was impossible for Mannering to point out to Hugo Fauntley that he had avoided seeing the jewels because the lure of them was almost too strong to be resisted. Half-a-dozen times he had been sorely tempted to relieve Fauntley of some of the minor pieces in his collection, and the temptation grew stronger every time he saw them.

  ‘I’ve been busy too,’ he said.

  ‘Ha! Ha! You busy! I—er—I was wondering if you were going to Scotland, John? Lorna will be up there for a few weeks yet.’

  ‘I’m thinking of it,’ said Mannering. He returned to the subject of Teevens. ‘Is Teevens saving you anything?’

  ‘I think so. Yes, I think so. He’s making me a little, too. Very astute fellow, as I’ve told you.’

  Lord Fauntley leaned back in his chair, pressed the tips of his fingers together, and eyed Mannering uncertainly. He was convinced that there was one man in the world he could really trust with the true condition of his affairs, and that was Mannering. But his natural vanity and dislike of admitting that he was not so clever as he liked to make out had stopped him.

  Mannering’s second reference to Teevens brought the peer to a point of decision. Mannering saw the way he pressed his fingertips together, and was half prepared for the revelation to come. He offered cigarettes. Fauntley took one from the case absent-mindedly, his fingers rather unsteady.

  ‘John!’ His voice was hoarse. ‘I wonder . . .’ Mannering did not prompt him. ‘John, I’m probably a fool to talk to you like this. You’re such a careless chap – money doesn’t matter to you. But . . .’ Fauntley shrugged his shoulders as though that would explain more clearly what he meant. ‘But it’s my very life. I’ve had a long run of success. Ups and downs, it’s true, but on the whole, success – and now I’m in a very bad position. I’m nearly cornered!’

  Mannering’s smile seemed as casual as ever, but his mind was working very fast, the position was worse than he had expected.

  ‘It can’t be as bad as that.’

  That was all Fauntley needed to start a flood of words.

  ‘Oh, it can, in a hundred ways! I’ve lost half a million – half a million – on the markets in the past few months. I’ve strained my credit to the uttermost, and without Teevens I’d really be in Queer Street. I tell you, John, that unless the luck turns, I’m going to lose everything. Everything!’

  Fauntley’s pose had gone completely, he looked grey and haggard. The worries of the past few weeks had been more than he could stand. ‘I sent Lucy and Lorna up north while I tried to recover some of my losses. Oh, I know that Lucy would be a help in some ways, but I’ve had to work morning, noon and night, and I didn’t want them to be worried. It’s—it’s dreadful, John.’

  Mannering stood up slowly; Fauntley’s eyes were on him, almost imploring. Mannering’s face was set, and there was an expression in his eyes that Fauntley had never seen before, an expression that was really the Baron’s.

  ‘So Teevens has you cornered, has he?’

  Surprise replaced Fauntley’s expression of despair, and he frowned.

  ‘Teevens has me cornered? Confound it, John, Teevens has been a good friend. Time and time again he has saved me thousands.’

  ‘How much have you lost while you’ve been dealing with him?’ Mannering’s voice was hard.

  Fauntley was plucking at his upper lip.

  ‘Well – several hundred thousand. But the markets, John – you know how they’ve been going.’

  ‘I’m not going to suggest that Teevens rigged the market,’ said Mannering, ‘but he hasn’t been far off it. What made you use Teevens? You must know the man’s reputation.’

  Fauntley looked a little greyer, a little more frightened, and yet more obstinate.

  ‘Oh, I knew he had a reputation for being on the sharp side. But everyone knows he’s clever, and he handles accounts for the big people – some of the really big tycoons.’

  ‘While they’re doing well, they get on fine,’ Mannering said dryly. ‘As soon as they start losing, Teevens gets richer.’ He was feeling very bitter, for he could see the almost insuperable difficulties of the situation only too clearly. Fauntley stood up from his chair, his hands in his pockets, his head thrust forward.

  ‘Are you seriously suggesting that Teevens has deceived me? That he’s not been straight?’

  ‘I certainly am,’ said Mannering. He told the story of Alice Purnall, without discussing the further adventures of her necklace. Fauntley stood like a stone image, staring through his pince-nez. ‘And so there isn’t much doubt what he’s been doing,’ Mannering went on. ‘But you’—he pushed his fingers through his hair—’you’ve been playing the markets for so long that it doesn’t seem possible Teevens has squeezed you like this.’

  Fauntley suddenly lifted his hands from his pockets and clenched them, shaking them towards the ceiling, glaring. ‘The swine! The damnable rogue! John, it began when I was away, two years ago. I went with Lucy to Australia, and Teevens looked after my affairs. I lost a great deal, but Teevens was so plausible, so . . . Mannering. I’ll have the law on h
im! I’ll have him gaoled!’

  ‘How?’ asked Mannering.

  Fauntley started to say how, and then dried up. He must have realised that the combination of Teevens and Lobjoit was very formidable. Everything had been legal; perfectly legal, damnably legal!

  ‘It’s dreadful,’ gasped Hugo Fauntley, ‘Awful.’

  ‘How much do you owe Teevens?’ Mannering asked. If Fauntley had been a little more self-controlled he might have wondered at the smile on Mannering’s lips. He might have seen that Mannering was something more than the eligible wealthy husband for Lorna. He might have seen something of the Baron gleaming from Mannering’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t owe him much, John. It’s just that my own credit’s so low. I’ve been under pressure from some of the banks. I’ve even mortgaged the Portland Place house. I . . .’ Fauntley was looking desperate. ‘The only things I’ve got left are the jewels, and I can’t—I can’t part with them. Do you hear? If I start to sell the collection, everyone will know I’ve crashed. Credit will stop altogether, and—and, John . . .’

  ‘Go on,’ said Mannering softly.

  ‘It’s not only me! I employ two hundred people, one way and another; they’ll have to go. And Lorna, Lucy. Everything!’

  ‘Who has the mortgage on Portland Place?’ asked John Mannering.

  ‘Teevens! John, I’m going to see him. I’ll force him to make amends somehow.’

  ‘Easy now,’ said Mannering, and he gripped the peer’s arm.

  ‘At the time I thought he was so honest, decent – I didn’t dream of this. He holds the deeds of Portland Place and the Devon estate. And—John!’

  Fauntley’s lips were dry, his eyes were staring.

  ‘Let’s hear the whole story,’ Mannering urged. ‘We may be able to see a way round it.’

  Fauntley seemed not to have heard him.

  ‘I was going to see Teevens this afternoon. He wants interest due on the mortgage. Only two thousand pounds, but—but I haven’t got it! I just haven’t got it!’

  Mannering drew a deep breath, and then started to talk. Fauntley seemed dazed at the sudden bewildering authority the dilettante and man about town had.

  ‘Hugo, it’s no use losing your grip. Teevens has fleeced you, and there’s only one way of getting back at him. By frightening him. Frightening him into believing that you’ve enough evidence to go to the police.’

  ‘But I haven’t any proof!’

  ‘I’ll find it,’ said Mannering, and to Fauntley’s astonishment he laughed. ‘I’ll find it, and I’ll start by going to see Teevens now. It should be quite a party!’

  There was a light in his eyes and a smile on his lips; he looked as though the prospect was the most attractive thing in the world, and Fauntley could not understand the transformation.

  ‘But if you see him, he’ll know I’m worried.’

  ‘If you see him, and ask for time with the interest payment, what’s going to happen?’

  Fauntley gulped.

  ‘I—I suppose he will refuse.’

  ‘He certainly will,’ said Mannering. ‘But we’ll play him with a line that he can’t break. He’s forced you into a corner, but he can’t do anything while you pay the interest. Can he?’

  ‘No – unless, unless I have further losses on the markets. Teevens is handling what I have left, and supporting me with his own money. If he loses . . .’

  ‘Dictate a letter to Augustus Teevens,’ said Mannering. ‘Telling him to stop dealing on your account from now on, and to send you a detailed statement of the position of your account. That will stave him off for a few days. Give me a cheque for two thousand, to meet the interest. You don’t mind what I say to him, I take it?’

  ‘Of—of course not. But I tell you I haven’t got two thousand to give! I’ve enough to keep the office going for a month, and Portland Place. After that, unless the market picks up, I’m done.’

  ‘Teevens can’t do any more today,’ Mannering said. ‘The market’s closed. Have that letter registered so that he won’t be able to say he’s never seen it. Send another by hand tomorrow morning to make sure he doesn’t try to.’

  ‘But,’ began Lord Fauntley; and then he stopped, for Mannering had taken his cheque-book out and was drawing a cheque for two thousand pounds. Mannering handed it to him, and watched Fauntley sign his own cheque, made out to Mr. Augustus Teevens.

  Chapter Six

  TEEVENS, LOBJOIT AND CO.

  Mannering reached the pretentious Lombard Street offices of Mr. Augustus Teevens just before four o’clock, at which time Teevens was preparing for an interview with Lord Fauntley that he believed would give the peer a shock.

  There had been a time when Teevens had been an honest man, and there were still people who believed that he would have made a much better bishop than a stockbroker and a better politician than a prelate. To all whom Gus Teevens, a monstrous man with a flaccid, pale face and very light blue eyes, turned a deaf ear. He possessed a hearty, rumbling voice, was hail fellow well met, and had operated on the Stock Exchange without a rumour against him for over ten years.

  There were plenty of rumours now, but Teevens crushed rumours by ignoring them. He had money and power, and saw how he could challenge the law and yet not be caught by it. He knew that there was a fortune to be made out of unorthodox methods, and he made it, defying Scotland Yard and the Stock Exchange. At the time when he was pressing Lord Fauntley as he had pressed many others, he was probably one of the ten richest men in London.

  One of the few Teevens had never handled work for was Mannering. Teevens did not know the truth about Mannering, and believed he was fabulously rich. Mannering had spent many years carefully creating that reputation, and it had served many excellent purposes. Actually he was worth about fifty thousand pounds, with an income from gilt-edged shares of three thousand a year. The world could think he was worth millions if it wanted to.

  Mr. Augustus Teevens saw Mannering’s card on his secretary’s hand and gave one of those benevolent smiles which made strangers think that his heart was of pure gold.

  ‘Send Mr. Mannering in, Wigham, send him in!’ Teeven’s voice, unctuous and rolling, boomed out so that Mannering heard it clearly.

  A rather nervous clerk hurried into the waiting-room.

  Mannering followed him into Teevens’s spacious office – an office with a desk on which stood a dozen telephones and a few papers. The stockbroker was on his feet. Teevens, a great hulk of a man, six feet three in height and possessing colossal girth, extended a large, flabby, beringed hand.

  ‘Come, in my dear Mannering! I’ve often wondered whether men with your luck and my knowledge couldn’t get together, and it’s a delight to see you, a real delight.’

  Mr. Teevens shook hands, dispensed cigarettes, brought a decanter of whisky from a cupboard with a magician’s touch, pointed to a well-upholstered chair and sank back in his own almost in one movement.

  ‘You’ll drink with me?’

  ‘Thank you – no,’ said Mannering deliberately.

  He leaned back, his hazel eyes on Teevens’s, and despite his apparent lethargy, astonishingly like that of an animal about to spring. Teevens hardly knew why that thought passed through his mind, but it did.

  ‘Er . . . ‘ Rarely was Teevens at a loss for words, but Mannering’s prolonged stare and his refusal to drink puzzled him. ‘Well, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ said Mannering.

  He was intent only on one thing, getting Teevens on edge. Already Teevens was beginning to frown, and his fat forehead was wrinkled. His expression was still bland, however, and his voice was deep.

  ‘Well, well, we’ll soon find out. I was saying to Lord Fauntley only the other day that I’d like him to introduce you to me.’

  ‘I’ve just come from Fauntl
ey,’ interrupted Mannering.

  Teevens stopped talking and began to frown. ‘I see,’ he said.

  Mannering dropped the next words out casually, and his gaze did not leave Teevens’s face.

  ‘I wonder if you do see,’ murmured Mannering. ‘Teevens, I don’t like the way you’ve handled Lord Fauntley’s affairs.’

  Teevens sat bolt upright in his chair. His benevolence seemed to drop away.

  ‘That,’ he said, ‘is Fauntley’s business. I have given Lord Fauntley a great deal of help; I have often stretched a point or two in his favour. But what business he conducts with me has nothing to do with any third person. I hope you’ll realise that.’

  Mannering laughed, and Teevens’s eyes narrowed still further.

  ‘I hope the police will realise it, too,’ said Mannering.

  ‘The police?’ echoed Teevens, and now he was in complete control of himself. ‘I don’t think they could find any reason to interfere. Certainly they could not prevent me from ruining Fauntley if I want to. Do you hear? I advise you to keep out of this, Mannering.’

  ‘You’re getting quite excited,’ murmured the Baron, and his eyes were sparkling. ‘You’re really afraid of the police, Teevens.’

  Teevens opened his mouth, his podgy fist raised threateningly. Then he lowered it, and his chins quivered. The rage seemed to disappear from his voice.

  ‘Surely there’s no need for us to quarrel,’ he said smoothly. ‘I could easily lose my temper. I’ve done a great deal for Lord Fauntley, and apparently he has been complaining because of his wretched luck on the markets. But it will change, Mannering – luck always changes. A man with Lord Fauntley’s vast resources has nothing to worry about. Now come, let’s have a drink as a mutual apology, eh?’

  Gus Teevens picked up the decanter and a glass, taking it for granted that his olive branch was accepted.