by John Creasey
‘He said he had lost his fountain pen.’
‘And stooped down to look for it, eh? Well, we can’t do much tonight, but we’ll search outside in the morning. Mannering, don’t think you’ve escaped. You were at The Lodge, and you brought those stones back. When I’ve found them . . .’
‘Yes, Bill?’
‘You’ll be in the dock at last.’
John Mannering took a cigarette case from his pocket and proffered it.
‘You’re not so well tonight,’ Mannering said. ‘If Bill Sikes went to The Lodge and afterwards buried those stones in the front garden here, I can’t help it. You’ve got to find Bill Sikes.’
‘I’ve found the Baron,’ said Bristow, hardly knowing why he took a cigarette.
‘A matter of opinion,’ said Mannering. ‘I take it I’m no longer under arrest. Don’t try me too far, Bill.’
‘If I were you I wouldn’t try to leave this house until I’ve seen you again,’ said Bristow.
Mannering shrugged. Bristow did the only thing he could; he went out, but left a cordon of men round the house. Mannering watched him disappear down the drive, then turned to Lorna. He was smiling, but there was tension in his eyes.
‘So far, so good. But in the morning they may find the stones.’
Lorna was holding him very tight.
‘It’s all right, darling. That ditch runs fast, and the water from the manhole drains into a tank at the back of the house. The stones will be there now!’
The tank was close to the outside wall of the kitchen, a comparatively small thing which stored water for the rough work of the house. It was always full, for the stream drained into it through a grating at the side of the manhole to keep out rubble. There was an escape hole at the top of the tank which drained the water into the continuation of the ditch on the far side of the house.
There was a second tap for emptying and cleaning the tank, which was done twice a week, for some mud and small stones flowed in with the water. In the darkness, well out of sight of the cordon of police, Mannering and Lorna emptied the tank and searched the bottom with the help of an electric torch.
They found the Moore jewels, most of them coated with mud. The tool-kit was half-way through the connecting pipe with Mannering’s blue mask. The tools – innocent enough in a garage – were easily distributed, the waistband was burned with the blue handkerchief; the evidence that the Baron had been near was gone.
‘And these trifles?’ Mannering pointed to the heap of priceless stones on the floor.
‘Why don’t we put them in a sack of potatoes,’ Lorna suggested. She broke into subdued laughter from time to time.
‘My dear, when Bristow learns the ditch drains here, he’ll search every nook and cranny in the house and the grounds.’
‘In Lord Fauntley’s house? I don’t think so, darling. He would have to get a warrant, and I doubt whether he could up here. It would take days, anyhow, and we’ll get them away before then. Do you remember when they called you Lucky John Mannering?’
‘And I’ll believe them if we get rid of these things?’
‘We’ll get rid of them all right.’ Lorna’s eyes shone. ‘All we have to do is get a sack of potatoes off the premises.’
At nine o’clock next morning Mannering reached the breakfast-room. The problem had seemed easy the night before, but it was really loaded with danger, for Lorna as well as for him.
Lady Fauntley was not down, but Lorna was reading a morning paper with such intentness that Mannering guessed there was a report of the burglary. She looked up quickly, and Mannering could see a tension which seemed a douche of cold water. What is it?’ His voice was harsh.
‘It—it doesn’t seem possible. Yesterday the papers were with you. Today – well, look.’
Mannering looked at the headlines, his eyes narrowing. The thing came as a shock, so big that at first he hardly realised just what it meant.
Famous Irawa Ruby Stolen
Nationwide Search for The Baron
The famous pigeon’s blood ruby presented to the nation by the Rajah of Irawa was stolen last night from The Lodge, near Glamis, home of the famous jewel collector, Colonel Arnold Moore. The theft, cleverly planned . . .
The Baron read on, until he saw what Lorna meant. For the friendliness of the Scots Echo a few days before had changed. The last words ran:
. . . the property of the nation must be restored. This notorious jewel thief has preyed on society too long, and the police must leave no stone unturned to arrest him and obtain the return of the ruby.
The Baron’s eyes were very hard.
‘Moore’s stuff alone wouldn’t have mattered,’ he said. ‘But the Irawa Ruby is a different proposition. Bristow will be able to ask for any special measures he likes. I didn’t even know Moore had the jewel there!’
Chapter Nineteen
WHERE IS THE BARON?
The interruption on the previous night had made Lady Fauntley sleep heavily that morning, and she failed to appear at breakfast. Her good-natured chattering would have been unbearable.
Mannering was turning the affair over and over in his mind.
He had been puzzled by Bristow’s appearance in Scotland and by the strong force of police. He had taken it for granted that Bristow had learned of Colonel Moore’s collection and the Baron’s proximity to it, and made some arrangement with the Scottish police. But there must have been a dozen men on duty, and Mannering could hardly credit that the combined police would have considered so nebulous a proposition so dangerous.
The presence of the Irawa Ruby, that pigeon’s blood stone of surpassing beauty and value, explained the police attitude.
Perhaps to steal a march on rival collectors, Colonel Moore had contrived to borrow the Irawa Ruby for the pièce de résistance of his show, just as Fauntley had done a few weeks before.
It was now easy to understand why the strong force of police had been present. Obviously Bristow had hoped to kill the two birds with the one stone. He had been sure that the Baron would make a raid, and he had set a cunning trap.
Everything had been easy, too easy. Now, among that mud-stained collection of priceless jewels in the sack of potatoes in the stone shed at the back of the house was the ruby about which the country was shrieking – and which could send Mannering to prison for ten years or more.
Lorna sent a servant out for more newspapers, and every one had the story in heavy type. The tone of them was the same; the Baron must be caught, the Irawa Ruby must be found. It was one thing to play with private fortunes, one thing to pillage the wealthy, but different altogether to rob the nation. The Courier put it impressively.
Every Englishman or woman who reads this newspaper has been robbed. The Baron is widening his scope, is threatening YOU. The police are making every possible effort to apprehend the notorious jewel thief, but YOUR help is wanted. If you know, if you think you know, anything that might help to identify and locate the Baron, it is your duty. . .
The Baron looked across the table to Lorna, his eyes gleaming.
‘Do you feel robbed?’
‘I feel worried. I don’t see how we can stop them searching. Bristow suspects the ditch, and the police are working on it now.’
‘Then we can expect some action,’ said the Baron. He stood up and stretched his arms above his head. There was a curious expression in his eyes, as though he was playing with an idea and yet could not be sure that it was practical. ‘No one has called this morning?’
‘No. But Bristow won’t be long.’
‘No chance of selling him a sack of potatoes, I suppose,’ said the Baron brightly. ‘All right, call it unread. But we must get those things off the premises quickly. One sack of potatoes, worth a few thousand pounds. I . . .’
The Baron stopped, and there was a glint in his eyes now, Lorna
’s mind was troubled, and her smile reluctant.
‘Sweetheart, it’s easy,’ Mannering said. ‘It’s so easy that I couldn’t see it before. Bristow will find that ditch runs here and will want to search the tank. Fine! Let him search it – and then put the stones in again. He can search the rest of the house as much as he wants to, but he won’t search the same place twice!’
Lorna persuaded her mother to go for a drive and Bristow was able to make a search of the house without offending anyone other than the servants, who showed their disapproval in a dozen ways, and made life for the policeman as awkward as possible.
It had started, of course, with the tank that was filled from the ditch. Even Lady Fauntley had watched that search, wide-eyed, exclaiming from time to time that it seemed impossible that the thief had been near enough to the house to drop them in the manhole. She appeared not to have the slightest inkling that Bristow was after John Mannering.
The tank was emptied and found bare of stones. Bristow could see no way in which Mannering could have brought them into the house, but the hornet’s nest had been stirred with a vengeance; the Chief Commissioner had been on the telephone to the Superintendent, and Deputy Commander Lynch was on his way to take charge of the investigations.
Bristow could not afford to leave anything undone, but the rest of the search revealed nothing. Mannering’s room was searched with exhausting thoroughness, all in vain. While it was being done Mannering cleared the kitchen of servants, emptied the sack of potatoes and put the jewels into the tank.
An annoyed, rather melancholy Tanker Tring took part in the search, with a bitterly resentful Detective Officer Ward, who had been unable to identify his assailant.
Bristow stood in Mannering’s room just after Lorna and Lady Fauntley had returned, his little moustache bristling, his fresh face pinker than usual, and his eyes sparking.
‘So you’ve managed to beat us again. But we won’t stand for the Irawa stone being stolen. I shall report all I know—’
‘What you think you know . . .’ corrected Mannering.
‘—to the Chief Constable, whether he’s a friend of yours or not. With a thing like this he’ll have to let us investigate.’
‘You’ll be sore when you’ve finished investigating,’ said the Baron. ‘Ffoulkes can kick hard when he wants to. Bill, you keep making the old mistake of thinking I’m the Baron; I’m afraid it’s an obsession now.’
Bristow was almost quivering with rage and frustrated anger. This was the bitterest pill he had ever taken. For when the whole truth of the night’s exploit came out . . . Bristow shuddered.
He would have to admit that he had concentrated his efforts away from The Lodge. He would have to make a statement of his suspicions of John Mannering whether he wanted to or not. It was no longer possible to keep the affair out of the Yard’s records and what the Commissioner would say when he learned Mannering was suspect Bristow hated to think. He would ask for proof, and Bristow couldn’t get it.
‘Never mind about obsessions,’ he groaned.
‘The Scottish air hasn’t improved your temper, Bill,’ mused Mannering. ‘When I first knew you, you were a peaceable kind of cove, but these days you hardly know what it is to be civil. Now don’t get high-hat again – have a cigarette.’
Bristow drew a deep breath and accepted a cigarette. Against all common sense he liked the lean, smiling, quick-witted man in front of him.
‘You’ll find you’re beaten,’ he said.
‘You’ve been saying that for so long that it must be a habit. Bill, are you an honest man?’
‘Why?’ demanded Bristow suspiciously.
‘But be honest with me, Bill. Do you think the Moore stones and the Irawa Ruby are on the premises?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think I brought them in last night?’
‘You couldn’t have done.’
‘I didn’t,’ lied the Baron. ‘I didn’t steal them, either, but I can’t expect you to believe that. You’ve made it very uncomfortable for me here, so I’m going back to London. With Lady and Miss Fauntley. I’m starting tomorrow afternoon. If I were you, I wouldn’t make any more mistakes like searching me. Follow me by all means, although the day will come when I’m tired of that.’
There was a frosty gleam in his eyes which Bristow saw and understood.
Lady Fauntley was pining for her Hugo. She had a feeling that she had been sent north to be out of the way while Hugo had negotiated some delicate business deals, and she preferred to be on the spot with comfort, if not advice. In the old days when Hugo had earned a few pounds a week they had shared everything – so why shouldn’t they now?
Consequently Mannering’s suggestion that they should go to London immediately met with an enthusiastic reception. Lucy Fauntley smiled so cheekily at Mannering that he wondered again whether she suspected his dual identity. He doubted it, and yet her manner was almost too convincingly ingenuous.
It didn’t matter. He was leaving Scotland for the time being, and the Moore gems were reasonably safe.
After the search Lorna had managed to clear the kitchen quarters of the house and take out the stones, which had been wrapped in a bag before their second immersion. She hid them under a loose board in her room, one that had once been taken up by the police.
Mannering took a chance with one stone – the Irawa Ruby. He was toying with an idea that he had not mentioned to anyone else. The changing attitude in the newspaper reports had inspired it. Mannering was the Baron and the Baron was a thief, but he had no desire to upset what might be called the public conscience, and he had not dreamed the Ruby had been with Moore’s collection.
They reached Perth by road. The Ruby was in Mannering’s pocket, and if Bristow had decided to take another chance he would have achieved the biggest success of his career. But Bristow had burned his fingers enough, and he had persuaded himself that Mannering had not got the stones, although he knew where they were. For the time being the Baron was safe. But the newspapers ranting worried him still more. Even Lady Fauntley agreed that the Baron had gone too far.
‘But wouldn’t I like to have seen him, John?’ she added, with her china blue eyes on Mannering. ‘I wonder what he looks like – not a fine man like you, I’ll warrant, but a little whipper-snapper – although I have the most romantic notions about thieves, haven’t I, Lorna?’
On the train journey Mannering brought the early editions of the Northern evenings. The screaming was louder. Two national dailies had offered a reward for the recovery of the ruby or the arrest of the Baron, and Mannering was uneasily aware of the fact that several people knew him.
Didcotte, Philippa Grey and Lorna were reliable enough. But Teevens, Lobjoit and the police could make a deadly combination. Teevens was afraid of saying anything, but he might find a stool-pigeon to make a statement, might even bribe a man to perjure himself. When they reached London the biggest shock was waiting in the Evening Star.
The hunt for the Baron grows stronger, but we dare say with certainty that the police cannot identify the thief. The Irawa Ruby is lost to the nation, and, we believe, it will never be returned. It is too late to prevent that. But a thorough investigation into the way in which the ruby was allowed to leave its case in the English Museum should be made. The Evening Star understands that this is the second time the stone has been loaned to a private collector. Lord Fauntley was allowed to take it three weeks ago. Lord Fauntley, of course, is a member of the Jewel Committee of the English Museum, and, in fact, the Committee’s chairman.
We do not go as far as to say that no stone should be allowed to leave the Museum for the purpose of private display, but we do suggest a different method of release should be insisted upon. It appears that the permission of Lord Fauntley and the Curator of the Jewel House of the English Museum is sufficient. The responsibility virtually rests with a single man,
and it is too great.
Lord Fauntley’s generosity in allowing a rival collector to show the stone cannot be questioned. But in this case it was an expensive generosity, and it must not be repeated.
Mannering read the report with his eyes narrowed and his lips tightening all the time. It was virtually an accusation against Fauntley for letting the stone go out of his possession. Fauntley could be made the scapegoat.
Lorna understood the risk too; her expression was sombre, almost sullen.
‘There’s something behind this,’ Mannering said. ‘The tone of the article is too strong to be normal. If your father chose to take a libel case, he would almost certainly win.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Lorna said. ‘What matters is the identity of the man who inspired the attack.’
Mannering could almost see the moon-face of Gus Teevens, and hear the stockbroker’s unctuous voice. Teevens was behind the attack, his way of taking revenge. If he was prepared to go this far with Fauntley it would not be long before he was in action against the Baron.
There were two things very clear in the Baron’s mind – first, that Fauntley must take vigorous steps to obtain a full apology and withdrawal of the remarks; secondly, that the Irawa Ruby must be returned. But—how?
A smile dawned on the Baron’s lips as he thought of a way in which it could be done – a sensation that would outdo the tremendous impact of the theft. More spectacular than anything the Baron had ever done before, something which could swing public opinion round in his favour again and would relieve Hugo Fauntley of opprobrium.
Lorna was wondering what was running through his mind as they went in Fauntley’s Daimler to the Portland Place house. Lady Fauntley went off to telephone her Hugo. Lorna frowned, as she looked at the Baron. ‘What is it, John?’
‘A beautiful thought,’ said Mannering softly. ‘One that will cut Teevens’s tail . . .’
