by John Creasey
‘What kind of situation?’
Ignatzi frowned. ‘Joanna has been frightened.’
‘Could it be due to blackmail?’
‘Obviously it could, although I can’t imagine anything in her life, bad enough for blackmail. Mannering, you say there was an attempt to run you down?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why?’
‘Possibly because someone’s afraid I might find out what’s happening at the Manor,’ Mannering answered.
Ignatzi put his glass down on a round, glass-topped table.
‘You are that Mannering, then? I’d never heard of you, but my wife seems to think you’re some kind of wizard.’ He gave a little, embarrassed laugh. ‘Forgive my clumsy way of putting it. She has read about you in the newspapers from time to time. Would—er—would you mind if she joins us?’
‘Of course not,’ Mannering said.
‘She may ask you a great number of questions.’
‘I’ll answer them if I can,’ promised Mannering. ‘But before she comes I’d like to confirm one or two things.’ He moved back to his chair. ‘Both Joanna and her father have been behaving a little oddly for a year. Joanna’s badly frightened by something but you don’t know what. Her sister—’
‘I don’t often see Hester,’ interrupted Ignatzi. ‘She left the Manor three or four years ago. Being five years older than Joanna, everyone assumed she would take her mother’s place as hostess, but she went to live in London.’
‘Lady Markly?’ asked Mannering.
‘She won’t live at the Manor, preferring life in her cottage,’ said Ignatzi. ‘She acts as hostess on formal occasions, but the Cunliffes don’t do very much entertaining these days. At one time the Manor seethed with activity. A pity they gave it up.’ Ignatzi paused, and then asked: ‘Have you come to Salisbury for any particular reason?’
‘I came to see an Eliza Doze, who wanted me to have a look at some paintings.’
‘Now there’s a character!’ exclaimed Ignatzi. ‘I saw her only this afternoon. She’s in a public ward of the Infirmary, but ready to get up and go after her assailants any moment.’
‘Can I see her?’
‘This evening?’
‘Preferably,’ said Mannering. ‘But in a private ward.’
‘I’ll see what I can arrange,’ promised Ignatzi. He went to the door and disappeared for a moment, then came back with his wife, who preceded him with some eagerness.
‘I knew you were the John Mannering,’ she said warmly. ‘I’ve seen your picture in the papers too often to have any doubt. Do tell me—is there some great crime being staged at the Manor?’
‘Don’t answer!’ cried Ignatzi, with pretended merriment. ‘Even if there is a crime in preparation, don’t answer. I should be hearing about it for the next two months. I’ll telephone the hospital.’ He hurried out, watched by his wife, and Mannering saw the brightness fade from her eyes, to be replaced by a very sober look indeed.
‘My husband is worried by what is happening at the Manor,’ she said. ‘There is a lot he won’t tell me because of professional etiquette, but sometimes I have thought he was frightened, as well as Joanna. If you can do anything to solve the problem, Mr. Mannering, you will be doing a very great service indeed.’
Ten minutes later, Mannering left Dr. Ignatzi’s house and made his way to the nearest garage. The Mini would take several weeks to repair, and it would be impossible to continue his investigations on foot, or, he thought drily, by courtesy of the police. Country-town garages were not always able or willing to hire out a car at short notice, but in this he was lucky. The owner, working overtime, proved both civil and efficient, and in less than half an hour Mannering was heading for the hospital and Eliza Doze, at the steering wheel of a sleek, inconspicuously grey, Ford Cortina.
A youth on duty was expecting him, and gave him directions to the private wards. There he was met by a small, middle-aged woman, the Night Sister.
‘It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mannering … And although she may not admit it, Eliza Doze is very proud that you’ve come to see her.’ She led the way along a passage into a room overlooking a tennis court and some old buildings.
Eliza Doze was sitting up in bed in a small, austerely furnished ward. She looked very old and brown and wizened against the brightness of her deep-set eyes. Her fine, thin mouth, her nose, large, hooked, and well-cut, lent a certain air of authenticity to an almost regal manner.
‘Eliza, I have brought Mr. Mannering to see you.’
‘Good evening, Mr. Mannering,’ said Eliza Doze, holding out a hand as if expecting him to kiss it. He held it lightly. Eliza glanced at the Sister in obvious dismissal, and when the door closed behind her, went on to Mannering, ‘I am very grateful to you for coming, sir.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time to stop the attack on you,’ Mannering said.
‘If they hadn’t caught me by surprise, I would have stopped them,’ she said, as if in no doubt of her ability to do just that. Such was her confidence that Mannering almost believed she could have done so.
Pulling a chair towards Eliza’s bed, he sat down.
‘Mrs. Doze—I wonder if you could tell me something about those paintings of yours?’ he asked. ‘How long have they been in your attic?’
The old woman flashed him a quick glance, then looked away. Her mouth tightened. It was almost as if she didn’t want to tell him, reflected Mannering.
‘Come on, Mrs. Doze,’ he persisted gently. ‘You must have some idea of how long they were there.’
‘Since—since my husband died.’ The words came out with a rush. ‘He always kept a lot of rubbish up in the attic, and after he passed on I didn’t go up there very often. My one weak spot’s my knees, sir. But Dr. Ignatzi found me some pills which took the pain away—for a little while, anyhow—so I went up to clear the rubbish. And there were the paintings, wrapped in some old sacks. Ezekiel—that was my husband, sir—must have put them there. Yes, he must have put them there.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Ezekiel was cheated by a dealer once, sir; absolutely robbed he was. I’ve never trusted dealers since.’
‘Then what made you trust me?’
‘I was reading about you in a magazine,’ answered Eliza Doze. ‘You found a picture in a little village in Cornwall, and bought it for a song. Then you found it was worth a fortune. You shared what you got for it with the man you bought it from.’
‘But that was years ago!’
‘My knees mightn’t be so good, but there’s nowt the matter with my memory,’ said Eliza. ‘As a matter of fact, sir, it was just after Ezekiel had been defrauded, and we read about you together. “Just my luck not to get a good dealer,” said Ezekiel. “You mark my words,” I told him, “there aren’t many about like that Mr. Mannering.” If my Ezekiel were here now he’d say I was right, too.’
‘Mrs. Doze,’ said Mannering, ‘did anyone else ever go up into that attic?’
‘Why should they?’ the old lady demanded sharply.
‘To fetch something for you, perhaps,’ suggested Mannering.
‘The only one who ever went up there was Betsy, that’s my grand-daughter,’ Eliza Doze declared.
‘Did anyone ever break into the cottage?’ asked Mannering.
‘Not that I know of, sir, and who’d be more likely to know?’
‘How often were you away from the cottage?’
‘Twice a week regular, every Sunday and Wednesday,’ Eliza answered. ‘I go to one of my daughters in Salisbury one Wednesday, another daughter the next, my son’s place the third and my sister’s the fourth. I’ve done that for over ten years, sir.’
‘And where do you go on Sunday?’
‘Church, sir.’ Eliza sounded reproachful. ‘Sunday morning, that is. In the aftern
oon I go up to the Manor, my second cousin is head gardener there and I’ve always been up Sunday afternoons, even when Ezekiel was alive.’ The old woman wrinkled her forehead in a deep frown. ‘Are you suggesting someone might have broken in while I was out, Mr. Mannering?’
‘I wondered,’ admitted Mannering.
‘But why should they?’
‘They could have been looking for old pictures.’
Eliza Doze sniffed.
‘Well, if they were, they never found none. I’ll tell you who did come sneaking round, actually wanted to go up into the attic, only last week. That Jenkins at The Kettle. I soon sent him about his business.’
‘How did he know about the pictures?’ asked Mannering.
‘Betsy must have talked to his wife; Betsy always did talk too much. Not that she isn’t a good girl, but anyone could make a fool of her!’ Eliza Doze patted the side of her bed. ‘Come close, Mr. Mannering, will you please, sir?’
Mannering moved nearer, and Eliza leaned forward so that her lips were close to his ear. ‘If them pictures were not burnt, but robbed, and you finds ’em,’ she whispered, ‘and if as how they’re worth a lot of money, Mr. Mannering, I want it to go to Miss Joanna. Not anything I’ve got in the post office or insurance, I’ve made a will for that, but anything from those pictures is Miss Joanna’s.’
‘But Miss Joanna is a wealthy woman!’ Mannering protested.
‘That’s what they say, but when you reach my age you’ve learnt you can’t believe all you hear,’ went on Eliza in the same whispering voice. ‘I happen to know she’s lost all her money, but she’s a Cunliffe, too proud to admit loss to anyone. The money from those pictures is for her, Mr. Mannering. Promise me you’ll see that she gets it.’
‘But you’ll be able to see to that yourself,’ Mannering temporised.
‘That’s as maybe,’ said Eliza. ‘I want to be sure. Do you promise?’
Mannering hesitated.
He felt quite certain the paintings were those stolen from Colonel Cunliffe, and as soon as this whole mysterious affair was sorted out, they would have to be returned to him. Yet now, looking into Eliza’s clear eyes, he thought that he saw supplication in them; this mattered a great deal to her.
‘I promise that I’ll do everything I can to help Miss Joanna,’ he said gently.
‘Bless you, sir,’ said Eliza Doze, her voice very husky. ‘Bless you indeed, sir.’
‘But, Eliza—’ Mannering hesitated, then took her hands, bony and skinny and speckled with brown. ‘What makes you think Joanna has lost all her money?’
‘I know she has,’ insisted Eliza. ‘She’s had to sell her jewellery, she’s had to sell nearly everything she owns. Why, she’d far rather leave the Manor and live in London, but she can’t afford it. She told me so, Mr. Mannering. She told me so?
Chapter Fourteen
Mannering Searches
It was after nine-thirty when Mannering reached the Manor. The lights were blazing, and there was an atmosphere of normality about the place that did not tally with what he knew. The front door was open, and as Mannering went in, Middleton appeared with the mysterious promptness of a good servant.
‘Good evening, sir.’
‘Good evening, Middleton. Do you always leave the door unlocked as late as this?’
‘Only when the Colonel is out, sir.’
‘I see.’
‘He sent his apologies, sir. He and Lady Markly are dining in Salisbury.’
‘Aren’t I too late for dinner?’
‘No, sir,’ said Middleton. ‘The Colonel doesn’t like set times for guests.’
‘I’ll be down in twenty minutes,’ Mannering promised.
‘Very good, sir.’
Mannering went up to his room, and put in a call to Larraby, who lived in a bachelor apartment above Quinns. In little more than a few seconds, Larraby was on the line.
‘Good evening, sir.’
‘Josh, I want Beverley Willis’s home number, quickly.’
‘It’s in my book, sir, if you will wait one moment—ah, Flaxman 73551. He lives near King’s Road and Cheyne Walk—very close to you, sir.’
‘Thanks. And Josh—I want you to come to Salisbury first thing in the morning.’
‘I could drive down at once,’ offered Larraby.
Mannering hesitated, and then said: ‘That might be a good idea.’ He paused. ‘No—better make a really early start tomorrow. I’ll meet you at the Red Lion at eight o’clock, and we’ll have some breakfast.’
‘Very good, sir. Am I to understand some kind of emergency has arisen?’
‘You are indeed,’ Mannering told him. ‘Make sure you’re not followed, and be very careful.’
‘I’m sorry it’s like that, sir. Shall I tell Mrs. Mannering not to expect you tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ Mannering said. ‘Has anything cropped up in London?’
‘M. Corot telephoned from Paris to confirm that he cannot go to South America, and hopes very much that you can.’
‘So do I,’ said Mannering, ‘but don’t commit me yet.’
He rang off, and waited for a few seconds before picking up the receiver. He could not be sure that the line was untapped but heard nothing to suggest that it was. He put in the call to Flaxman 73551 and a masculine voice with a faintly Scottish accent answered.
‘I’m sorry, Mr. Willis is out and I cannot be sure when he will be home.’
‘Tell him I called and will call again in the morning, will you? This is John Mannering.’
‘Be sure I will tell him, Mr. Mannering.’
Mannering put down the receiver, changed his shirt and tie and went down to dinner. It was strange, almost eerie to be in the big dining-room by himself. Middleton and a young maid waited on him, and at the end of a meal of simple excellence, Mannering asked: ‘Where is Anstiss tonight?’
‘It’s his night off duty, sir.’
‘I see. Don’t wait up for me if I go out again, I’ll take a key.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Middleton said, unsurprised.
At half-past ten, Mannering left in the hired car, driving towards the main road, watchful for the slightest sign of an attack. There was none. At the road he turned left, away from Salisbury, driving for half a mile or so, until he came to a less known entrance to the Manor. He turned into this, put out his headlights and drove slowly until he could see the lights of the main house. He parked on the grass verge, and walked slowly forward. No one was about. He entered by the side door and went up a secondary staircase to the main landing, sure that no one had seen him. He stopped at Joanna’s door, tried the handle and pushed.
The door was locked.
Who would lock it, when Joanna was away?
Mannering took out his penknife and used a picklock swiftly and dexterously. After only a few seconds the lock clicked back. The room was in darkness when he . stepped inside. He put on the light, checked the door to make sure that no light would shine through to the landing, and began to search the room. He found a jewel box on the dressing-table but it contained only a few oddments of costume jewellery. Opening a drawer, he discovered a bank statement which showed that Joanna was about four hundred pounds overdrawn – an indication that Eliza Doze might be right. Beneath it, among some typewritten letters, was one from a Salisbury bank.
Dear Miss Cunliffe,
I will appreciate it if you will call and see me one day in the near future. I am sure that you understand that we do not wish to cause you any inconvenience but if you wish to continue the assistance we have been glad to arrange I hope it will be possible for you to offer some security.
This badly phrased letter was obviously written by a man who felt ill-at-ease about making such an approach to this particular client. It was crystal clear that Joanna had been
overdrawn for some time.
Then Mannering came upon a letter which startled him. Dated five years earlier, it read:
Dear Joanna,
As your mother’s friend as well as her legal adviser I want you to know that I will assist you in any way I can. I have already told you how deeply grieved I am about your mother’s death, but please believe that I want very much to help for your own sake, not simply for your mother’s memory.
You are very young; it will be three years and more before you come into the very large sum that you inherit from your mother. As a trustee, I can assure you that the inheritance will be wisely administered, and if you have any special personal need of money, it will, of course, be made available.
Yours very sincerely,
Martin C. Wilberforce
‘A very large sum,’ Mannering murmured to himself. ‘How large, I wonder?’ He went through more of the papers, and then came upon a letter from a different manager of the same bank.
Dear Miss Cunliffe,
Thank you for your letter. I am indeed glad to continue to handle your account and the bank’s services as well as our advice are always at your disposal. I am enclosing a copy of the list of securities lodged with us and will be glad if you will sign one copy and return it to us.
The other copy was attached.
The total value of cash and securities was over fifteen thousand pounds.
‘Can that have gone in two years?’ Mannering asked aloud.
He finished his search. There were a few bank statements of recent date showing an overdraft, which would not have mattered but for the specific request for security.
If a girl of twenty-three had gone through that amount of money in two years, what had she spent it on? If she had been blackmailed, it must have been for something pretty serious.
He put all the papers back where he had found them, then stood by the door and surveyed the room. He could think of nothing he had missed until he caught sight of a handbag on a small table. He stepped across, picked this up and opened it.
