Meet The Baron tbs-1

by John Creasey

  “I’ve heard of them,” said Mannering quietly.

  They were sitting opposite each other in the Englishman’s living-room. In the bathroom and the bedroom, Mannering knew, were Bristow and the sergeant with the curious name of Tanker — at that time Mannering did not know why the sergeant was so called, but certainly it was suitable — and he was hoping that they would get enough to convince themselves, even then, of Long’s innocence.

  “And — the police ?” Gerry’s eyes were haggard.

  “They’re bound to have heard it,” said Mannering, still quietly. He stretched his legs out, and looked evenly at the younger man. “Well, it’s up to you, Gerry. I suppose you have been telling the truth ?”

  There was no offence in the words, and there was no bitterness or resentment in Long’s voice as he answered: “I have. I didn’t touch the pearls.”

  Mannering nodded.

  “Then you’ve nothing to worry about, surely? They can’t prove you did take them if you didn’t. It’s rather nasty, I know, but . . .”

  “It’s more than that,” broke in Long bitterly. “I may as well be honest, Mannering. I tried the funny stuff twice before, and I was lucky to get away with it. I can’t explain why . . .”

  “Don’t try,” said Mannering quietly.

  Long’s expression showed his gratitude, but he did not speak of it.

  “You can imagine,” he said, “that life wasn’t all honey afterwards. I made a fool of myself , and suffered for it. Now it’ll start again. You can guess this won’t be kept over here. Even if nothing happens officially the rumours will fly. You’d never believe how fast they travel . . .”

  “What it amounts to,” said Mannering, with a deliberate challenge in his words, “is that you’re afraid to go back to New York unless you can disprove the suggestion ?”

  There was a flash of spirit in Gerry’s reply.

  “I’m afraid of nothing, he said quickly. “If I’ve got to face it I will. But — there’s a girl, Mannering.”

  Mannering was very still for a moment, filled with a flood of understanding.

  He had been puzzled by Gerry Long’s manner right from the start. Long did not create the impression that he was lacking in pluck, and his attitude over the pearl-robbery had been mystifying, to say the least of it. But if there was a girl . . .

  “I see,” murmured Mannering, and the smile in his eyes was of sympathy, and not of amusement. He went on: “Well, you can only keep on denying your part, young fellow. Stick to the truth. It’ll see you through.”

  Gerry nodded, without much conviction.

  “I’ll try that,” he said quietly. “But there’s one thing I can’t do.”

  Mannering looked his curiosity.

  “I can’t explain away that dummy necklace,” said the American. “It must have been slipped into my pocket, but in view of all the circumstances the yarn looks pretty thin.”

  Mannering nodded, and his smile was still encouraging.

  “I shouldn’t worry,” he said. “The police will probably want to see you again. Stick to your story; you’ll be all right.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Long held out his hand impulsively.

  “You’re a great guy,” he said, very simply.

  Mannering suddenly remembered the wedding-reception.

  “Here’s how!” he said, and for the first time that day Gerry Long laughed as though he meant it.

  “That’s that,” said Mannering as Detective-Inspector Bristow and Sergeant Jacob (Tanker) Tring, having come from their hiding-places, awaited him. Gerry Long had gone, in a more cheerful frame of mind, Mannering believed, and the latter was satisfied that the talk had done some good. “If you care to believe Long had anything to do with it, you’re welcome. I don’t.”

  Bristow fingered his moustache.

  “It sounded genuine enough,” he admitted cautiously. “I’ll have a talk with him myself later in the evening.”

  Mannering saw his visitors off, and went back into the room. Gerry Long had left twenty minutes before, and Mannering had strolled towards Piccadilly with the American, buying an evening paper on the way back. He had glanced at the front-page, and had seen what he wanted to see, but he did not show it to Bristow.

  Despite the secrecy with which Colonel George Belton and the Wagnalls had handled the affair, the story of the robbery had leaked out. Mannering imagined that Mason, the stocky little private detective, had something to do with it. Mason had been angered by the way in which he had been treated on the previous day, and was of the type to want to get his own back.

  The paper had exaggerated, of course. The five-thousand-pound necklace had grown into twenty thousand pounds” worth of jewels, and the story was as vague as it could possibly be. But the fact remained that publicity had been given to it, and, worse still, there was a list of the guests at the wedding on a centre-page. Gerry Long figured on that list.

  Mannering felt restless. He was worried about Long, more than he had been before. The fact that there was a girl in the background complicated the affair. Men did strange things when they were in love, and Gerry Long was certainly in a state of very high nervous tension. In a few hours, Mannering knew he other man would have nothing to worry about, but those tew hours were the dangerous ones.

  At half-past seven he telephoned Scotland Yard, to learn from Bristow that he had just seen Long at Belton’s house.

  “I’m glad it’s over,” said Mannering. “How did he seem?”

  “Worried out of his life,” said Bristow bluntly.

  Mannering grunted, and rang off after a word or two more; he was in no mood tor a long conversation.

  From his flat to Park Square was little more than half a mile, but something warned him to hurry for that journey. He hopped into a taxi, and waited impatiently for the short run to finish. He had a ten-shilling note ready for the driver, and did not wait to see the expression of surprise on that worthy’s face when he received ten times the normal tare. A queer urge inside Mannering made him hurry up the steps.

  A trim maidservant answered the door. She greeted him with a pleasant smile, and told him that he would find Mr Long in his room. The Colonel and Mr Wagnall were out.

  “I’ll go up,” said Mannering.

  His feeling of impending disaster was very strong at that moment. He had difficulty in preventing himself from running up the stairs, and when he eventually reached the door of the American’s room he grasped the handle and pushed hard.

  The door was locked.

  Mannering went very still for a moment. Then he reached a decision quickly, drew back across the wide passage, and hurled himself at the door. He might be making a fool of himself, but he would risk that.

  The lock burst from its fastenings at the third attempt. Mannering went flying into the room, and a single glance told him that his fears had been justified. He caught a glimpse of Gerry Long, standing near the window, and he saw the gun in Long’s right hand. For a split second Long hesitated, turning startled eyes towards the door. Then he raised the gun to his forehead. . . .

  Mannering had gone sprawling across the floor, carried half-way into the room by the impetus of his effort. Somehow — afterwards he could never remember how — he contrived to twist his head so that he could see Gerry. The

  American’s face, deathly white and thrown, into ghastly relief by the grey darkness of the gun, was like that of a ghost.

  Mannering’s heart was pounding madly.

  He knew that if he tried to get to his feet and rush the other he would be too late. A second lay between Gerry Long and eternity — and if Gerry died Mannering would never forget why.

  “God!” he moaned, and it was a supplication.

  He fastened his hand round the leg of a stiff-backed chair near him. He was still moving along the floor as his fingers found their hold, and he hardly knew how he rallied strength enough to lift the chair off the ground and throw it towards Long. As if in a nightmare he saw the ch
air going, saw the American dodge it instinctively, heard it thud against the wall and hit Long on the rebound; then, fast upon it, heard the report of the gun!

  The explosion echoed through the room, sharp and ominous. Still on the floor, Mannering saw very clearly the wisp of smoke from the gun, the mark on Gerry’s forehead; he saw the other’s eyes close, saw his body begin to sag, heard the gun clattering, and then watched, fascinated, as Gerry slumped downward.

  Mannering’s forehead was covered with sweat as he started to clamber to his feet. He was staring at Gerry Long’s motionless figure, and he felt afraid. . . .

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SENSATION

  THE SHOCK OF THE SHOOTING NUMBED MANNERING’s MIND, but it was only for a moment. His brain cleared very quickly. He heard the sudden commotion below-stairs, a servant’s voice raised in alarm, and, very clearly, Lady Mary Overndon’s voice telling the girl not to make a fool of herself.

  “Thank God!” muttered Mannering, for he knew that Lady Mary would use her head if no one else could.

  He was on his feet in a trice, and hurried to the door. The noise of footsteps coming up the stairs grew louder. As he reached the passage he saw Lady Mary approaching, very grim and very determined.

  She stopped in surprise when she saw him.

  “John — you! I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Just arrived,” said Mannering. His face was grim and his voice hard. “A spot of bother, Lady Mary. Keep the servants quiet, will you, and send for a doctor who can be trusted to hold his tongue.”

  “Gerry?” said Lady Mary quietly.

  Mannering nodded.

  “He’s not. . .” There was a glimmer of real alarm in the old woman’s eyes.

  “No,” said Mannering, “or it wouldn’t matter what doctor you sent for. I must get back.”

  He turned, pushing the door to as Lady Mary moved away; and then for the first time he really looked at Gerry Long. He had told Lady Mary that the other wasn’t dead. For his own part he wasn’t sure. He had spoken on impulse, with the wish father to the thought. . . .

  Now he looked down at Gerry Long, and saw that usually cheerful face robbed of its colour, saw the ugly wound in the forehead, and the blood coming from it. Very quickly, but moving deliberately, Mannering knelt down and raised the other’s head. With his left hand he felt for the pulse . . . .

  It was beating very faintly.

  The relief which surged through Mannering was almost overpowering, but he realised that the danger was not past, and that fact sobered him. The chair, he knew, had made Gerry move, and the bullet had gone slantwise across the forehead, instead of through the temple; but even if the wound was not fatal complications might prove so.

  Complications! Mannering uttered a mirthless little laugh. The complications that had followed the affair of , Marie Overndon’s pearls were beyond words, and they were still multiplying. But, damn it, he mustn’t think of them now!

  He hurried into the bathroom, took a bowl of tepid water, a sponge, and a towel into the bedroom, and started to wash the wound. It was not a pleasant job, but in the circumstances Mannering could not be squeamish.

  With another sigh of relief he saw that the wound was not very deep. The bullet had scored the bone at one point, but as far as he could see had not broken it. Gerry was still breathing fairly regularly, and the Englishman did not ad-minister a restorative. He considered it wiser to wait for the doctor, who would be able to advise the safest course.

  Lady Mary had obviously exerted all her influence to get the doctor into the house quickly, for Mannering had only just finished bathing the wound when someone tapped softly at the door. He hurried across the room as Lady Mary called out: “I’m here, John.”

  He opened the door, to see Lady Mary waiting with a tall grey-faced man he had seen somewhere before. The doctor hurried into the room as Mannering pointed towards the wounded man.

  “Is he . . .” began Lady Mary again.

  “He’ll be all right,” said Mannering, and he managed a smile that was not wholly forced. His relief at the escape the younger man had had was very real, and he dared hardly think of the effect Long’s death would have had on him. He felt sick as he realised that the theft of the Overndon pearls had nearly resulted in the American’s suicide.

  “You’re sure?” asked Lady Mary, and Mannering saw that she was looking very old and very weary.

  “Quite sure,” he said, pulling a chair towards her. “But sit down.”

  She smiled at him as she obeyed gladly enough.

  “I often wish,” she said, “you’d married into the family, John.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” countered Mannering.

  As he spoke he was thinking that if he had done, if Marie Overndon had reacted differently when he had told her that he had been worth a thousand a year, neither more nor less, this wouldn’t have happened. But it might have been worse, thank God! That was the thought that echoed time and time again through his mind.

  “Who’s the doctor?” he asked.

  “Saunders,” said Lady Mary. “As reliable as they’re made, my dear. There won’t be any gossip about it, that’s certain . . .”

  She broke off as Saunders turned round from his patient.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said, with a quick smile. “Slight concussion, Lady Mary, and the wound, but nothing to worry about.” He looked at Mannering somewhat oddly. “There’s a rather nasty bruise on his shoulder,” he added.

  Mannering did not speak, but he shrugged his shoulders.

  The bruise, he knew, had been caused by the chair — and how he blessed it!

  The doctor smiled a little, but made no comment.

  “I’ll get him to bed,” said Lady Mary, as if she were speaking of a child. “Could you find me a nurse, doctor?”

  Saunders promised that he would, and went off quickly.

  When Mannering left Gerry’s room half an hour later the American was still unconscious, but his breathing was better. It was certain that he would regain consciousness very soon. A nurse, sent round by Saunders, had taken charge, and Mannering was not sorry to have a rest. He felt utterly weary and spent from the reaction.

  Lady Mary watched him pouring out a stiff peg of whisky, and she suggested surprisingly — for she rarely touched spirits — that she should have a tot herself. Lady Mary was continually saying and doing things that were unexpected, and the manner of her request made him smile.

  She sipped the drink gingerly, but pronounced it welcome. Then she smiled at him.

  “What made you come along?” she demanded.

  Mannering managed to laugh.

  “I’d seen Gerry earlier this afternoon,” he said, “and I’d heard that the police were going to question him. It struck me that he was in a pretty bad way, and I felt anxious.”

  “Blast those bloody pearls!” said Lady Mary very suddenly.

  Mannering was so completely taken aback that he could only stare. Lady Mary gave a rather grim little chuckle.

  “It’s surprising,” she said, “what some of us old ones are capable of, young man. I said it, and I meant it. Those pearls started the trouble, and if Emma Kenton had had more sense than to spend five thousand silly pounds on a paltry necklace this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “But there were other things there,” protested Mannering.

  “Don’t try and make me logical,” snapped Lady Mary. She smiled, robbing her words of any offence. “And don’t forget, young man, that she’s talked for weeks about these pearls. Anyone has had ample opportunity to get dummies made . . .”

  “You seem to know the whole story,” said Mannering easily. Inwardly he was remarking on the publicity that Lady Kenton had given to the pearls. If Bristow wanted something else to heighten his suspicions of the Dowager here it was.

  “I made George talk,” said Lady Mary, with a faint smile. “He’s a dear, is George, but he couldn’t keep a secret from anyone with two eyes in his head
. It’s a nasty business, but it won’t hurt Marie, and it might do Emma a bit of good.”

  Lady Kenton, thought Mannering, wasn’t very popular. He lit a cigarette, and a few moments later refused Lady Mary’s offer to stay for a day or two.

  “I’ll wait until the Colonel gets back,” he said, “in case you’re feeling jumpy . . .”

  “Jumpy?” snapped Lady Mary. “What have I got to feel jumpy about? Don’t talk nonsense, John! But I’d like you to stay.”

  Mannering smiled to himself at her change of front. The next half-hour passed quickly, but he was glad when Belton and Wagnall returned, and when their congratulations on his rescue were over. The only remark which interested him, from those two gentlemen, was Wagnall’s: “But I wish I knew why he had those dummies, all the same.”

  So did Mannering. He felt uneasy about the dummy pearls, and he puzzled over them for some time.

  And then he reminded himself of the jolt the police would get on the following morning, and he smiled.

  Gretham Street, Chelsea, where Detective-Inspector Bristow lived with his wife and family, looked very much the same that morning — the morning following Gerry Long’s unsuccessful attempt to commit suicide — as it did on every other morning. The other thirty-seven housewives dispatched their husbands to their daily tasks, and only the Bristow household continued to slumber.

  Bristow had been working very late on the previous night, and he had persuaded his wife to forget the alarm-clock. It was nearly half-past eight when the detective turned over in bed, gazed dreamily out of the window, saw his wife sleeping very soundly, smiled, pressed his lips against her hair without disturbing her, and then crept very gently out of bed.

  He was a very happy man in his home-life, and nothing pleased him more than to get his wife an early cup of tea without first waking her. He enjoyed himself so much that morning that he had taken the tea upstairs and enjoined his daughter to wake up — his two sons, at that time, were holidaying in North Wales — before looking at the paper.