by John Creasey
Vere lifted the receiver, listened, and then spoke in surprise: ‘Tonight? Well, of course, Inspector. I’d no idea you were coming so soon, but I’ll be glad to see you … goodbye.’ He turned to the others, his eyes lively again. ‘You were right, Mannering – it’s an Inspector named Bristow. He’s in Winchester now, and he’s coming straight out. So we won’t be able to get to bed just yet.’
‘He’s lost no time,’ said Diana.
Mannering fancied that she wished he had; if so, he heartily agreed with her. It was useless to tell himself that it was unlikely Bristow had reason to suspect his presence at the White Angel. He was anxious, even apprehensive. The porter had not seen enough of him for identification, but the red-faced man in the bedroom might have done so.
‘If you’ll forgive me, I think I’ll get along,’ he said. ‘If Bristow wants me, I’ll be awake.’
There was a chorus of goodnights and Mannering and Lorna went out. She said urgently: ‘Is there much risk?’
‘Practically none,’ Mannering answered, but the words lacked conviction. Once in his room, he related the essentials of the encounter briefly, and then went on: ‘Wrexford’s a spy watching Morency, and the police found evidence to arrest him. As Bristow was coming out this way he was the obvious man for the job. It’s as straight-forward as that.’
‘Is it?’ asked Lorna. ‘Apart from the possibility that you could be recognised, there’s the call Wrexford made to Woolf.’
‘Why should Wrexford talk about it?’ asked Mannering.
‘That depends whether there’s any reason for Bristow to think of you,’ Lorna insisted. ‘If there is, he’ll question Wrexford more closely, and Logan’s story might come out. Logan will talk sooner or later, he’s not the type who can keep quiet.’
Mannering forced a smile. ‘Aren’t you a bit pessimistic? After all, he earns his living as an inquiry agent.’
‘John’—her voice was low—‘I don’t want to make things look worse than they are, but you’ve got to be alive to the possibilities.’
Mannering said bitterly: ‘I’m alive to them all right, but there’s just nothing more I can do. After all,’ he added, ‘I didn’t rob the lady. Although it looks as if the quicker I find out who did the better. I’m going to get into a dressing gown,’ he added more briskly. ‘If Bristow comes that might encourage him to think that I wasn’t expecting him.’
When she had gone, Mannering prepared leisurely for bed. By midnight, no visitor having arrived, he decided that he was to be left in peace.
But it was an hour before he went to sleep.
Bristow, meanwhile, having heard Vere’s story and learned that Mannering had been out, had decided that a night of uncertainty might worry Mannering far more than an immediate call.
‘Always assuming,’ Bristow admitted to himself, ‘that Mannering was there tonight. Whoever it was, certainly left me Wrexford on a plate. That’s a point to consider.’
Mannering awakened to find the sun shining. In spite of this, he was filled with a sense of disquiet which he did not immediately place.
His wristwatch showed him that it was twenty-past eight. Tea would be brought up in ten minutes. He put his hands behind his head, eased himself up on the pillows, and started to think.
Then he realised what had caused his misgivings.
Lady Usk, Cecilie, the men in the grounds, Tommy’s misfortune, Morency’s quiet acceptance of a disturbance which could so easily upset his plans, Dryden’s oddness – all those items faded into insignificance against the journey to Winchester, and the finding of the paste gems in his drawer.
Who had put them there?
He recalled Lady Usk’s manner, and then remembered that her husband was due that morning. Usk was poor in his own right, and depended largely on his wife for his income. Cecilie also was dependent on her stepmother. But were either motives strong enough to inspire theft?
Cecilie, Deverell, Usk himself – and even Tommy Armitage – might feel homicidal towards Lady Usk, but while she remained alive there was no legal reason why they should not. At the moment she seemed more the villain of the piece than the victim, although Mannering wondered whether he was doing her an injustice.
Certainly he did not feel as well-disposed towards her as he had on the previous night.
He finished his tea, bathed and dressed, puzzled by Bristow’s non-appearance, but feeling more cheerful. Glancing out of the window, he saw Cecilie and Lorna walking across the lawns. Lorna, then, had been down early, and had lost no time in making friends with Cecilie. It was like her to concentrate on that: both of them realised the importance of solving the problem.
He went downstairs.
Lorna and Cecilie were coming into the breakfast room through French windows as he entered.
‘Are the others late or early?’ he asked.
‘Late,’ said the economist. She looked younger than Mannering had imagined, and behind her horn-rimmed glasses her blue eyes were shrewd and alert. She spoke crisply: ‘Well, Mr Mannering, are you studying our likely crime repressions?’
‘Certainly not at breakfast,’ said Mannering laughing.
Miss Markham gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘You’re as flippant as everyone else. What’s happened to Tommy? He’s usually among the first down.’
Mannering helped himself to Kedgeree.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t he out walking last night?’
‘He disappeared in the middle of a rubber, and as a result I lost four and ninepence,’ said Miss Markham with some asperity.
Mannering smiled. ‘You should study the economic aspect of gambling, Miss Markham. Once you start you’ll either give up gambling or economics.’
‘Let us change the subject,’ said Hilda Markham, with mock acerbity. ‘How is your stepmother, Cecilie?’
‘She’s staying in bed until lunchtime,’ said Cecilie. Mannering noted that she had lost all trace of the agitation which she had shown on the previous evening, and it occurred to him that in his review of the night’s events he had forgotten the meeting with Cecilie, and the cry he had imagined she had uttered. Now he recalled that she had lied – for she had told him she had stumbled on the rose-walk, and he knew she had been on the other side of the garden. Yet it was hard to believe that Cecilie would lie without a strong reason. She looked young, fresh and vivid, as if she had been relieved of a considerable burden. Could that be due altogether to the fact that she was having a morning’s freedom from her stepmother?
Dryden came down ten minutes later, preoccupied and barely acknowledging the others’ presence. He was followed by Menzies, a youngster of twenty-one or two. Menzies was in uniform, with a lieutenant’s two stars on his shoulder.
‘What a life,’ he said, stepping briskly to the hot plate. ‘Camp and training again after today. Has anyone left anything?’ He helped himself liberally. ‘Where’s Tommy?’
‘Everyone wants to know where Tommy is,’ said Hilda Markham.
‘Everyone can know,’ said Diana Vere as she entered. ‘He went for a walk last night, his torch failed, and he had a nasty tumble.’
‘Oh-ho!’ said Menzies. ‘I wonder who lured him out? It wouldn’t be you, would it, Cecilie?’
‘Eat your breakfast,’ said Hilda sharply. ‘What a pity children learn to speak before they’re twenty-one.’
But Menzies was irrepressible. ‘Where’s your celebrity, Di?’ he went on happily, ‘or is he yet another black-out casualty? What time did he arrive last night, by the way?’
‘Late,’ said Diana calmly. ‘And if you talk much more you’ll lose your train.’
But there was still no sign of Bristow.
It was Lorna who suggested a walk after breakfast. Dryden hesitated, and then announced solemnly that he was in the middle of a composition.
Cecilie, Miss Markham, Mannering and Lorna elected to walk.
‘I take it,’ said Lorna as she went upstairs for a headscarf, ‘that you want to talk to Cecilie?’
Mannering nodded.
‘What’s Bristow doing?’
‘Nothing about me, my sweet. We were too gloomy last night.’
Lorna smiled, but she was not convinced. She covered her feelings well, however, and for twenty minutes the four walked in line. Then Lorna called Hilda Markham away to admire a view, and Mannering went ahead with Cecilie. She looked at him soberly as he said: ‘How is the patient?’
‘She’s much too quiet. It seems to have affected her more than I thought it would. Her heart isn’t too good, I know.’
‘She’ll get over it,’ said Mannering easily. ‘Can you bear it if I ask you one or two questions that may seem odd?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Thanks. First of all, how long has she had the Deverell necklace?’
‘Oh – about a month.’
‘And how long have you thought she seemed frightened?’ Cecilie looked straight ahead of her.
‘About the same time I suppose.’
‘Then there’s another thing. Lady Usk seemed to be prejudiced against jewel-merchants – do you know why?’
‘That’s an easy one,’ said Cecilie. ‘She found she could buy cheaper by going direct to—to the seller. She got the Deverell necklace for ten thous—’ Cecilie stopped, and then went on awkwardly: ‘I suppose it’s hardly fair to talk about that, but you know what I was going to say.’
‘But I’ll assume you didn’t say it,’ said Mannering. ‘Now here’s something that will startle you. Did you ever know her to have replicas made of her jewels?’
Cecilie turned her face away abruptly, but Mannering saw that she had coloured. He was startled, but made no sign that he had noticed her confusion. She recovered herself well. ‘No, I didn’t know of any replicas. Are there any?’
‘I’m not sure,’ lied Mannering. He felt suddenly that it was unwise to trust Cecilie too far: her confusion and her mysterious jaunt on the previous evening perturbed him. How sincere were her answers?
He was not sorry when Hilda Markham decided that they had walked far enough, and called them back. There was no further opportunity for talking with Cecilie, but once or twice he caught her looking at him, and in her eyes there was an expression that could have been fear.
It was a little past twelve when they reached the house, and one of the first things Mannering saw was a black-and green Morris 12 standing outside the garage. He recognised the car as Bristow’s. The sight of it brought the personal issue more sharply to his mind, and with it a return of the apprehension of the previous night.
Lorna walked upstairs with him.
‘You saw the car?’
Mannering nodded. He closed his door behind them, and leaned with his back against it. ‘There was one thing in favour of those bad old days, sweetheart. We did know where we stood, and if the police were after me I had asked for it.’
‘That doesn’t make the present situation any better. Did you get anything from Cecilie?’
‘Enough to make me wonder.’
There was a sharp tap on the door. Mannering opened it, surprised at the quick beating of his heart. But there was nothing in his expression to suggest what he was feeling, and he contrived to mingle pleasure with surprise when he saw who was there.
‘Why, Bill Bristow!’
‘Hallo, Mannering,’ said Chief Inspector Bristow quietly. ‘May I come in?’
‘Of course. And you two don’t need introducing, do you?’ Mannering looked at Lorna.
Bristow smiled, and it was not unattractive. He was a good-looking man if in no way distinguished. About him there was a crisp, military air, and his lined but fresh-complexioned face, his greying hair, had not altered from when Mannering had last seen him. He nodded to Lorna affably.
‘Good morning, Miss Fauntley.’ He turned back to Mannering.
‘We needn’t beat about the bush, need we? I’ve had Anderson’s report.’ He smiled a little but his eyes were hard. ‘It seems that you were in the dressing-room before anyone else. What took you there?’
Mannering said easily: ‘Apparently you haven’t talked with Mr Vere.’
‘Just what does that mean?’ asked Bristow sharply.
‘He would hardly have forgotten to tell you that he asked me to come down because of earlier trouble,’ Mannering said, and he smiled lazily. ‘Everyone doesn’t harbour the same ill-will as you, Bill. If you can forget your notion about the Baron, you’ll remember that I have been known to chase crooks. Vere knew about that, and acted on it.’
‘There are some things he didn’t know,’ Bristow said, ‘or you wouldn’t have been here. Are you claiming that you went to the dressing-room because you were working on the—er—case?’
‘I’m not claiming – I’m telling you.’
Bristow said nothing, and Mannering went on: ‘Bristow, I’ve a fair idea of your difficulties here. With Morency on the spot you want to keep this business quiet, even from the staff. Officially I suppose you’re here because of Morency, but with his papers on the premises you don’t want light fingers close at hand. I could help, you know.’
‘Oh, could you.’
Mannering felt a sharp irritation.
‘I have in the past. Why not again?’
Bristow fingered his chin.
‘You seem to forget, Mannering, that there’s been a big jewel robbery. It’s odd that you’re so often on the spot, too odd for me to take chances. Mr Vere may have invited you to investigate, but your efforts to prevent the theft weren’t successful. I’ve taken over, and I don’t want interference.’
Mannering forced back a sharp answer, knowing that when he chose to be Bristow was immovable, understanding the other’s motives and yet wondering whether the rejections of his offer would have been so final had there been no suspicion of activity on the previous night. Bristow had given no hint, yet his manner suggested a sharp hostility.
‘All right,’ Mannering said. ‘We understand each other. I don’t want to disturb your arrangements,’ he added sarcastically, ‘but you have been known to go wrong, when I’ve been right. If it looks like happening again I’ll try to prove it.’
Bristow was suave. ‘I can’t force you into any position, Mannering – yet.’
‘And you won’t,’ said Mannering with spirit. ‘Didn’t you learn that I urged Vere to send for the police when I first heard of the theft?’
‘I suppose that’s something.’ Bristow had relaxed, and was taking a cigarette from his case.
‘It’s true,’ said Mannering. ‘I advised the police because (a) I had no desire to be involved in serious investigations, (b) because I knew that if the local police turned it over to the Yard you would immediately rake up your old suspicions, and (c) because I wanted the thing cleared up quickly. Have you any complaints?’
‘No.’ Bristow sounded thoughtful.
‘That’s fine,’ said Mannering warmly. ‘Now if you think it’s necessary to go into the movements of the guests, I’ll tell you what I can. Or if you prefer to work on your own, that suits me. But you can take it as certain,’ went on Mannering, ‘that I won’t take kindly to being singled out as the most likely suspect. Try to rid your mind of hoary fancies – for instance, that I’m the Baron – and start from scratch.’
‘Hm-hm,’ said Bristow. He blew smoke towards the ceiling, and his grey eyes smiled at Lorna. ‘What happened in the grounds when you found Mr Armitage, unconscious?’
Mannering smiled ruefully.
‘I didn’t get far, Bill. It wasn’t my night out. I saw a little fellow I didn’t recognise, and went after him. He stopped me with a brick.’
‘Oh, I remember Mr Vere mentioning that,’ said Bristow with transparent ingenuousness. ‘No ill effects I hope?’
‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Good! Now, I’m as anxious to get to the bottom of this as you appear to be. I can say to you what I can’t say to the others. Since Mr Vere’s taken you into his confidence in some measure, you know the importance
of Mr Morency’s visit. There will be other politicians here over the weekend, and it’s important that there should be no trouble – as you said,’ he added quickly, ‘Obviously with a suspected thief in the house, documents can’t be considered safe. The thief must be found, or’ – Bristow shrugged – ‘Mr Vere will be asked to arrange for all his guests to leave, for the time being. They will be watched, of course, in view of the suspicions aroused, but they won’t be here.’
Mannering surveyed the Inspector through narrowed eyes.
‘That seems a bit drastic,’ he said. ‘If you’d said so before I could have understood why you turned down my offer, Bill.’
‘Could you?’ asked Bristow. He tapped the ash off his cigarette, and his voice sharpened. ‘Mannering, what did you visit Wrexford for? What did you take from his room?’
Chapter Twelve
Bristow Attacks
A pulse throbbed in Mannering’s forehead, but otherwise he showed no sign of strain. As he met Bristow’s cold and accusing eyes he was thinking quickly.
Bristow had some grounds for the scarcely veiled accusation or he would not have made it. But had he any kind of proof he would have acted differently. Bristow, then, needed to substantiate his suspicions.
Mannering said slowly: ‘That has all the marks of a catch question, Bristow. I don’t like your manner.’
‘Never mind what you like,’ Bristow snapped. ‘What do you know about Wrexford?’
The worst moment had passed; Bristow had hoped to break down Mannering’s confidence, but he had failed.
‘It would be a help if I knew who you meant, and what you meant,’ Mannering said coldly.
‘Oh, would it?’ said Bristow grimly. ‘All right, I’ll tell you. You followed Logan into Winchester last night and learned that he visited Wrexford. You broke in on the man later and took something from his room. You were seen, Mannering.’
‘Seen, was I?’ Mannering had relaxed, and there was mockery in his smile; inwardly he was far from confident. ‘It would be interesting to know the man with the magic eyes, Bristow. I went in the Basingstoke direction, and I wasn’t pleased at wasting my time.’
