by John Creasey
Armitage!
Was he curious too, or was he here on business not yet known to Mannering?
Armitage stepped along the drive, and then his footsteps ceased. He had reached the grass verge, and it was impossible to tell whether he was watching the house or moving away from it. Mannering resisted the temptation to follow him, and was glad a few minutes afterwards, for the door opened again and he saw Cecilie. She closed the door softly, and then walked in Armitage’s wake, using a torch which shed a clear circle of light.
Mannering went after her.
Halfway along the drive she stopped. Into the radius of torch light stepped a man whose thin, twisted features were clear enough to Mannering.
It was Woolf.
Mannering drew nearer. Another flash of lightning lit up the garden, and by it Mannering saw others; Bristow, quite close to Cecilie and Woolf, and Tring not far away; and also a motionless, unrecognisable man further along the drive.
There was no sign of Armitage’s bandaged head.
Could the motionless man be Logan?
Darkness fell about them again like a shroud.
Mannering felt his pulse beating fast. The police, the mysterious unknown, Cecilie and Woolf on business that might be connected with the jewel robbery, Armitage somewhere nearby, and himself waiting and watching – and perhaps being watched by others beside Bristow.
The only light now, was that cast by Cecilie’s torch. The ghostly white circle added to the eeriness of waiting.
Suddenly Woolf’s voice came sharp and clear. ‘I’ve had enough, see? I’m through! You’ll either—’
A dull peal of thunder, unexpectedly close, drowned his words.
Mannering was five yards from Cecilie, and Woolf was talking again, when he heard the shot.
Exaggerated by the silence, it crashed about his ears, and its echoes were still ringing when Woolf staggered. The light from Cecilie’s torch showed the man’s lips parted with sudden pain.
Then Cecilie turned and ran towards the house.
The grounds suddenly awakened to life and sound.
Three torches stabbed through the gloom, two of them with almost a searchlight brilliance. Footsteps sounded on the gravel, crashing through the bushes and undergrowth.
Cecilie’s flying figure drew close to Mannering.
He shot out a hand, grabbing at her coat.
‘Don’t run away, you little idiot!’
‘John!’
‘Yes,’ said Mannering, ‘but don’t talk. Three or four people know you’ve been out, but you’re about the only one here who can’t be suspected of the shooting. Come with me.’ He hurried towards the spot where Woolf had fallen. Cecilie followed, her breathing harsh and uneven.
Mannering was the first to reach Woolf. He went on his knees beside the man, carefully seeking for the pulse; but he found no flicker of movement. Body and features were distorted in death.
Cecilie said in a strained voice: ‘He—he’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘I can’t be sure,’ Mannering said. As he straightened up he murmured urgently: ‘I’m not interested in why you came out to meet him, but I am interested in what you tell the police. Don’t lie. If you don’t want to answer any questions you needn’t, but what you do say must be the truth. And don’t pretend you met him by accident, or say that you merely came out for a breath of air. Is that clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘For God’s sake act on it,’ said Mannering, and then he turned to face the light from Sergeant Tring’s torch.
‘Hallo, Tring. You didn’t take long to get here.’
‘No, sir,’ said Tring. He, too, went down on his knees beside Woolf. Mannering heard his sharp intake of breath, but before the detective sergeant made any comment, the engine of a car started up from somewhere not far off.
There was a high-powered whine as it was revved too quickly: then the engine picked up and the noise grew farther away.
Was the gunman in it?
Mannering spent little time pondering the question, for footsteps could be heard coming briskly along the drive, and almost at once Bristow was revealed in the light of Tring’s torch. He said sharply: ‘Cut in for Anderson, Tring, and everything we need. Now, Mr Mannering, what can you tell me about this?’
‘No more than you already know,’ Mannering said. ‘Hmm. Miss Grey.’ It was impossible to see Bristow’s expression, but his voice was forbidding. ‘Do you know who this man is?’
Cecilie said: ‘His—his name’s Woolf.’ ‘What did you want with him?’
‘I think,’ said Mannering easily, ‘that it’s a bad moment for asking questions, Inspector. Miss Grey has had a shock. I can testify to the fact that she did not shoot him.’
‘I suggested nothing of the kind,’ retorted Bristow. ‘Miss Grey, it will be wiser for you to answer questions now.’
Mannering said easily: ‘I’m sure Miss Grey will answer anything you want to ask her in the house, Inspector. We can’t stay here. The storm will be on us in a matter of minutes.’
As he spoke, a clap of thunder, louder than the previous ones, reverberated above them. Suddenly the rain began to fall in earnest, pelting down with a tropical intensity. Mannering gave Cecilie a light push towards the house.
‘Run for it, Cecilie! Can I give you a hand, Bristow?’ Bristow was forced to make the best of it. He grunted his acquiescence, and between them they carried the body towards the house. By the time they reached it they were wet through. In the hall the water streamed from them, making little pools on the carpet. Ransome stood by the open door, expressionless and awaiting orders. The drawing room door opened, and Martin Vere came through.
‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘What’s this?’
Bristow said sharply: ‘Is there a small room where we can take the man?’
‘Of course.’ Vere blinked at Mannering, glancing quickly away from the distorted face of the dead man. ‘Ransome, the morning room will be the best, I think.’
Before they reached it footsteps came rapidly down the stairs, and Tommy Armitage hurried towards them, his face alive with excitement.
‘What on earth’s been happening now? I fancied I heard a shot, and was just coming out. I—oh, Lord!’ He broke off as he saw Woolf’s face, and he too, turned abruptly away. ‘Just as well I didn’t come out, eh?’
No one answered him, but Mannering felt a shock that was not altogether of surprise. Armitage was intimating that he had not been outside. Why had he decided to lie?
Chapter Seventeen
Some are Clear
‘Oh, Mannering,’ Bristow said. ‘I’d like a word with you.’
Mannering nodded.
Little time had been lost, and Dr Brill was on the way to the house, though he could do no more than confirm that death had been caused by a bullet wound in the back.
Cecilie was in her room, and Lorna and a detective were with her. Bristow had no intention of letting her talk to Mannering or Lorna unattended, and Mannering could not blame the man. He was relieved only by one thing – that Cecilie certainly had not fired the shot.
Now Mannering followed Bristow to his room on the second floor. Bristow pointed to an easy chair, while he himself sat at the table, fingering his moustache and looking hard at Mannering.
‘Well,’ said Mannering. ‘What now?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Bristow slowly. ‘There’s one thing that must be made quite clear, Mannering, before we go any further. You are not to interfere with the work of the police. What questions we ask and how we ask them are no business of yours.’
Mannering demurred. ‘I can’t grant you that. If a friend of mine is in need of help, he or she gets it. The girl had had a shock, and she hardly knew what she was saying. You came perilously near to brow-beating her.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Bristow sourly. ‘Tring tells me you talked to her before he reached you. What did you say?’
‘I advised her to tell nothing but the truth,’ said Mannering.
‘Likely or not, it’s a fact.’ Mannering sank more deeply in his chair. ‘I was out before Miss Grey, and I went out because I wanted to know if anyone left the house again tonight. She did, of course. You saw her talking to Woolf, and you saw just as much as I did. You saw who came out.’
‘Don’t hint,’ Bristow said. ‘Yes, I saw Mr Armitage.’
‘All right,’ said Mannering. ‘You know Miss Grey didn’t shoot Woolf, and you know I didn’t. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Bristow, but he sounded reluctant to make the admission.
‘Fine,’ said Mannering. ‘Of the murder, then, both Miss Grey and I are quite clear. I’ve a feeling,’ he added ingenuously, ‘that your man got away.’
‘I’m not interested in your feelings,’ said Bristow sharply. ‘Someone drove off, but it wasn’t necessarily the murderer. Mannering, have you any idea why Woolf was killed?’
‘None at all.’
‘Was he threatening Miss Grey?’
‘I heard what you must have heard, and no more.’
‘Had you seen the man before?’
‘Well, yes. I was coming to that. I’ve seen him several times. First, on Friday afternoon – yesterday – talking to Lady Usk’s chauffeur. Again last night; he was the man I chased through the grounds.’
Bristow leaned forward. ‘Was he, by Jove! You didn’t tell me you’d recognised him.’
‘No,’ said Mannering. ‘I couldn’t be absolutely sure then, though I can now. And this morning,’ he added easily, ‘I saw him talking to Lady Usk.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘What were they talking about?’
‘I didn’t hear,’ said Mannering, and he had no hesitation in lying. ‘But I saw Tring nearby. Didn’t he get anything?’
‘Go on.’ Bristow was uncompromising.
‘They might have met by accident, Bristow, but if you’d like my ideas about it—’ He paused.
‘Go on,’ said Bristow again.
‘Lady Usk,’ said Mannering carefully, ‘hired Logan from an Inquiry Agency called the Woolf something or other. I imagined that this fellow was connected with it, and that she was talking to him on business. She would want the interview secret. After the interview she looked badly hit. I took it that there was no news of her jewels. That appears,’ added Mannering easily, ‘to explain it reasonably well.’
‘You don’t know why she called him in?’
‘I don’t know any more than I told you this morning.’ There was a short silence, and then Bristow stood up abruptly.
‘It’s a blasted nuisance,’ he snapped, ‘that all these complications should turn up this weekend of all weekends. I’ll be suspecting a Cabinet Minister before I go much further. Look here, Mannering – I don’t want anything done without my knowing. If you feel like doing anything on your own, I strongly advise you against it.’
‘Locked up here there isn’t much I can do,’ said Mannering.
‘Well don’t say I haven’t warned you,’ said Bristow shortly. ‘I’m not having any fooling about, by you or anyone else, until after Tuesday.’
Mannering smiled. ‘And I can do what I like after that?’
‘You can do nothing of the kind,’ said Bristow. ‘And now I’m going to talk to Miss Grey. You won’t be there, and nor will anyone else.’
‘Well, go easy with her, Bill. Don’t overplay your hand.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’ Bristow flashed.
‘I have a feeling you might,’ said Mannering easily.
‘If you’re keeping back information the police should have, you’ll regret it.’
‘All I’m keeping back,’ said Mannering gently, ‘is an appreciation of human nature, and Miss Grey’s in particular.’
‘Oh, go to blazes,’ said Bristow testily. He pressed a bell behind him, and Sergeant Anderson appeared with startling suddenness. ‘Anderson, bring Miss Grey up when I ring next time, and send Tring in.’
Anderson went out, but Mannering lingered.
‘Bristow – did you see Logan in the grounds tonight?’
‘Yes,’ said Bristow. ‘But he was in the house when the shooting happened. Stop interfering. I’ll look after Logan in good time.’
‘As you did Woolf?’ Mannering asked sharply.
He went out, surprised that Logan was cleared from the shooting. Who else would want to kill Woolf? And why had Cecilie arranged that meeting?
Bristow’s manner; the ‘bring Miss Grey here when I ring next’ had been decisive; there had been no ‘ask Miss Grey to come here’.
Had Bristow more evidence than Mannering knew?
Tring knocked on the Inspector’s door, and went in. Mannering hesitated, and then stepped softly back to the room. The door was closed, but words could be heard and Bristow was saying: ‘You’re quite sure about it?’
‘I’ve got the prints here, sir. See …’ there followed a few words that were indistinguishable, and then: ‘They’re from the safe in Mr Armitage’s room, and they’re from her hairbrush. You couldn’t mistake them.’
Mannering moved away swiftly, and was at the head of the stairs before Tring came out. His heart was beating fast, and his eyes were hard. The many indications that Cecilie had committed the thefts had crystallised with Tring’s statement; he had been discussing fingerprints, and finding Cecilie’s prints on Armitage’s safe gave Bristow a strong case, perhaps an unbreakable one.
He reached Cecilie’s room only a few yards ahead of Anderson.
Lorna and Cecilie looked up quickly, and Cecilie’s face hardened at the sight of Anderson.
‘The Inspector wants a word with you, Cecilie,’ Mannering said. ‘Remember, you must stick to the truth.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. She smiled back again, before following Anderson out.
Lorna ran her fingers through her hair, ‘What on earth does Bristow want?’
‘To catch a thief and a murderer,’ said Mannering quietly, ‘and he’s got good grounds for the arrest. Her prints were on Armitage’s safe.’
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Lorna blankly.
‘Yes, it’s bad.’ Mannering’s expression was sombre. ‘He thinks that the murder was prearranged, of course. He may be following the theory that Cecilie kept the man under a spotlight knowing that he was going to be shot.’
Lorna said: ‘It can’t be possible!’
‘It’s possible all right,’ Mannering said. ‘I don’t know Cecilie well enough to swear that it’s beyond her, but it would give me a jolt if it was proved.’
‘She’s certainly a little strange tonight,’ said Lorna. ‘I could hardly get a word out of her.’
‘What do you mean by “strange”?’
‘Well, defiant,’ said Lorna. ‘She denied nothing, and said the police could do what they liked, anything would be a relief from living with her stepmother.’
‘Hmm,’ Mannering said. ‘There’s one odd thing about this setup. Lady Usk gets threatened, and robbed. She’s the obvious victim, but it’s Armitage who gets hurt, and Woolf who gets killed. I wonder – was she out of the room when the shot was fired?’
‘She must have been.’
Mannering said slowly: ‘Who else was out of the room?’ Lorna reflected. ‘Lady Usk, one, Armitage, two, Hilda Markham, three.’
‘Was she, by Jove! Had she been out long?’
‘She followed Armitage.’
‘Hmm. And the others?’
‘Usk slipped out,’ said Lorna, ‘but that was only a few minutes before the thunder. I doubt whether he could have had time. And Deverell was out for quite a while.’
‘We’re getting a nice gallery of suspects,’ said Mannering. ‘It might be quicker to ask who was in the room.’ He looked expectantly at Lorna.
‘Well, Defoe and Gresham, Morency, Dryden, Vere, and Di – no, Diana had gone out. There was some talk about a bridge party.’
&n
bsp; Mannering said: ‘Except for Deverell and Usk, every one of the guests who arrived today is quite clear. Deverell and Usk,’ he ended softly, ‘are two people with particular reason to dislike Lady Usk.’
‘They couldn’t have opened her safe.’
‘Couldn’t they?’ asked Mannering. ‘We don’t know where they were last night. They could have been in the grounds, for all we know, among the prowlers. We can’t count either of them out.’
‘It seems absurd to think of Mike robbing anyone,’ said Lorna, half-heartedly.
‘They’re all possibles,’ Mannering insisted, ‘and there are plenty for Bristow to choose from. He’ll start with Cecilie, of course. I wonder if Toby Blender could come down? There’s not likely to be any objection to me sending for him.’
‘No,’ said Lorna. ‘You think she’ll need legal help right away?’
‘The quicker the better,’ said Mannering. He felt disturbed and depressed. ‘Well, now, Tommy needs some explaining. He was outside.’
‘So I gathered,’ said Lorna. ‘He was so anxious to say he wasn’t. Is he fond of Cecilie?’
‘He gave every sign of being so,’ said Mannering, ‘but the stepmother frightened him off.’
‘Just another reason for disliking Lady Usk,’ said Lorna. ‘John, is there any chance that someone not at the house killed Woolf?’
Mannering shrugged. ‘A small one, but Bristow will come down heavily if I start asking too many questions. He can’t stop us going downstairs,’ he added, more lightly. ‘Unless you’d rather wait for Cecilie?’
‘I think I will,’ said Lorna.
Downstairs, Mannering found that Armitage and Vere had rejoined the main party, and Hilda Markham was exchanging a rapid back-chat with Deverell.
Morency strolled over a moment later and sat next to Mannering.
‘Something else has gone wrong, I guess.’ His slow, unexcitable voice reached only Mannering’s ears.
‘Yes, but you’d better hear about it from the police,’ said Mannering. ‘Have you decided what to do with your valuables?’ He spoke half humorously.
‘I’ve given them to Bristow,’ said Morency with a shrug. ‘That should be all right. Do you play golf, Mannering?’
