by John Creasey
The throbbing lessened, and gradually strength came back to his legs. His hands, too, were steadier as he sought, and found, a hairpin. This he straightened, and slowly inserted into the lock of the door. It was some seconds before the thin wire caught. More than a minute passed before the lock clicked back.
Gently he pulled the door open, widening it enough to see into the passage. In his heart there was a dread that Usk had left a guard; but no one was in sight.
He slipped into the passage.
Every movement was stealthy, calculated to maintain his steadiness as well as to raise no alarm, reaching the landing he stepped back swiftly to the side of the wall.
Footsteps sounded clearly from a nearby passage.
It was Usk, about to hurry down the stairs.
As he reached the hall, his voice came softly: ‘Is Rossman here, Logan?’
‘No, sorr,’ Logan called. ‘I just been on the phone – he’ll be half-an-’our yet, and has sent the tools ahead of him.’
‘It’s work for an expert. We’ll get outside and look for the keys,’ Usk said sharply.
Mannering moved back to the landing, and looked down. He saw the drawing room door heavily barricaded with furniture dragged from the dining-room. A muffled thudding came from within.
Mannering rounded the stairs: and then he drew back swiftly. Standing with his back to him was a thickset man with an automatic in his right hand. With infinite caution Mannering retreated, watching the man carefully through the balustrade. Then, heedless of the throbbing in his head, he slipped the sash from his dressing gown and made a loop with a slip-knot.
Waiting, watching for the exactly right moment, Mannering dropped the loop.
It fell plumb over the other’s shoulders, and immediately the guard jerked his head up. This movement made it easier for the cord to slide about his neck, and Mannering pulled sharply. The noose tightened, strangling the cry of alarm in the other’s throat.
The automatic clattered to the floor.
It did not go off, and Mannering felt relief, and hope. He tied the other end of the sash about the balustrade, then hurried down, and picked up the automatic.
A sharp blow with the butt was sufficient to render the guard unconscious. Mannering loosened the noose, eased him to the floor and then, pain stabbing across his head, dragged him out of sight of anyone who might pass.
Mannering was thinking: The locksmith won’t be here for twenty minutes, and they’ll keep searching for the keys. If they don’t find them I’ve twenty minutes – God, only twenty minutes!
Chapter Twenty-Two
Full Understanding
Mannering, not daring to risk his victim coming round, tied the man’s wrists and ankles with the sash, and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth.
He slipped the automatic into his pocket, noticing that a key was in the ante-room door.
Farther along the passage he saw a small attaché case standing by the locked door.
He picked it up, tried the catch, and found that it was locked.
Forcing it open, he stared down at a complete burglar’s outfit. These, then, must be the tools Logan had mentioned. Hardly daring to believe in his luck, he gave no more than a passing thought to the fact that Usk’s cracksman had sent not only tools, but the high-explosive ahead of him. He was fully satisfied with the knowledge that he had everything he needed for the task at hand, although the nitro-glycerine would be dangerous and must only be used if all else failed.
He bent to the lock of the door, examining it intently.
He could see that it could not be forced, but must be cut out.
The wood-chisel was brought into use, and he used a rubber-headed hammer to drive it into the wood, making a series of dull thuds. He did not pause to listen; time was the vital factor. He cleared the chips away and restarted, hardly aware of his burning eyes and the dull pain in his head. He did not know how long he was working before the chisel went right through the wood. Quickly he drew it out, dropped it to the floor and inserted the saw. The oak was tough against the steel, but gradually the fine teeth made headway. He had the vertical piece cut, then one across piece, at the top. Three cuts were needed in all.
He was three-quarters of the way along the last when he took the hammer and struck heavily against the square block he had made by sawing. With a loud crack! the piece sagged. He struck four times, heavy, savage blows, before the block dropped to the other side, held only by the steel lock partly in the doorframe.
Mannering prised it away with the jemmy, then forced the bared lock back. He was leaning so heavily against the door that it swayed open, and he stumbled into the strong-room.
He straightened up, leaning weakly against the wall. Six safes in a row mocked at him. He dashed the sweat out of his eyes and approached the first, recognising the type and knowing that it would take ten minutes or more to get the one dummy door open; therefore each safe would take at least twenty minutes work to open completely. He returned for the nitro-glycerine, tight-lipped. No sound reached his ears.
Now he was conscious of the passing of time, knowing that he had been working for twenty minutes or more: Usk’s ‘locksmith’ might arrive at any moment. With a chisel and hammer he was able to widen the keyholes until there was room for the phials of dynamite to stand erect.
Outside there was silence.
He placed the phials in gently, for there was enough in each to blow him to pieces if he dropped one and broke the glass, lodging them tightly but letting the fuses hang clear. He groped in his pocket for matches. A match flared, quivering in his hand.
He lit one fuse after the other, holding his breath as cordite fumes spluttered into his face: the first fuse was well down when the sixth was alight. He turned sharply, half-ran across the strong-room, and then put all his weight against the door. It swung to slowly, but each moment he was afraid the explosion would come too soon. If the door was not closed completely debris would crash through, and the noise would reach the men in the grounds.
It closed.
He leaned back, weak and trembling, as the explosion jarred him. The muffled roar was torture in his throbbing head. Another – a third. He pressed his hand against his ears and stood back as far as he could, until the sixth roar came. He gave himself no time for rest, knowing that Usk and the locksmith might by then be in the house.
He pushed open the door, and a billow of smoke met him. He fought against it, and when he could see, gulped at the sight of one safe standing almost intact. But debris from the others was all about the room, and on the floor an envelope was smouldering. Mannering picked it up, and emptied the other safes of all that was in them. There were four envelopes and half-a-dozen jewel cases; these he bundled into his pockets.
In the passage he wiped the tools he had used free of prints, ran the rag over the door, and then wrapped it about the butt of the automatic.
That done, he stepped cautiously out of the ante-room. As he went he tied a handkerchief about his mouth and chin, for if it were possible to prevent it, no one must recognise him. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard the front door open.
He reached the landing.
At that moment he heard Logan shout, and a split second later the roar of a shot. A bullet hummed past him, followed by Usk’s frenzied cry.
‘Get him! Get him!’
Mannering reached the first passage, snatching the automatic from his pocket. A bullet struck against the wall, and plaster stung his cheeks. He saw Usk and Logan racing up the stairs.
Mannering fired three times in quick succession.
Usk staggered, threw his arms upwards, and then toppled backwards. Logan came on. A bullet cut through Mannering’s sleeve, but he took aim carefully for Logan’s legs.
The Irishman ducked—
He took the bullet in the chest, and Mannering saw an expression of pain and bewilderment on his face before he fell, thudding heavily against each stair.
Mannering stared towards the door.
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The noise of the shooting must bring the others from outside, and he had only three bullets left. How many men would there be? Where were the guards inside the house? How could he get assistance?
And at the same time prevent the police from knowing that he had broken into the strong-room?
Mannering had a minute’s respite.
Then he heard hurrying footsteps. He saw an armed man rushing from the servants’ wing: the man reached the landing and stared down stupefied.
Mannering retreated quickly into a nearby room.
On the dressing table were two heavy, silver-backed brushes. He whipped them up, and nipped back to his observation post. The front door stood open and two others came through.
Mannering threw a brush aiming at the first man who still stood on the landing. It struck him heavily enough to send him off his balance. He toppled over, while his gun dropped to the first stair. Mannering moved forward swiftly as the men in the hall stared upwards – and he saw that neither of them was armed!
His voice rasped: ‘Stay right where you are!’
The men saw him and the gun in his hand, saw the gun held unwaveringly as Mannering stooped to retrieve the other.
The fallen man staggered to his feet, obeying the threat of Mannering’s gun and joining the couple. Mannering kept his head lowered, with the handkerchief covering the lower part of his face. He went down with a gun in each hand, speaking roughly as he went: ‘How many more of you?’ A pause and then: ‘How many?’
‘It’s—the lot,’ gasped one man.
‘Which of you is Rossman?’ snapped Mannering.
One of them took a shuffling step forward, sending relief through Mannering’s mind. He had feared the ‘locksmith’ was still to come, perhaps with others. He realised that he had them all, could he handle them?
‘Get to the strong-room,’ he ordered sharply. ‘Walk backwards, damn you!’
They obeyed. When they were far enough away for safety he pulled the door on them, and turned the key in the lock. The tools were inside but no man could open that door in less than twenty minutes. He stared at it for a moment and then he laughed. The laughter shook him helplessly and he did not stop until he heard a heavy thudding. He swung round with alarm, to realise it came from the drawing room.
On his own he was helpless to shift the barricade, but that mattered little, the urgency was past.
He went unsteadily upstairs to Vere’s study, glanced about him, and stepped to the desk. The middle drawer was unlocked but the key was in it. Mannering pushed the documents inside. One of them was singed, and through the partially burnt envelope Mannering read:
Plan of Economic and Financial Agreement with U.S.A.
Prepared by Martin Vere, Esquire, and Miss Hilda Markham
Urgent consideration by Exchequer
and in pencilled words beneath it:
Urgent. Arrange discussion with M’cy at V. House—G.
Not until then did Mannering realise that copies of the statement must have been at Vere House all the time, before Morency or the others had arrived. The ‘G’ was Gresham, who had come to discuss Vere’s plan as well as see Morency.
Small wonder that the Veres and Hilda had been jumpy, that they had appealed to him to help to find the ‘petty thief’ – who all the time had been searching for the statement, trying to hide his real motives by the pilfering.
Mannering pushed the jewel cases into the cabinet, then made his way to the servants’ wing.
The swing door was locked, but he forced it with little trouble. No one was on the other side; the shooting would not have penetrated so far. He went a little way along the passage to the stairs, and then fired a shot towards the ceiling.
As the report faded, he heard the opening of a door, and then Ransome’s startled voice.
‘Did you hear that?’
Another servant answered, but Mannering waited for nothing more. He went back swiftly to his room, to wash his blackened, unrecognisable face and hands.
That done he pushed the soiled towel into the wardrobe, and keeping the handkerchief about his face, went out. Five menservants and three women were in the hall, moving the furniture, and he smiled. He dropped the gunman’s weapon to the floor of the landing, walked to Usk’s room and went in. After a minute’s careful manipulation he locked the door on himself. Keeping away from the bed, with its grim burden, he set himself to wait.
It was as well, reflected Chief Inspector Bristow, that the Chancellor and the others had been too relieved at the safety of the papers to insist on a thorough inquiry that night. There would be a formal investigation, of course, but officially there would be no full explanation. Bristow, tired but relieved of a great anxiety, smiled obscurely.
‘Read Mr Mannering’s statement again, Tring,’ he said.
The sergeant obeyed. It included a verbatim statement of Usk’s admissions, but finished where Usk and Logan had left the room. Logan was dead; Usk would recover but he was unlikely to talk; he was a fanatic and he would die one. But from sheer malevolence he would have named the man who had smashed his scheme had he been able to.
‘All right,’ Bristow said, and he cocked his eye towards the sergeant. ‘He’s a clever beggar, isn’t he Tring?’
‘And just as well he is, sir,’ said Tring fervently.
‘I won’t disagree,’ Bristow said, ‘I’m going along to see him now.’ He went out, fingering his moustache thoughtfully. He found Mannering lying in bed, with a bandage about his head. Lorna stood by the wardrobe, in her hand a blackened towel.
Bristow stared at the towel deliberately, and then turned to Mannering.
‘This is another thing you won’t admit,’ he said, ‘and another I won’t forget. I’ve a feeling that you’ve done even more than you realise, Mannering.’
There was a bang on the door, and Armitage poked his bandaged head inside. He was clearly in a good humour. ‘Ah, Bristow! What about Miss Grey?’
‘She should be here at any time, sir,’ said Bristow equably. ‘Good,’ said Armitage. ‘Sorry I lost my head and all that, eh?’ He grinned. ‘Y’know, I was worried about Cecilie. By the way, who gave me that bang? Have you found out yet?’
‘One of the gentry who didn’t like your curiosity,’ said Bristow grimly.
Armitage waved a hand towards the bed.
‘Nice work all round, anyhow,’ he said, grinning at Mannering. ‘Have a day or two off, old man, you need it. An expert who gets knocked out and nearly framed for a murder ought to give up criminology altogether. Don’t you agree, Inspector?’
He winked.
Series Information
Published or to be published by
House of Stratus
Dates given are those of first publication
Alternative titles in brackets
‘The Baron’ (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)
‘Department ‘Z’’ (28 titles)
‘Dr. Palfrey Novels’ (34 titles)
‘Gideon of Scotland Yard’ (22 titles)
‘Inspector West’ (43 titles)
‘Sexton Blake’ (5 titles)
‘The Toff’ (59 titles)
along with:
The Masters of Bow Street
This epic novel embraces the story of the Bow Street Runners and the Marine Police, forerunners of the modern police force, who were founded by novelist Henry Fielding in 1748. They were the earliest detective force operating from the courts to enforce the decisions of magistrates. John Creasey’s account also gives a fascinating insight into family life of the time and the struggle between crime and justice, and ends with the establishment of the Metropolitan Police after the passing of Peel’s Act in 1829.
‘The Baron’ Series
These Titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels
Meet the Baron (The Man in the Blue Mask) (1937)
The Baron Returns (The Return of the Blue Mask) (1937)
The Baron Again (Salute Blue Mask)
(1938)
The Baron at Bay (Blue Mask at Bay) (1938)
Alias the Baron (Alias Blue Mask) (1939)
The Baron at Large (Challenge Blue Mask!) (1939)
Versus the Baron (Blue Mask Strikes Again) (1940)
Call for the Baron (Blue Mask Victorious) (1940)
The Baron Comes Back (1943)
A Case for the Baron (1945)
Reward for the Baron (1945)
Career for the Baron (1946)
Blood Diamond (The Baron and the Beggar) (1947)
Blame the Baron (1948)
A Rope for the Baron (1948)
Books for the Baron (1949)
Cry for the Baron (1950)
Trap the Baron (1950)
Attack the Baron (1951)
Shadow the Baron (1951)
Warn the Baron (1952)
The Baron Goes East (1953)
The Baron in France (1953)
Danger for the Baron (1953)
The Baron Goes Fast (1954)
Nest-Egg for the Baron (Deaf, Dumb and Blonde) (1954)
Help from the Baron (1955)
Hide the Baron (1956)
The Double Frame (Frame the Baron) (1957)
Blood Red (Red Eye for the Baron) (1958)
If Anything Happens to Hester (Black for the Baron) (1959)
Salute for the Baron (1960)
The Baron Branches Out (A Branch for the Baron) (1961)
The Baron and the Stolen Legacy (Bad for the Baron) (1962)
A Sword for the Baron (The Baron and the Mogul Swords) (1963)
The Baron on Board (The Mask of Sumi) (1964)
The Baron and the Chinese Puzzle (1964)
Sport for the Baron (1966)
Affair for the Baron (1967)
The Baron and the Missing Old Masters (1968)
The Baron and the Unfinished Portrait (1969)
Last Laugh for the Baron (1970)
The Baron Goes A-Buying (1971)
