by John Creasey
“Only some of the things that happen in it,” Mannering remarked.
That drew the light from her expression. She turned from the window, her eyes swerving away from the twin beds. She looked tired now, tired and very young.
There was a tap at the door, and Mannering called, “Come in.” A porter appeared, with the case. When he had gone, Ethel stared at it without speaking, and Mannering took out a bunch of keys, unlocked, and threw back the lid.
Ethel’s briefcase lay on the top. She could not look away from it.
“Ethel,” said Mannering.
“Yes?”
“Why was Enrico Ballas so desperate to get that briefcase? He is a jewel-thief, I’ve never heard he was involved in espionage.”
She continued to look at it.
“I’ve never heard that my father was, either. Nor in jewels.”
“The truth, please,” Mannering insisted.
When she raised her eyes, her gaze was very direct.
“I have no idea at all why Ballas wanted that briefcase.”
“He must have thought it very important.”
“Obviously!”
“Did your father give you any hint at all about the cause of his alarm?”
“None.”
Mannering locked the case and slipped the keys into his pocket. Sitting on the side of the nearer bed, he lifted the telephone. Ethel made no attempt to stop him or to protest, even when he said into the mouthpiece: “I would like Whitehall 4-31495, please.”
He held on, during odd noises on the telephone. Ethel moved so that her back was to the window. For one so young, she had remarkable poise and self-control. She knew he was about to speak to her father, her mind should surely be seething with anxiety and uncertainty, mused Mannering, yet she said nothing.
The bell went on ringing, the low-pitched note very different from the English burr-burr! burr-burr! Ethel’s fingers began to clench, while Mannering asked himself what he could do next if her father did not answer.
He was on the point of hanging up when the ringing stopped, and a man said agitatedly: “Ethel! Ethel! Is that you?”
“No, Professor Alundo,” John Mannering said very carefully. “Ethel is with me, but before she speaks to—”
“She’s all right? She is? Oh, thank God, thank God!” The voice rose suddenly. “You’re not lying to me! This isn’t some dreadful trick. Please. Is my daughter—”
“She’s here, she’s well, and she’s not in any immediate danger,” Mannering said. “Supposing you tell me why you think she is.”
There was a pause. Ethel drew nearer, her eyes beseeching Mannering to allow her to speak, but he held her back with his free hand.
Then Professor Alundo said: “Has she got the notes? Has she got them? I must know—I must know whether she has them—”
He broke off abruptly, and Mannering had a sudden fear, that someone had come into the room and made the old man stop. He was aware of Ethel, watching with increasing tension; and he heard heavy breathing on the other end of the line. Then Alundo spoke in a calmer voice: “Who are you? If you harm my daughter—”
“Your daughter will be all right once you’ve told me what you’ve done to make an enemy of Enrico Ballas.”
The other man did not speak.
Ethel pressed closer and put out a hand to touch the telephone. Mannering did not let her take it, hardly knowing why he began to feel antagonism towards Alundo.
Ethel whispered: “Please let me speak to him.”
“Before I tell you anything, I wish to speak to my daughter,” Alundo said brusquely, and something of Mannering’s hostility melted. “Kindly put her on the line.”
Mannering relaxed his hold on the telephone. Ethel took it eagerly, seemed to take a very deep breath, and then said: “Are you all right, Daddy?”
Mannering moved away, torn between waiting to hear every word, in case any had special significance, and wanting the girl to have at least a sense of privacy. For a few minutes she talked reassuringly, and then her tone changed. She called: “Mr. Mannering.”
He looked round to see her covering the mouthpiece with one hand and looking at him.
“May I give Daddy your name?”
“Yes, of course.”
She took her hand away.
“I’m with Mr. John Mannering, the antique dealer … Yes, Mannering … Well, he’s heard of you … Yes, he’s been a very great help … Yes, I do … Well, I think I can … Oh, Daddy!” There was exasperation in her voice. She listened for a long time, and then spoke quite sharply: “We haven’t any choice … For goodness sake, can’t you believe me?” During all this she was looking across at Mannering, and he was amused by her expression, as well as with the way she had lost patience with her father. Suddenly she burst out: “Oh, you’re impossible, you really are! … Very well, he has the packet, I haven’t, so we’ve got to trust him.”
Mannering chuckled.
“And it’s a good thing he’s good-humoured about it. If it weren’t for him heaven knows what would have happened to me.” She listened for a few more minutes with obviously increasing annoyance, and then said in a tone of finality: “I can’t promise that. You must speak to Mr. Mannering.”
She thrust the telephone towards Mannering.
“He’s quite impossible,” she declared. “You’d better talk to him.”
Mannering took the instrument and as he held it to his ear, Alundo was saying in a tone quite as sharp as his daughter’s: “… you really must do as I say, Ethel. This is a matter of extreme importance to me. Surely you have sufficient ingenuity to take it when he is not looking.”
“Why don’t you come and get it yourself?” suggested Mannering sweetly.
He heard Alundo catch his breath, and waited for an outpouring of apology. But none came.
“Mr. Mannering, that packet is mine. It is of value and of significance only to me. You have no right to it. If you are a man of integrity you will give it back to my daughter at once, and allow her to carry out my instructions. I insist that you waste no more time.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be so easy as that.”
“If you want money,” Alundo interrupted coldly, “I must inform you that I am a poor man. My daughter has to earn her own living.”
“So I gathered,” Mannering said. “I will be in the coffee shop of the Conrad Hilton Hotel at eleven o’clock exactly, with your daughter. If you want to see—”
“Mannering! That is impracticable. I cannot possibly be there! I have to be here, so as—”
“Where are you?” Mannering demanded.
“That—that is beside the point. Mr. Mannering, I must insist that you do as I say, and at once. Give the packet to my daughter, and let me talk to her. This is”—he hesitated, then went on as if inspired—“a very personal, indeed, a family matter.”
“Professor Alundo,” Mannering said, “Ethel and I are in Room 1515 at the Conrad Hilton, and will stay here for the next two hours.”
He put the telephone down with enough noise for Alundo to hear. Ethel, only a little way from him, looked into his eyes.
“That’s the only way to deal with him in these circumstances,” she approved. “He really can be the most stubborn man alive. I’m sorry. Of course he doesn’t know yet what you’ve done for me, but”—she shrugged—“well, even if he did he would be much the same. All he seems to care about is the packet of microfilm. What on earth can it be to make him behave like this?”
“Ethel,” Mannering said quietly. “Is he a poor man?”
“Poor as a church mouse.”
“Obviously this packet might be valuable.”
“If you’ve got any idea that Daddy might be mixed up in something involving money you can forget it,” Ethel said with utter conviction. “He might have some fantastic idea that he’s saving the world from damnation or destruction, but you can certainly rule out financial gain.”
“Unless he needs the almighty dollar to save the worl
d,” Mannering said dryly.
He watched her expression, and thought, quite unexpectedly, that this possibility had entered her mind before and that she didn’t like it. She spun round towards the window and the shining lake, but Mannering had a feeling that she was no longer aware of the view, or the boats, or the traffic.
“Do you think he will telephone?” he asked her.
“I suppose he’s bound to,” Ethel said. “And I suppose all we can do is to wait. Unless—” she hesitated.
“Unless what?”
“You decide to let me have the packet, and I call him again and tell him I’ve got it.”
“Not on your life,” Mannering said with a chuckle. “Now that I’m involved, I’m going to stay involved. I want to know the reason, if any, for that coincidence.”
“Then we’ll wait,” Ethel said.
They waited. Five minutes passed, then ten, then half-an-hour. Ethel sat in one of the two easy chairs overlooking the lake, her eyes closed but her lashes fluttering enough to betray her wakefulness. Mannering took a letter out of his pocket and began to read; it was in fact a summary of the details of the robbery at the Mayfair home of Lord Fentham, and a close description, and history, of the Fentham diamonds. Only two pieces, a necklace and a bracelet, had been stolen.
Mannering finished the letter, then glanced over some pencilled notes he had made; the most significant stressing the fact that the older Ballas, who lived here in Chicago, possessed a superb collection of some of the finest diamonds in the world. There was nothing at all surprising in any attempt to steal the Fentham jewels for him, but there was one mystery. The thief, or thieves, had stolen only two items of the Fentham collection, when the whole or a very much larger part of it could have been taken just as easily. Why had Enrico Ballas – if it had been he – stolen only the necklace and the bracelet?
Mannering studied photographs of the two pieces. The gems were expertly graduated, the middle stones particularly fine specimens. Even in black and white they stirred him; to Mannering there was fascination in beautiful jewels.
An hour slid by, and there was still no telephone call.
“He isn’t going to ring,” Ethel said. “He thinks he’s got more patience, and you’ll ring him. I—”
She broke off abruptly, at a sharp tap at the door.
Almost on the instant, the telephone bell rang.
Chapter Seven
Visitor
At Pennsylvania Station, Ethel had seen the bewildering speed with which Mannering could move, and now she had another demonstration. He seemed to sweep her to him with one arm and snatch up the telephone in the same movement. Into the telephone he said quite calmly: “Please call again later.” To her, he said: “Stay behind the door. Don’t move.” He replaced the receiver and thrust her to a position in which she would be hidden when the door opened. All this, before there was another tap, even sharper.
“Just a minute!” Mannering flattened himself against the wall, opening the door while still standing on one side.
A man spoke in a voice so sing-song and unfamiliar that English ears could barely understand it.
“Waal, how about that?” The timbre of the voice seemed to swell in and out of the room, up and down the passage. “Did this door open by itself, d’you think? I’ll be goddarned if it isn’t enough to give me the heebie-jeebies.”
In his most English accent, Mannering said: “I can imagine that, sir. Do come in.”
At the first sound of the stranger’s voice, Ethel had started violently. Now she stared at the doorway in blank astonishment, as the door opened to admit their visitor, young, tall, good-looking in an angular, hawk-like way, wearing a wide-brimmed Stetson and a pale beige-coloured suit of some smooth textured material which looked like mohair. He was so immaculate he did not seem real – nor did the gesture with which he thrust his hand at Mannering.
“Good morning, sir. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. John Mannering?”
“My name is Mannering.”
“The Baronial Mr. Mannering? The dealer in antiques?”
“I deal in antiques,” Mannering agreed.
The other man gripped his hand firmly.
“It is a great pleasure to meet you, sir, it surely is. It’s one of the great pleasures.” He gave Mannering a broad, warm smile, let his hand fall, and glanced round as if by chance. He saw Ethel. His eyes rounded, his lips dropped, he stared as if looking at an apparition, but before Ethel or Mannering could speak, he recovered, and went on: “Waal, how about that? Two great pleasures at one and the same time. Miss Ethel, it sure is a pleasure to meet you.”
He stepped towards her, both hands outstretched, took hers and drew her very close to him; for a moment Mannering thought he was going to embrace her.
“I’ll be goddarned,” he went. “Your father certainly told me he had a beautiful daughter, but he didn’t tell me you were that beautiful. Mr. Mannering, you be a witness, now. Isn’t Ethel Alundo just about the prettiest young female you ever did set eyes on?”
“For goodness sake!” protested Ethel.
“Yes indeed,” answered Mannering, beginning to enjoy himself, but still wary.
“You see?” The stranger drew Ethel even closer. “You wouldn’t disbelieve a gentleman with such a reputation as the Baron Mannering, now would you, Honey? You certainly are the prettiest thing.”
Ethel drew her head back, the only part of her she could move freely, and said in a clear, cold, carrying voice: “And you certainly are the most ill-mannered person I have ever met. Please let me go.”
He stared into her eyes, then dropped her hands as if they were hot coals.
“Miss Ethel,” he said as if heartbroken, “I cain’t tell you how sorry I am. I just cain’t tell you. The last thing I would want to do to a beautiful woman like you is to cause any offence. I surely do apologise.” He turned to Mannering. “Mr. Mannering, will you be good enough to bear witness to my apology.”
Nothing in his expression or his tone of voice suggested that he was being facetious.
“I will,” Mannering said. “If you’ll tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.”
“Doing, sir?”
“Yes.”
“But, the Professor—” The stranger broke off. “He promised to call you to say that he could not come and see you in person but had asked me to stop by instead. Didn’t he call?”
At one and the same moment the telephone rang again. Mannering and Ethel glanced towards it; and the young man, seizing his opportunity to catch Mannering off guard, lunged forward, gripping Mannering’s wrist and twisting him round so swiftly and savagely that pain shot through the arm from hand to shoulder. Mannering found himself held in a hammerlock so tight that he could move neither to left nor right without danger of his arm being broken.
Ethel, who had swiftly snatched up the receiver, was saying: “… oh, all right, Daddy.”
The young man spoke sharply into Mannering’s ear: “You keep exactly where you are, Mr. Mannering, don’t you try no tricks now.”
The telephone gave an abrupt ‘ting’ as the girl rang off.
“Ethel,” Mannering said, “don’t trust this man. He’s probably as dangerous as Ballas.”
“Miss Ethel, you go pick up that packet your father wants, and you go wait for me in the lobby while I have an accommodation talk with Mr. Mannering.”
“Ethel—” Mannering began.
“He is a messenger from my father,” Ethel said in a low-pitched voice. “We’ll have to give it to him.” She moved, stepping into Mannering’s sight – and in sight of his case, which was on a luggage stand. She tried to open it, but it was locked, so she turned to face him. “Where is the key?”
If Mannering refused to answer she would join the stranger in searching him, and there was no point in making that inevitable. With his free hand, he touched his hip pocket. Without a word, Ethel drew nearer, dipped her fingers inside, drew out his keys and turned away. Mannering wat
ched as Ethel found the right key, opened the case, and lifted her own briefcase from the top.
“Is that it?” the young man asked eagerly.
“Yes, of course.”
“Is the packet inside?”
She felt along the edge quickly, and said “Yes.”
“Take it, Miss Ethel, and—”
“I’m not going to leave you here with Mr. Mannering,” Ethel said in a very precise voice. “You take the case to my father, wherever he is. I owe too much to Mr. Mannering to let anything happen to him.”
“But Miss Ethel, your poor father said—”
“Remind my father I am over twenty-one.”
The grip on Mannering’s arm did not slacken. He might break the lock, but it was probably better to pretend that he could not free himself. He sensed the tension between the two who were now both out of sight behind him. Before he could recover from his surprise at the girl’s attitude, he was released, pushed heavily in the back and sent staggering forward, one arm outstretched to try to save himself from crashing into the wall. He did not see what happened but heard the thud of footsteps and the opening and the slamming of the door.
Mannering took more time than he really needed to recover. It would be futile to rush after the young man, and would only make him look foolish. When he spoke to Ethel again he wanted to be in full command of himself, if not of the situation. So, he leaned heavily against the wall, flexing the muscles of the arm which had been held in that expert hammerlock. Then, slowly, he turned round.
Ethel was at the window, once again gazing out over the lake. The reflection of the sun on the water gilded her face and hair, making a breath-taking picture. Her head was high, her shoulders squared, her lips set. Even when she heard him approach she did not turn her head.
“There can’t be another girl quite like you,” Mannering said with quiet admiration.
That broke through her reserve, making her glance round.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean – thank you.”
“Do you think I did the right thing?”
“I think you did what you thought ought to be done, in the best possible way.”
She looked at him squarely.
