by John Creasey
Lorna said: “No. John, you’re dying to go after the Shadow, aren’t you?”
“The answer, for personal satisfaction only, and not in the capacity of a police stooge,” said Mannering, “is yes.”
“I suppose you won’t be satisfied until you know who he is,” said Lorna. “And it’s no use begging you not to. Be careful, my darling.”
4: News of the Shadow
The door of the flat at Albemarle Mansions opened, soft wall lighting along the wide passage showed Mary Plender hurrying towards them in a silvery evening gown, and the maid standing on one side.
“Lorna, it’s so good to see you. John, I thought you’d forgotten us.” The women touched cheeks, and then Mary gripped Mannering’s hand. “You’re more hopelessly handsome than ever.”
“No competition,” said Plender, coming from a room on the right. “It’s heartbreaking.” He took Lorna’s hands and kissed her. The women, lingering over wraps, he led Mannering into a large, comfortable looking room, pleasantly furnished with books, a Persian cat, and armchairs drawn up near the fire.
“Whisky?”
“Thanks. I’m still out of jail, you see,” Mannering said.
“Keep out. They’re overcrowded. How is business?”
“Flourishing. I needn’t ask you about yours, I can read it all in the newspapers,” said Mannering. “I suppose you know that you’ve talked at least two innocent men into jail in the past six months.”
“Don’t you believe it. If they weren’t guilty on that score, they were on some other count. The wheels of justice do their job.” Plender sipped. “Any news of the Shadow?”
“He remains unknown, even in the lowest circles.”
“Meaning?”
“I have my spies. He’s not pally with the professional burglar. Some of them are beginning to resent his existence, and the speeding up of police attention. If the Shadow’s not careful, he’ll have a civil war on his hands.”
Plender chuckled.
“He’ll be careful. I’ve heard from him.”
Mannering put his glass down, but didn’t speak. Plender went across to a book case and took out a folded copy of The Times. Marked round in pencil was an advertisement.
“I saw it,” said Mannering. “The Echo and the Record took it up, and gave you quite a splash – didn’t you see? Appeal to the Shadow, lashes of sentiment. What does Bristow say?”
“Nothing, yet.”
“Meaning, he probably disapproves,” said Mannering. “If the Shadow really wants to become popular, all he has to do now is to return that pendant. He’ll probably demand that you send a statement to the Press about it, and –”
“Intuition, or a case of identical minds,” said Plender lightly, “for the Shadow has indeed promised to return the pendant, on one condition; that I inform the Press when I get it.”
“Well, well,” said Mannering, and laughed. He finished his whisky. “I wouldn’t mind another, Toby! So he’s playing to the gallery. I had a feeling that he was doing that deliberately, from the beginning. In the popular phrase, you have to admire him, don’t you? Details?”
“He has a nerve, certainly.”
“We knew that. Why, in particular?”
“He asked for a detailed note of my movements for the next three days, and told me that he’d see that the pendant was returned to me during that time. This,” added Plender, his hand quite steady with the whisky, “is the third day. He knows that we’ll be here until about ten o’clock, and that we’re going on to the Lulu afterwards. Nice timing, for you, wasn’t it?”
“How did he send the message?”
“Telephone, from a call box.”
“Did he suggest that it might be a police trap?”
Plender chuckled. “He said that if it turned out to be one, Mary wouldn’t have a jewel to call her own, and probably no fur coat, either.”
“Did he ring up himself?”
“I fancy so.”
“Voice?”
“It would pass anywhere.”
“I’m beginning to get fond of the Shadow,” said Mannering. “Does Mary know about it?”
“Yes.”
“Subject for dinner table talk,” said Mannering. “Is there a back way into the fiats, Toby?”
“The usual tradesman’s entrance. Why?”
“I was thinking,” said Mannering dreamily, “that would be the natural time to choose, while you and Mary were away dancing here tonight. Now if we all went out by the front door, and I slipped back through the tradesman’s entrance, we might get a nice surprise.”
“You don’t improve,” said Plender.
The women came in. Mary Plender was nearly as tall as her husband, deep breasted, serene looking but by no means a beautiful woman. There was merriment in her eyes, reflecting real pleasure at this reunion.
“What have you two been conspiring about?” asked Lorna.
“You’d be surprised,” said Plender darkly.
They left Albemarle Mansions in Plender’s car. The entrance to the big block of flats was brightly lit, the light spreading to the parked cars in the driveway and on to the tall, narrow houses on the opposite side of the street. Two or three people walked along and two cars passed, but there was no indication that anyone was watching. Plender drove to Piccadilly, and then took a narrow turning which led, eventually, to the Lulu, a Soho club basking in the approval of the police and Mayfair society.
“Where are you going to get out?” Plender asked.
“On second thoughts, I’ll come to the club,” said Mannering. “The Shadow might be ultra careful, and not only make sure that we leave the flat but also that we’re having a wonderful time. I’ll disappear fairly early.”
“You could forget all about it,” suggested Lorna.
“Some other night,” said Mannering.
Dancing was in full swing. Unlike most night clubs the Lulu had a comfortable floor space, and there was ample room to move about. The proprietress came hurrying towards them, as they entered.
“Mr. Plender, how lovely! And you didn’t tell me that you’d be bringing Mr. and Mrs. Mannering, that makes it even more wonderful!” Her smile, though professional, was warm and pleasing. She touched Mannering’s arm with a be-ringed hand. “You ought to come and see us more often.”
“That’s what my wife says, Lulu.”
“Well, now you’re here, I’ve a delightful table for you. I don’t think we’re going to be too crowded tonight.”
Mannering said in a low voice: “Just one small thing, Lulu – I want a telephone message, in about twenty minutes time, and I want you to say, quite loudly, that it’s from Quinns, and there’s been some trouble there. I’ll have to go, but I’ll be back before the night’s out. Will you fix it?”
Without asking for the message to be repeated, Lulu nodded. She allowed time for one waltz, and then delivered it, making sure that the people at nearby tables heard that there was “trouble” at Quinns. Most of the people there had already identified Mannering, many knew Quinns, and none was surprised to see him hurry out.
He took a taxi to Berkeley Square, and then walked briskly towards Albemarle Mansions. As he walked, he felt the heady rise of excitement. He knew that the result of the ruse might be disappointing, but there was stimulation in the thought that this was the beginning of a hunt. It brought nostalgia, for the days of the Baron, when he would have slipped away from the Lulu Club on a more daring mission that this – a job such as the Shadow might do.
He reached the end of Bray Street He saw no one. He had to walk a further few yards before turning off, towards the back entrance. He reached it, and surprised an elderly man, who was sitting reading a newspaper by the side of a big central heating boiler.
“Evening, sir.” The man put the newspaper down. “Anything I can do for you?”
“I want to go in the back way,” said Mannering, and a ten shilling note appeared in his hand, as if by magic. “A trick on Mr. Plender.” He beamed.
>
“Well, sir?”
“He’ll be happy,” said Mannering.
There had been a time when it would have been vital to get past the night watchman without being seen; bribing his way took the edge off his enjoyment. He smiled to himself as he walked up the narrow, cemented stairs which led to the second floor and the main staircase. No one was about, and the lift was silent. He reached the Plender’s flat
– Number 14 – and let himself in with Toby Plender’s key.
A light glowed along the first passage; the maid was in, and knew he would be back. Plender had vouched for her loyalty.
Mannering went along to the door, and tapped before opening it. The maid, sitting in front of an electric fire, was knitting; and the Persian cat was sitting on her lap.
“Don’t disturb him,” said Mannering. “You know exactly what to do, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, sir. If anyone comes, I’m to let them come in, if they want to, and show them into the drawing room. They’re not to know that anyone else is at home. I’m to shut the door, if they do come in, and then come back here.”
“And if they stay outside?”
“I’m to detain them for a few minutes if I can.”
“That’s fine,” said Mannering.
He went back to the drawing room. There was a door leading to the small dining room, which stood ajar. He went across and opened it two or three times; there was no squeak. He went into the dining room and found that he could see into the room through the crack between the door itself and the frame. Next he went into the hall. There was a tall wardrobe, standing near the front door and there was room for a man to hide behind it. He stepped inside; his hair ruffled by coats, and closed it on himself. He couldn’t see through the keyhole. He opened the door a shade; he could see the front hall, but anyone standing in the doorway could see him. He decided to stay in the dining room all the time.
It was a little after eleven o’clock.
He selected Paradise Lost in a tooled leather binding, went into the dining room and switched on a standard lamp, and began to read; the beauty of the words was like the company of an old friend.
His blood pounded with an upsurge of exhilaration.
A clock struck the half hour. If the Shadow was a man of his word, he or a messenger would be here within thirty minutes unless he decided to be spectacular and return the pendant at the Lulu. If that happened Mannering wouldn’t live this down for a long time.
Another ten minutes passed – and then he heard the front door bell ring.
He put the book down and switched off the light. He heard voices, but at first couldn’t be sure whether the caller was man or woman. Then he heard the maid say “Mr. Pender’s out, I’m afraid, but if you would like to leave a message. . . .”
A girl said: “Oh, no, I won’t trouble. But – do you know where I might find Mr. Plender?”
“He’s out dancing, somewhere.”
“Oh,” said the girl, who had a pleasant voice. “I’m sorry I’ve missed him, but will you please give him this?”
5: Man of His Word
Mannering slid into the hall as the front door closed. The maid had a small package in her hand.
“She wouldn’t come in, sir.”
“That’s all right.’ Mannering took the packet and slipped it into his pocket. “Switch the light off until I’ve gone, will you?” As the light went out, he opened the door and stepped into the wider passage beyond. He could hear no sound of footsteps. The Shadow’s messenger wasn’t in sight He hurried to the landing, and pressed the lift button. The lift arrived almost at once, and he reached the ground floor as a girl walked across the big, carpeted hall. A porter, in uniform, said: “Good night.”
“Good night, thank you.”
The girl sounded young and timid. Mannering stepped unnoticed out of the lift, He saw her clearly against the brighter light. She was well dressed, and walked easily. He reached the door as she stepped into a waiting taxi.
“The Grand Palace Hotel,” she said to the driver.
“Okay, Miss.”
Mannering was already at the Sunbeam Talbot. The engine started at a touch, and before the taxi was out of
Bray Street, he was on the move. The taxi turned right, towards Piccadilly; it would go on to the Circus, to reach the Grand Palace Hotel, which was almost within walking distance. Without hurrying, Mannering kept the cab in sight. It reached Piccadilly Circus, but instead of turning left to the hotel turned into Haymarket.
“They’re careful,” Mannering murmured; and laughed to himself. He followed to Trafalgar Square, then across the Strand to the Adelphi. The taxi took several turnings in that quiet backwater off the main thoroughfare, and pulled up halfway along a narrow street of residential houses. Mannering drove to the end, returning on foot. The girl was standing by the side of the taxi, in the shadow.
He heard the taxi driver laugh.
The girl turned into a house; the seventh on the right hand side of the street. The cab turned. Mannering hurried back to his car, and was facing the same direction as the taxi when it appeared again. Its hire sign was down, but Mannering saw no passenger. It turned towards the Embankment and stopped at the first set of traffic lights. Several cars and taxis were between it and Mannering when they started off again. At Blackfriars Bridge, the taxi turned right, and then rattled over the bridge towards Southwark. It was stopped again at traffic lights and a few hundreds yards along, turned off the main road. Mannering didn’t follow, but stopped the car. A constable came along towards him.
Mannering called: “Can I park here, constable?”
“How long for, sir?”
“Oh, half an hour or so.”
“That’s all right, sir, at this time of night.”
He went off with the Juggernaut tread of the traditional policeman, and Mannering turned in to one of the lighted doorways. He didn’t stay, but walked to the road which the taxi had taken. He found himself in a rabbit warren of sparsely lighted narrow streets, between tall warehouses. Walking on, he came presently to an all night cafe. The eyes of four solitary customers turned to him with veiled suspicion as he went in. The proprietor, a meek looking man with a walrus moustache, came bustling towards him on the other side of the counter.
“Any cigarettes?” asked Mannering. “They told me I might be lucky, here.”
“Got a few Players, if they’ll do, sir.”
“Thanks. And a cup of tea.”
Mannering, waiting for the tea and cigarettes, looked casually round the almost empty cafe. “Hardly worth your while opening all night, is it?” he asked with the air of a man pleasantly and unimportantly filling a pause.
“You’d be surprised. There’s a lot of work at the warehouses by night. There’re a couple of all night garages, too. Our job’s to serve the public, that’s my motto.”
“It couldn’t be better. Anywhere I can get a taxi?”
“Several places,” the man said promptly. “Nearest is straight on, first right, then it’s at the next corner. Only a little place, but there’s always someone on duty at night. Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“No, thanks, that was good.” Mannering went out, nodding to the suspicious quartet, and sauntered to the end of the road. None of the men came out to watch him. He walked briskly to the corner. The main entrance to the taxi garage was in a side street. Two men were talking in a dim light, one of them in shirt sleeves, the other in muffler and coat. Mannering saw both men vividly; the first plump, the other with a face which was hatchet thin. He thought it was the driver of the girl’s taxi. He walked past, glancing inside and saw the taxi. He recognised both the shape and the registration number.
The two men watched him without expression.
He walked on to the main road and back to his own car. No one approached, and no one had followed. Was he taking a lot of precautions for nothing? It could be, but it wasn’t until he was on the other side of Blackfriars Bridge that he felt quite free from t
he risk of surveillance.
He was at Lulu’s before one o’clock.
“John,” said Lorna, from her bed.
“Not asleep?” It was four o’clock, and they had been home for over an hour.
“What happened tonight?”
“I followed a girl to an address in Buckley Street and a taxi to Southwark. I fancy both know something about the Shadow.”
“Why did you tell Toby that you didn’t have any luck?”
“Because if I had, he’d probably tell Bristow. No reason why he shouldn’t, no reason why I should ask him to keep it to himself, after all. Mary has her pendant back, so Toby should be happy. Or Mary should.”
“What are you going to do next?”
“Come and help you go to sleep,” said Mannering, and pushed back the bedclothes.
Two days later, towards evening, Larraby arrived at Quinns and paused in the open doorway of the office, to say that he thought he had some information that would be of interest. Mannering gave him five minutes, and then followed him. Larraby was standing in front of the little picture, which was now clean except in one corner.
“I feel sure it is a Rubens, sir.”
“Probably. What do you know, Josh?”
“Well,” said Larraby, with indirectly expressed triumph, “I discovered that the garage behind the Southwark Road changed hands recently. It was up for sale six or seven months ago, and was bought by a man new to the London taxi business. He said he’d had a lot of experience in the Midlands, and brought his own staff with him – two mechanics and a clerk. He employs London drivers, of course, but there’s one very interesting thing, sir.”
“What?”
“He’s taken out a licence himself, and started to drive. He was out in the cab you saw, on Wednesday night. I got all of this in a roundabout way from one of the drivers he employs. He – that is, the proprietor – is a tall, thin man. He isn’t popular, although he pays well. Too big for his boots. He doesn’t go there regularly, though, leaves the management to one of the men he brought with him.”
