by John Creasey
Chapter Sixteen
Quick Change
It was half-past three before Mannering reached the Fauntleys’ Portland Place House. He had spent two hours talking the situation over with Leverson, and no matter what angle had been touched it had grown more and more apparent that the Baron would have to be busy in order to save himself from the consequences of that ill-fated visit to Jackson’s house.
Even now he could not see that he could have acted differently. There had been a dozen occasions in the past when he had been faced with a gun and a man: but Kulper had been a different proposition from any of his previous opponents, and Mannering could still vividly recall the way the man had made his flesh creep. By posing for the photographs he had at least prolonged his freedom: whether he had saved it he did not know.
Yet not until he had seen the photograph on the Cat’s table had he suspected the extent of the danger.
Mannering may have gained a trick by getting into the empty flat, but Kulper had trumped it. The manner in which the effect of the cheek pads had been removed, with the grease-paint shadows and lines, was the work of a genius. Kulper had not shown his suspicions of the disguise, but he must have seen it immediately.
In the taxi, Mannering had been more than afraid of the truth, Leverson had confirmed it bluntly. Now there was a quick change, from a detached interest to a deadly seriousness. The fight was a deeper one now.
It would be a pretty piece of irony, thought Mannering, if an affair that he had started out of a desire to help an innocent man and girl should land him in dock, when burglary for personal gain had left him safe from the police. Justice perhaps, and yet—
He heard Mason walking along the hall, and swore at himself.
“This won’t do, my son. Nothing’s bitten you yet.”
Lady Fauntley, Lorna, Marion and James Halliwell were at tea. Mannering took a cup and sat by the window, joining in the ebb and flow of conversation. No one asked him whether he had learned anything helpful: they were all behaving in exemplary fashion, and he was particularly appreciative of Halliwell’s silence, as well as Marion’s.
The older man had been at Jutland, and Lucy Fauntley had urged him to talk about it. While Halliwell’s deep, pleasant and slow voice was coming, Mannering had time to study Marion Delray.
She had grown older in the past few days. He could see the difference in the set of her lips, and the frequent narrowing of her eyes. When she smiled it was soberly, not with the gaiety that should have been hers.
Mannering wondered what they would say if they knew the truth, and how far he was implicated. Especially Lorna …
She would blame herself, of course, and because of that Mannering did not propose to tell her everything. The photograph seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket, and it was hard to resist the temptation of showing it to her.
Mannering offered cigarettes, and Halliwell finished:
“It’s been said that the affair was badly handled, but in the circumstances I don’t think Jellicoe could have done much else. Eh, Mannering?”
“I’m sure he couldn’t,” interrupted Lady Fauntley with a bright smile, and she tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Well, that’s all over and done with; I do hope there won’t be another war, but with all these dictators and the Indians and everything, what is going to happen I’m sure I don’t know. But still, that’s not so important as it might be at the moment; we always think of ourselves, don’t we? What happened with Hackett, John?”
Mannering laughed: that was typical of Lady Fauntley, to bring the thoughts in all their minds to the fore, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hackett’s taking the case,” he said. The relief in Halliwell’s face, as well as Marion’s, was enough to repay him. “He’s the best man we have, and I’ve persuaded him to believe that Brian’s innocent. But that’s only half the job. You’ll both of you make him tell everything, won’t you, whether it seems to implicate him or not.”
“I don’t think we’ll get more out of him than you have,” said Halliwell frankly.
“He has told everything,” Marion said intently. “He wouldn’t lie to me, and he promised me that everything he knew should come out. Have—have you got any farther?”
“It’s hard to say,” said Mannering, “but I think it will work out all right. Brian’s told me one thing he’s keeping from the police at my suggestion, and I think it will bring results. I—”
Before he could go on, Mason’s voice came from the door, announcing Peter Lake.
Peter came in breezily, for once dressed in a well-cut flannel suit, instead of in the greasy clothing that he usually affected when he had been working on his cars. He smiled to everyone, waving a hand and asking plaintively whether he had come too late for tea.
“Of course not,” said Lady Fauntley. “Did Gertrude send you round?”
Peter’s face dropped, and there was a general chuckle.
“This is getting too close to thought-reading for my liking,” he said lugubriously. “As a matter of fact she did ask me to come and say that if Marion will come back, and forget about what’s happened, she’ll let it make no difference to her.” Peter grinned. “She’s still hoping. I told her it would be no go, but you know how things are. Answer’s ‘no’, isn’t it, Marion?”
Marion hesitated, and Lady Fauntley spoke quickly.
“My dear boy, of course, and do take your tea, my hand’s getting tired. Gertrude wants her to desert poor Brian” – seeing that Lady Fauntley had never met Brian Halliwell, her assumption that she knew him well amused Mannering and Lorna – “and it’s most absurd. Tell her that, Peter; some bread-and-butter, or cakes? There were some sandwiches, and John was hungry, but if you’d care, I’ll ring for more.”
“This’ll suit me, thanks. Well, offer turned down after due consideration. That’s the stuff, Marion, stick to your guns. Any developments at all?”
Halliwell told him that Hackett was engaged.
“Good work. Your friend Plender did the trick, eh, John? But that’s only one side; I wish there was something where we could use an honest fist or so, and a bit of intelligence. Nothing doing, I suppose?”
He cocked his head on one side as he looked at Mannering. In that moment the Baron was assailed for the first time with the idea of using an accomplice. If he went to Eldred’s place at Staines he would find a man like Lake extremely useful. However, it meant too much in the way of explanation, and the idea died as he said “No.”
“Oh, well,” said Lake. “Look here, why not do a show this evening? Cheer Marion up no end, and if you came, John, and Lorna, it would make a foursome, and—well, you know what I mean. Idea accepted or am I squashed again?”
“Accepted,” said Mannering promptly.
He wanted to prevent Marion saying ‘no’, and he was glad, later in the evening, that he had. They chose a musical-comedy with less farce than usual, and the girl forgot herself during most of it. They were home by midnight, and Mannering went straight to Clarges Street.
He felt grim, more than a little desperate.
The size of the problem itself was worrying, but as far as he could see he had no choice left. He half-wished Kate Loffatt had not talked so much about Kulper, although he knew it was invaluable information.
The Status Billiard Hall seemed to grow more sinister.
On the following morning he took a cab and deliberately went past it several times. It was a double-fronted building on the main road. The plate-glass windows had been painted green, but for a long time had needed another coat of paint. The lettering, partly worn off, was black, and one corner of the window in the door had a hole in it large enough for a man’s fist. Once Mannering was able to glimpse inside: he saw a dozen or more green-covered billiard tables, two of which were in use.
It was on the Saturday night when, as Mr. James L. Miller, he visited the hall.
The inside was tawdry. The tables needed recovering, but as far as he could see it
was well-conducted for a low-class billiard saloon, where you could get an hour’s play for a shilling. Fifty or sixty poorly-dressed men and youths obviously used it as a club in the evenings. Mannering recognised two men who had been in prison within the last year, but no one concerned in the present affair appeared.
He played with a man who had asked him whether he would care for a game, and deliberately cued like a beginner. Had he played seriously he doubted whether he would have beaten his opponent, whose dirty fingers could guide the cue-ball anywhere. The man scored three hundred in the hour, while Mannering had just passed the first three figures.
Mannering, or Mr. Miller, paid up cheerfully, drank a cup of half-cold coffee, and left the hall. No one followed him, and he did not think he was suspected. He had seen the rear entrance – apparently there was only one – and discovered that a flight of iron steps ran from the second and third floors to a courtyard at the back of the hall. At the end of the courtyard ran a small alley, and he knew that was the route which the bodies later found in the morgue had taken.
He found the Cat’s metaphors and the Cat herself looming unpleasantly large in his mind. The confident assurance with which she had spoken grew more worrying.
Yet unless she betrayed him, Kulper could have no reason for thinking the Baron had tried any tricks. Jackson had even ‘located’ his flat …
Mannering suddenly stopped thinking, and several seconds passed before his mind started to work normally again.
He had made the biggest mistake possible, had neglected a course that should have been obvious from the start. The flat at Hare Court Mansions had been left vacant; he should have rented it early on the morning after Jackson had followed him there.
Kulper would have made inquiries, only to find he had been tricked.
In a state of real alarm, Mannering took a cab to the block of flats, and this time found a porter in attendance. He asked for a flat on the third floor, taking it for granted that the man would see nothing unusual in an inquiry about an empty but furnished flat at nine-thirty in the evening.
The porter, a large, bony man with a villainous squint and a mop of fiery red hair, seemed to find it normal enough.
“Third flaw—second—fust—”
“Well—the third, perhaps?”
“’Ave a look at seventy-one,” said the porter glumly. “It’s bin empty six months, Gawd knows why. Fought I ’ad let it this arternoon, but the cove turned it down.”
“A—a little too quiet, perhaps,” suggested Mannering.
“I should say. Everything was O.K. till he got inside, and then he turned it down flat.”
“Perhaps it was a friend of mine,” said Mr. Miller hesitantly, but his pulse was beating fast. “He told me he had seen some flats here. At least, I think it was here.”
“Wot’s he like?”
“Er—well, rather tall and stout. Usually dressed in green, I believe, and I suppose you would say red-faced.”
It was a rough description of Greene, and a moment later Mannering knew that he had been right; for the porter grinned.
“Strike me, I never thought he’d recomment us, sir. Can’t tell from appearances, can yer?—well, ’ere we are.”
Mannering hesitated, fussed around the flat, complained that it was very dear, but eventually took it, giving the name of Browning, and arranging to pay a month in advance. He was more worried after he left Hare Court than he had been before: Kulper had inquired, and would know by now that the Baron had tricked him.
There was also that photograph …
He knew he would have to go to the billiard hall on Monday, and he could get help from no one. The temptation to ask Lake to go along was strong: but Kulper would not be easily deceived, and if Lake knew Mannering was the Baron it might do more damage than the photograph itself. The week-end was the worst Mannering had experienced for a long time.
There was nothing to cheer him up, although one thing would have amused him had things been running better. Peter Lake telephoned, spoke awkwardly, and finally asked for a loan of fifty pounds. He had been found guilty at Bow Street that morning, and Mrs. Gertrude Willison had refused to pay the fine and costs. Mannering promised a cheque, and Lake sounded appreciably happier.
Plender called at Clarges Street on the Sunday morning. He had been going through the defence with Hackett, and Hackett at the moment thought it was hopeless. Plender, of course, agreed with him. Young Halliwell had said nothing more, and Plender himself was beginning to think the youngster guilty.
Mannering found his temper on edge, and had to be careful not to snap at Plender.
“I’ll lay you ten to one, Toby, that you’ll get him off. We may even get the police to drop the prosecution.”
“Hackett’ll never forgive you if you do,” said Plender, with his peculiar grin.
“Damn Hackett,” grumbled Mannering. “The fellow seems to think he’s infallible, and he’s an arrogant devil.”
Plender smiled.
“He asked me why the hell a fellow like you should set London by the ears, and he didn’t seem impressed when I told him it was because of your looks. Joking apart, Hackett’s sound and genuine. I wish I thought the same of Leverson.”
“Go home and have lunch,” said Mannering shortly. “I’ve got to get to Portland Place and there’s no time for your pet aversions. I may have something for you on Tuesday, after tomorrow’s inquest on Kingley.”
“If you ask me,” said Plender gloomily, “you’re heading for real trouble, John. But I can talk my head off and you’ll keep working in your own way.” He shook hands as they reached the street. “Be careful, old man.”
Mannering walked to Portland Place gloomily. Plender had been more shrewd than he knew: Mannering, and the Baron, were heading for trouble. Even if the Monday meeting with Kulper went off all right, he had the Staines burglary on his hands. Three or four people would know he was in there, and more concerned with saving their skins than his, even if he did carry Eldred’s gems in his pockets.
Moreover, he had no guarantee of freedom from Kulper’s control if he did get away with Eldred’s collection.
Mannering found the room above the billiard saloon was barely furnished, with a ring of hard wood chairs round the walls. Only Kulper was there when Mannering arrived. Kulper was sitting at his desk, with those wizened hands folded in front of him, and his single eye staring at Mannering, who had laid his hat, stick and gloves on the table and was now lighting a cigarette.
Kulper’s voice was as expressionless as ever: it seemed, Mannering thought, like that of someone disembodied.
“You are cleverer, my friend, than I expected. You knew you would be followed, and you tricked my colleagues.”
“I wasn’t as clever as I should have been,” said Mannering frankly. “I forgot to rent the flat the next morning.”
Kulper shrugged his shoulders.
“It does not matter. It would have been annoying, I admit, had you not arrived today. I should have had to try to trace another photograph like the one Greene took, or else worry the police, a task I dislike intensely.”
“Is it a good likeness?” asked Mannering.
Kulper’s lip twitched as he took a photograph from his pocket, passing it across to Mannering. The Baron took it: and but for his extra care in negotiating with Kulper, he must have shown his surprise.
For the photograph was different from that which Kate Loffatt had shown him!
In it he had the full cheeks, the dark lines; and the man could never have been taken for John Mannering. Kulper was far cleverer than the Baron had anticipated, and he blessed the visit to the Cat. Without it he would not have known there was a second and more damning photograph in circulation.
“No one else has seen this, I suppose?” It was a test question as he pushed the photograph back. Kulper lifted his hands.
“No one who might do harm to you, Baron. Only those members of my organisation who might have recognised you.”
App
arently the man did not make a practice of lying. That code again – the code that all men had.
“All right. Now—are you still thinking of that damned job at Staines?”
“I am thinking of it, my friend.” Kulper took a file of papers from a drawer in the desk. “Here are some things of interest, I know. A plan of the house, of the strong-room, and the passages leading to it. A description of the wiring, and the usual positioning of the guards. You will please yourself how you go, but I would advise you to go through the side entrance, and then get away by the river. I have arranged for a small craft to be near Eldred’s house the whole evening, and by shining a torch three times in quick succession, it will come to the landing-stage at the back of the house. You will be away in a very short time.”
Mannering took the file, trying to hide his surprise; but he allowed a gleam of real interest to show in his eyes.
“Plans, eh? How the devil—”
“Eldred employs servants, and servants are easy to handle,” said Kulper. “But the three guards are impossible to bribe, and you have an easy task only if you can outwit them, thus preventing an alarm. But even the Baron could not have made more perfect arrangements. You can rely absolutely on the information given there.”
Mannering nodded, folded the file and put it in his pocket.
“Is that the lot?”
“For now,” said Kulper, very slowly. “You understand the terms, my friend? Half the proceeds for you, half for me, if you succeed. If you fail, it is entirely in your hands. You can afterwards tell the police my name and my address, but I assure you they will never find me. You will start at twelve o’clock, just half an hour after the household retires for the night. There is nothing of note happening there this evening, and things will go according to plan. Emmanuel Eldred, as a matter of fact, is a great man for plans, and I hope that it will prove his downfall. Tell me—do you think you can doit?”
