by John Creasey
He was right, and Mannering was finding it hard to accept.
He had been convinced, since his talk with Leverson, that there was no need to worry about the little crook. Now Kulper was there, as large as life – Kulper, who had those damning photographs, whose capture at Staines had been so important that the Baron had taken suicidal risks to get him.
Mannering felt stunned. He did not notice Bristow’s grip on his arm until the Inspector tightened it. Lorna was trying to smile, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary in Bristow approaching Mannering, but when she saw Bristow’s sober face she felt more afraid than she had been for months, since the Baron’s last adventure.
“I’d like a word with you, Mannering.”
Mannering turned round, but he did not seem to see Bristow. His eyes were narrowed and very hard, and his hands were clenched.
“Worried?” asked Bristow insistently, and Lorna wanted to kick Mannering. The quiet word did what was wanted, and a smile broke across Mannering’s face, although his eyes were not gleaming as they usually did on the Chief-Inspector.
“Just interested, Bill. Things go as you wanted ’em?”
“Pretty well. Do you mind slipping up to the Yard for half an hour?”
To Lorna the invitation seemed to carry a menace, and she hated the thought of what might happen at the Yard. But Mannering’s eyes were laughing again, and she felt relieved, sharing his confidence, as he turned to her.
“Will you catch up with Marion and Peter? I’ll be in for lunch, if you can manage an extra.”
“Of course.” Lorna started to move off, but Bristow broke in with a quick smile.
“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t come as far as the Yard with us, Miss Fauntley, if it’s on your way.”
Lorna agreed, feeling easier in her mind. Mannering and Bristow left the cab at the Yard, and Mannering told the driver to go to Portland Place. With the Inspector he walked through the Parliament-Street entry of the Yard, and up the main steps. A sergeant in uniform saluted, and Bristow turned towards the lift. They were soon outside the Chief-Inspector’s office. Bristow looked in, and came out quickly.
“We’re wanted in the Superintendent’s office.”
Mannering was beginning to get things in their proper perspective. He could not have avoided this visit to the Yard: a refusal would have done him no good, and the police could, this morning, have picked him up anywhere in London. Yet he was on the alert, wondering why Bristow had brought him, watching for a trap. Bristow and Lynch had adopted a different method of approach over this affair, and Mannering wanted to be as sure as possible that he made no mistake, gave them no chance of catching him.
His voice was tinged with mockery.
“Very formal this morning, Bill?”
“Am I?” Bristow tapped on Lynch’s door, heard a gruff “come in”, and stood aside for Mannering to go through.
Superintendent Lynch, sprawling back in a swivel chair, lifted a finger to his forehead in welcome. He was dressed in a reddish-brown suit that made him look fatter and larger, and his full face, with the smooth features, was broken in a smile that appeared friendly enough. Mannering had had good reason in the past to suspect that smile.
“Hallo, hallo, Mannering. What’s this I hear about you trying to rob us of a man for the Kingley murder? Deuced inconsiderate of you, seeing the trouble we’ve had to bring him in.”
Mannering laughed, as Lynch pushed cigarettes across his desk. Bristow pulled an easy chair up. Mannering felt both men scrutinising him, and did not turn a hair. He wished that he had been wearing different clothes, for Mr. Miller’s Victorian morning coat and trousers were not a perfect fit, but he behaved as if he was turned out as immaculately as ever.
Lynch chuckled throatily, eyeing the clothes.
“Been to a fancy-dress ball, Mannering?”
“The police force is getting observant,” said Mannering dryly. “Why the honour, gentlemen? You aren’t hoping to try and bribe me off Halliwell, are you?”
“Good gracious, no!” said Lynch, looking round-faced and innocent. “What an idea, Mannering, what an idea!”
He was being childish, which usually meant that he had something up his sleeve. Mannering began to wonder whether he had made a vital mistake, whether a charge would come before he left the office. Greene had said nothing at the court, but he might have talked to the police. Kulper was free, with those photographs! He would be feeling vicious against the Baron.
Lynch began to rummage among the papers on his desk, and the Baron’s throat was suddenly constricted. He let his cigarette burn away as he sat back, his eyes narrowed, making every effort to seem unconcerned. He was watching Lynch’s fat fingers as though his life depended on it.
Lynch found what he wanted and lifted a single sheet of paper, without a photograph. Mannering lifted his cigarette to his lips slowly, as Lynch threw the paper across his desk.
“We’ve been getting anonymous letters, Mannering.”
He watched closely as Mannering picked the sheet up, and glanced down at it. A single piece of quarto paper of the flimsy type, with a short typewritten and unsigned paragraph, that ran:
“The Baron arranged Kingley’s murder. He is organising thefts on a scale that is dangerous. You must get him.”
Mannering read the words, and dropped the note back on the table. His mind was working quickly, for he guessed who had sent it. Kulper: Kulper was trying to make sure that the Baron did not succeed in tracing the real murderer of Matthew Kingley.
Yet the one-eyed man would never know how well this fitted with the Baron’s plans.
“Well?” asked Lynch slowly.
“I doubt if the Baron would like it,” said Mannering. “I can’t speak for him, of course, but it looks like a double-cross. As if someone is trying to work under cover of the Baron, don’t you think so, Bill?”
He turned to Bristow, but Lynch held up a stumpy forefinger.
“All right, all right. You’re the Baron, and we’ll prove it some day! But I’ll be frank with you now, Mannering. I don’t think you were at Eldred’s house last night.”
Mannering kept his face expressionless, hiding his jubilation.
“Being generous for once? I wasn’t, of course.”
Lynch sighed, heavily, as though he was losing hope.
“I mean, I don’t think the Baron was there. Read this.”
Mannering took a second sheet of paper. It was a statement made by the guards and the servants of Emmanuel Eldred’s house, and the description of the Baron was apparently agreed by them all. It claimed that he had exceptionally bulky shoulders, that he walked and ran with a limp, and that he was shorter than the average. For a moment the Baron was puzzled, thinking that the men had lied: and then he realised why Bristow had not visited him, why Lynch was so free with his admissions.
The Staines servants had only seen him in the moonlight, when he had been carrying Kuiper. The light had distorted his figure, the weight of Kuiper had made him limp, made his shoulders seem exceptionally bulky. It was a heaven-sent reprieve, and he had to fight hard to restrain signs of his elation.
Lynch and Bristow would try to find out where he had been, of course, but for once they were predisposed in his favour. Mannering looked from one to the other as he flicked the paper back, smiling and suave.
“It should help you, Lynch. I don’t know the man, and I can’t say whether it’s a good description, of course, but if five men swear to it it’s pretty reliable.”
Lynch shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s reliable—for the man who was there last night. And we know the Baron. Your twin brother as near as makes no difference, Mannering. Now listen—” He spread his hands on the littered desk, and his stomach came to rest against the desk-top. “I believe you’re the Baron. I believe that you’ve retired from your fool game, but the Halliwell case has made you start being crazy again. And I tell you, Mannering, the man who sent that anonymous letter is going t
o be damnably dangerous to you. He’s not only trying to do what we’ll do in time—put you behind bars for a few years. He’s trying to get you strung up. No, listen!” Lynch raised his voice, and Mannering forced back an interruption, sensing the absolute sincerity with which the words were uttered. “I don’t want you hanged, Mannering, because I don’t think you’ve ever killed a man. And I don’t want the Baron to take the rap for these hotel jobs and the Hampstead and Staines jobs if he didn’t do them. I want him for the stuff he has taken. Following me?”
“You put it nicely,” murmured Mannering.
“I do, do I? Well, let’s see if I put this as well. That man will get you, Mannering. He knows you’re on his tail, and that’s why he’s faking the Baron. And by God if he’s half as clever as I think he is, he’ll prove it. You’re in a nasty position, and you’re getting deeper by holding out on us for young Halliwell’s sake. This fellow’s used Halliwell as a cover. Halliwell is one of the gang, Greene’s another, and we’ll find more. Let’s have what you know, Mannering, for if you don’t he’ll beat you. He’s a damned sight too powerful to be manhandled by you.”
Lynch stopped, and his eyes were opened to their widest as he stared across the room. Mannering felt the effect of the words, knew that the police were suspicious of the Kulper gang without knowing names, and knew, too, that Lynch was perilously close to the truth.
If there had been no photographs, Mannering might have made an offer of compromise, and told his story.
The photographs were too dangerous as tangible evidence, and before he talked he had to get them. He was in a worse position than he had ever been, and it was not entirely his own fault. He had to fight alone, or with the help of Leverson, the Cat and others: the police could not help him.
He took refuge in a red herring.
“I see. So you’re beginning to agree that Halliwell didn’t kill Kingley. Is that it?”
Lynch swore plainly. Bristow stood up restlessly, and walked to the window, staring out across the square. Mannering’s lips twitched a little at the corners.
“Oh, blast you,” snapped Lynch. “I’ve put the case plain, and if you must be a damned fool, it’s your own funeral. Have a cigarette.” He pushed the case over again, and his voice dropped and grew wheedling. “Look here, Mannering, you must know that I’m talking sound sense. Halliwell killed Kingley, but I’m prepared to admit he had accessories. I think those accessories afterwards tried to murder him, so that they could get away. Wouldn’t have thought of it, if you hadn’t talked about the key. Not so soon anyhow,” added Lynch cautiously. “Tell us what you know. I’ll guarantee that we won’t try to put anything across you over past jobs. I’ll stand and fall by this affair, and it’s for your own good, while it’ll stop a murderous gang getting busy again. I won’t say I like you overwell, you’ve caused us a damned sight too much trouble, but I don’t want to see you on a mortuary slab.”
Lynch broke off, a cigarette poised near his chin. Mannering had to make a big effort to force a laugh.
“I wish you’d forget the idea that I’m the Baron,” he said plaintively, “it’ll lead you both into trouble.” Even as he spoke he recalled the way the Cat had talked about a mortuary slab. Lynch seemed to have as much respect for Kulper as Kate Loffatt, although probably he did not know the man’s name.
“Oh, go and hang yourself,” said Lynch sharply.
Mannering knew that the Superintendent was no more losing his temper than having hysterics. He was trying to bluff Mannering into talking. Bristow was nearer an outburst of bad temper than the Superintendent. There was a momentary silence, and then Mannering leaned forward, choosing his words deliberately.
“Lynch, I think you’re being honest, and I’ll tell you something. By accident, I discovered that young Halliwell was being made a dummy for the gentlemen you’re talking about, and your friend the letter-writer. There it is. I think I can put my hands on the fellow, and if I do I’ll turn him over to you. But it’s a case for delicate handling, and the police do slip up. For instance, they think I’m the Baron.”
He expected another show of annoyance, but it did not come. Lynch seemed more satisfied than the Baron had the right to expect, and as he smiled his fat face was shiny with perspiration.
“Well, that’s something. I still think you’re a fool, but you may prove differently. Anything else?”
“Later,” promised the Baron.
Lynch stood up, and offered his hand. Mannering shook it, and Bristow opened the door. The air of the stone corridors seemed clear and fresh after the fug in the Superintendent’s room, and cleaner because at one time Mannering had wondered whether he would leave it a free man.
He felt like laughing aloud when he pondered over the situation.
Kulper was certainly trying to put the blame for the affair on the Baron, and Lynch had seen that. Chiefly because of that sworn statement Lynch had assumed that Mannering had not been at Staines House. Unwittingly Kulper had helped a great deal.
Mannering was still feeling cheerful when he reached Portland Place. For some reason, the remand had made Marion Delray more confident, and James Halliwell seemed less on edge. Obviously both of them had been afraid that Greene would implicate Halliwell, and an ordeal was past.
Lorna’s relief and liveliness did more to cheer the Baron than anything else, and he was prepared to wager now that he would get Halliwell clear. However, when he was alone at his flat, soon after four o’clock, he began to appreciate the difficulties.
He had tried to call Leverson, but the fence was out. He knew of course, that Kulper had managed after all to bribe Benny Lesser, and he would have liked five minutes alone with the innkeeper. Yet, could Benny be blamed? Kulper meant as much, or as little to him, as Mannering did. He made money as easily as he could, and he was safe not to betray anyone to the police. Mannering could hardly expect more; it was simply a trick to Kulper.
Now he had to find the one-eyed man.
He had to get him and the photographs before Kulper could use them, and as far as the Baron knew there was only one way of doing that: through the Status Billiards Club.
Then Mannering remembered someone else who might help: Mrs. Kate Loffatt knew Kulper’s organisation.
Mannering hesitated for some seconds, and then pulled the telephone towards him slowly.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mrs. Willison?
The Cat was lying full-length on a divan covered with blue satin that clashed with her flaming red dressing-gown. Her hair was waved more loosely that the Baron had seen before, and she was smiling with her lips partly open. Her expression reminded him of the moment she had kissed him, after he had carried her from the dinghy to the bank. She was hard to understand.
Mannering was leaning back in a steel-tubed chair opposite her, and the last chime of five came from a clock on the mantelpiece.
There were cocktails at their elbows, and the Cat proved an expert mixer. Her rather big frame was hidden by the sleek lines of the dressing-gown: to Mannering she looked more voluptuous than ever. Her voice held a note of mockery as she eyed the Baron; she seemed to be playing with him, cat and mouse.
“So you had to come, Baron?”
“Strictly on business,” said the Baron quietly.
“That’s so?” She rested her hand lightly on the neck of the gown, as though wanting to fling it open. She wore no stockings, and a pair of heelless slippers were hanging from her rosy heels. Mannering wondered how far she would go, what terms she would try to force. He waited, until she suddenly shrugged her shoulders and snatched up her glass, spilling a little White Lady on the divan.
“You’re as cold as they make ’em, aren’t you? It must be the Lorna woman. Fauntley, isn’t it?”
Mannering made no answer, and Kate laughed after a short pause.
“Sorry. I told Flick I wouldn’t make any cracks about the Mannering end, but you could have dosed me some when I learned who the Baron was. You’ve earned all you’ve g
ot, I’m telling you. Well, what do you want?”
“Kulper.”
She nodded as though her question had been simply rhetorical.
“I expected that. Seen Leverson yet?”
“He phoned me, after I rang you. Kulper bribed Benny, and another man Leverson put in charge. That’s happened before, but it’s the first time anyone’s had my photographs before, and I’m up against it.” There was no sense in mincing words, and Mannering had an idea the Cat preferred bluntness.
“Kulper’s got the lot of them,” she said.
“You’re sure?” He grew more tense.
“I’m saying so. He phoned for mine, and nearly froze me when I said I’d burned it. What’s more, I don’t think he believed me.” She was smiling now, but Mannering fancied she was a little apprehensive, uncertain of herself. “I’m telling you something else, friend. I’m all packed up, and if you hadn’t called I’d have been half-way to Paris by now. I don’t like Kulper, and I don’t think he’s liking me in future. He’s busy just now, but he’ll find time for me soon, if I’m crazy enough to stay around.”
Mannering’s expression altered in a flash.
“Good God, I’m sorry! I didn’t realise—”
“Forget it. It’s done, and I’m tired of London. Well, I can tell you this. Kulper told me today that the billiard hall is off for keeps. I’m to meet Jackson at the Rialto Cinema at seven tonight, and Jackson’s going to take me to the new address. Maybe!” She looked venomous for a moment. “He’d get me there, and it’d be the last thing I’d know: only Kulper’s guessed wrong and I’m flitting. Well, does it help?”
“A lot.”
“Meaning you’ll follow Jackson?”
“Meaning just that.”
“And when you’ve found them?”
“I’m after those photographs,” said Mannering.
The Cat leaned forward, tense and serious.
“Look here, fella, Kulper’s too dangerous for those tricks. Beat the country, and forget him. Let the police on if you like, it would be healthier for you and me. Take a trip, I know Paris and other places some, and we’ll make a date. It’s safest, and it means fun.”
