by John Creasey
“Where have you been tonight?”
“To Yule’s cottage.”
“He’s not there,”
“I know he’s not there,” said Mannering. The feeling of depression began to lift. Bristow hadn’t yet had a report from Woking, or else hadn’t had time to read it. By now Lorna might have learned much more from Elizabeth Warren, too.
The constable came in with a tray, put it on Bristow’s desk, saluted and went out. There were two large cups of tea and a pile of thick sandwiches, a small bowl of granulated sugar. The tea was black and much too strong. Mannering drank a little and put the cup down.
“It’s time I went home. I’m worried about Lorna.”
“I’ve two men watching her. John, if you’ve a clue about where to find Yule or Fiori, and you don’t tell me, I’ll get you somehow. If you hold out on us—”
“I haven’t a notion where they are.”
“You’ve said that about the Tear.”
“And I’m saying it about Fiori and Yule. I warned you to hold Yule, you thought it would be clever to let him go. Now that he’s run out on you I hope you’re satisfied that there’s something on his conscience. What about Mellor and Brownie? Anything from them yet?”
“No. Have you the Diamond of Tears?”
“What would you do if I said I had?”
“I’d send you a wreath. Holding that jewel is an invitation to murder.”
“And what would you do, if you had it? Send Fiori a postcard and ask him to come and collect?” Mannering stood up. “I’m glad you haven’t got it. If that diamond ever comes in useful it will be as bait for Fiori. I suppose you would have told me had there been any word from Fay.”
Bristow touched the box file which was crammed full of letters.
“They’re the reports we’ve had saying she’s been seen. There are three hundred and five so far. The Record says that they’ve had nearly as many. It will take days to get them all answered, sorted and checked—we shan’t find Fay Goulden that way. Have you any idea where she is?”
“We keep asking questions, don’t we? No.”
Bristow said unexpectedly: “All right, John. We’re both on edge. You’ve done a lot and I appreciate it. I think you’re crazy to stick out your neck like this but I suppose nothing will stop you. I know you’ve got the Tear. I know you went to Solly’s tonight and had yourself decked up, so you probably went to get the Tear. I can’t prove it, and there’s nothing I can do about it, but if you’re thinking of using the diamond as bait for Fiori you’re crazier than I thought you were.”
Mannering said: “All right, I’m crazy.” He leaned across the desk, stubbed out his cigarette, and added: “Do you know why Fiori wants the Tear so badly?”
“No. There isn’t much I do know, is there?—now I’ve said it for you.”
He smiled faintly; Mannering smiled back. Understanding between them was always there, even though events weakened it.
“Goodnight.”
“I’ll be seeing you.”
Mannering went briskly along the corridors, wondering how long it would be before he got a taxi. He was stopped by the sergeant on duty in the hall.
“Your car’s ready, Mr. Mannering.”
“Eh? Car?”
“Mr. Bristow has put one at your disposal.”
Mannering laughed.
Lorna and Elizabeth were still in the drawing-room. Mannering heard them talking as he went in. Larraby came out of the kitchen, taking off a pair of pince-nez. His hair was frizzy and soft, he looked rather like Cluttering, How was Cluttering? Mannering had been to the hospital and hadn’t thought to inquire!
“Susan has gone to bed, sir. I promised I would get you anything you might require.” Larraby smiled.
“Thanks. Nothing here, but I’ve a job for you.”
“Anything, Mr. Mannering.”
“There’s a Hillman Minx parked in Grosvenor Crescent at the side of St. George’s Hospital. Here’s the key. Drive it to Mayner’s Garage, in the Edgware Road, and get what change there is to come out of a twenty pound deposit. In Elkin Street, nearby, you’ll find my car. Bring it back here, will you?”
“And after that?”
Mannering laughed. “You’d better stay here the night.”
“I’d much rather go to the shop,” said Larraby. “I’m a little uneasy about leaving it without anybody there by night. Will it be satisfactory if I go back there when I’ve brought the car?”
“Please yourself,” Mannering said.
Larraby went off, Mannering went into the study and watched the street, seeing a C.I.D. man follow Larraby. They would follow him because they knew there was a chance that he was going to get the Tear. There was no need to worry about Larraby.
Mannering telephoned the hospital. Cluttering was “as well as could be expected,” the old formula. At least the reporter was still alive, and his chances were improving hourly; he was better off than Julia. Mannering felt on edge, wanting to see Lorna yet not wanting to break in when they were talking; he might choose just the wrong moment and dry Elizabeth up. Better not chance it. The church clock nearby stuck one, he was surprised that it was so late. He sat at his desk and scribbled notes, trying to fit more pieces into the puzzle. Was there one or were there two puzzles? Fiori’s, with his mysterious lust for the Diamond of Tears, and Kenneth Yule’s, with an equal lust? Or were they working together? The one thing that seemed certain was that they wanted it for the same reason. On the whole he thought they were antagonists, and that probably didn’t augur well for Yule. There wasn’t really much of a puzzle about Fiori, that man who was too contemptuous to lie. He wanted the Tear, went all out to get it, had persecuted Fay Goulden because she was to inherit it – no, it wasn’t as simple as that. Fiori must have known that Fay – or Ella – was his own stepdaughter. Or would he? There just weren’t any answers, it was a waste of time posing the questions afresh. But he went on probing: old Jacob had left his fortune to Fay Godden, alias Ella Carruthers, Julia’s daughter, and –
But Jacob had done nothing of the kind!
He’d left everything to Fay Goulden, daughter of Professor Goulden. Ella Carruthers and Fay Goulden were not one and the same person, they couldn’t be. Mannering jumped up, light flashing through his mind with a dazzling brilliance. The girl he knew as Fay was Ella Carruthers, Julia’s daughter – yes. But he didn’t know Fay Goulden. At least, he hadn’t met her at old Jacob’s shop because she hadn’t been there. Ella, pretending to be Fay, had been.
He hurried to the drawing-room and saw Lorna and Elizabeth together on the sofa. Elizabeth was talking in a low-pitched, earnest voice. She looked as if she were prepared to go on talking for a long time, as if the repressions of years were lifting.
She looked up. She was much less haggard and there was some colour in her cheeks.
Words burst out of Mannering. “Well, Fay. Have you told my wife all about it?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Truth About Fay
The girl half rose from the sofa. Lorna held her hand, made her sink back. The girl’s eyes were bright and startled, she stretched out a hand, and Mannering smiled down at her, took her hand and squeezed. “It’ll work out.” She turned to Lorna and said wonderingly:
“How did he know?”
“He must be good at guessing.”
“He couldn’t have guessed.” The girl turned to Mannering. “How did you find out? Who told you? Have you found Ken? Have you?” She was tense again, hands clenched, fear back in her eyes. “He was the only one who knew.”
“I haven’t found him,” Mannering said quietly. “I discovered that the other girl isn’t Fay and jumped to this conclusion. Why did you drop your real name, Fay?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me Fay, it’s years since anyone did.” S
he said that to gain time to think, but it was clear that she meant it. “There were—there were two reasons. I was frightened of Fiori, and—well, I just wanted to forget. Ken helped me so much. I’ve been telling your wife—”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go into it all again?” Lorna asked. “If you’d rather go to bed—”
“No, I’m too wide awake, I’d never sleep. In a way it’s a relief to talk.
“It started long ago, when I was a child living in Germany with my father. He was working against the Nazis. When Jacob Bernstein escaped from Dachau my father hid him. The Gestapo found out and were coming to search the flat. A friend told me and I was just in time to warn father. He moved the old man to other friends nearby, but they took my father away and I never saw him again.
“Jacob was terribly shocked that father suffered through help-couldn’t do enough for me. Although he was in hiding he seemed to have plenty of money. I had none, and he gave me everything I needed. He managed to send me back to England. I had no relations there, but Jacob gave me some jewels to smuggle out, so that I could live. He also gave me the Diamond of Tears to bring over. He told me it was to be sold to help refugees who were escaping from Germany—it had been given to him for that purpose by a man who had been in Dachau with him—the man had died. Jacob made me promise to tell no one, but to take it to Toni Fiori who would deal with it.”
“Toni? Not Enrico?”
“No, Toni. He wouldn’t take it. He said it was dangerous. He’d been doing some work for old Jacob, but couldn’t go on doing it. He said I must get rid of the diamond some other way. There was no one I could trust, and I thought of putting it in the bank. Then Toni Fiori sent a woman to see me to tell me he’d changed his mind.”
“And the woman?” But he felt that he knew the answer.
“Julia Fiori,” said Elizabeth.
Somewhere buried in the past was the whole truth. The truth, as Mannering knew it now, was that Julia had once possessed the Diamond of Tears. When he came to England Jacob Bernstein had it again. She must have given it to him, after holding it in trust, while knowing that Enrico Fiori was seeking it with ruthlessness and savagery.
Julia had done that.
The girl went on slowly: “After I’d given it to her the other Fiori came to see me. He said that he knew I had it, threatened terrible things unless I gave it to him. I was terrified. If only you knew Fiori you would understand. But Julia had told me that I must tell no one where it was. I lied to Fiori, and he went away, still threatening me. Two days afterwards I was attacked in the street. I shall never forget that night, what two men nearly did. There were other attacks, too. I began to feel desperate. Fiori kept telephoning me and threatening. He sent pictures of what he’d done to people who had defied him.
“Then the house where I lived was bombed, several people were killed, and I—I ran away. I think they thought that I was dead. I wasn’t hurt much, but I was dazed. I couldn’t remember everything. I’d lost my clothes, my papers, everything. I was cared for by a family named Warren, and—well, I became one of the family. I was free from fear. I didn’t want to go back because there was nothing to return to, except fear.” Then I met Kenneth.
“I’ve told your wife. I fell in love with him, and he was so very kind. Oh, I know everything about him, that he was always going with different women, but he was very kind to me, and I told him who I was. I hadn’t told the truth to anyone for years, it was a good thing to have off my mind. He gave me work at the cottage and Wrenn Street, and—” Mannering said: “How did you meet him, Elizabeth?”
“We met at a café. I often had lunch there. He came two or three times, and once we sat at the same table. It wasn’t difficult to become friends.”
It wasn’t difficult, either, to guess that Ken Yule had by then discovered who she was; knew that she had the Tear; had forced his acquaintance on her and employed her so that he would always know where she was. “And then?”
“He told me one night that he had seen Fiori. I’d told him all about Fiori. He said that there was another girl posing as Fay Goulden, and said he was going to get at the truth somehow. I begged him not to try, but he laughed at me, and—well, nothing happened to him. I was telling myself that nothing would when I read about Jacob’s murder. I knew Ken had been going out with a girl; I guessed it was this Fay Goulden. I didn’t want to think that he’d fallen in love with her, but when he realised she was in danger it was hateful. I’d never seen him so wild before, so desperately afraid. He had learned all about Fiori then, I suppose, realised that she might be suffering what I’d suffered.
“That’s nearly all,” said Elizabeth. “Yesterday he telephoned and told me to go to the cottage. The next thing that matters is that you and the police came. That’s all.” But she went on in soft but urgent voice: “I don’t want to be Fay Goulden, I want to stay as I am. I want—Ken.”
“Have you no idea where he might be?”
“There’s one place you might find him,” Elizabeth said.
Mannering said to Lorna: “Give me half an hour’s start, then telephone the Yard and give them that address—10, Mayberry Hill, Hampstead.”
It was a tall, narrow house, one of a terrace in the oldest residential part of Hampstead. Larraby had brought back the Sunbeam-Talbot, and Mannering pulled up a few doors away from Number 10. The police had followed him from Chelsea, but it wasn’t hard to shake them off.
No one arrived.
Number 10 was in darkness. He walked boldly up to the front door and examined the lock in the light of a street lamp. It wasn’t new and would be easy to open. He took out his knife, a replica of the one which Fiori had taken from him. No one passed, no one approached. In five minutes the door swung open. He stepped in swiftly, closed the door and went straight upwards to the top floor.
Elizabeth knew that Yule’s flat was in two parts, up there. She did not know why Yule kept this third establishment. Of the two doors on the top floor Mannering didn’t know which was the bedroom. The house was old; the doors and the locks were simple. He spent five minutes forcing the first; that left him a twenty minutes start of Bristow. He shone his torch. The room, a living-room, was empty.
He should have told Lorna to give him an hour, he had cut it much too fine.
He turned to cross the passage, then noticed a door in the corner of this room; he went to it quickly, and found that it wasn’t locked.
He crossed a tiny bathroom and entered a third room, the door of which was ajar. Before he opened it he heard a faint sound of snoring.
He put on the bathroom light; it was enough for him to see clearly about the bedroom. He stepped inside softly, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. The bed was against the far wall – a double bed, with two people sleeping in it. Yule was on the outside, a woman on the other side, with her face turned to the wall. He saw that she had fair hair. Mannering crept across the room. Yule’s faint snoring went on and on, deep and rhythmic. On the bedside table there was a clock, cigarettes, a lighter – and an automatic pistol. Mannering was near enough to take the gun but was not able to see the woman’s face. He backed to the door, gun in hand, and switched on the light.
Yule started up at once.
The woman turned.
Mannering said: “Brave Yule and False Fay. Don’t shout, don’t get out of bed!”
His gun covered Yule, who glared wildly at him, hair tousled, pyjama coat wide open at the neck. Fay said: “What is it?” sleepily, and then, seeming to sense that there was trouble, sat up sharply and saw Mannering.
“Brave Yule, False Fay,” repeated Mannering. “Now I’m going to know all about it. I shouldn’t trust Ken too much, Ella. He’s a man with a nasty reputation as a Don Juan, and isn’t likely to make an honest woman of you.”
Yule said: “You interfering fool!”
<
br /> Julia’s daughter cried: “We’re married! Don’t talk about Ken like that, we’re married!”
Poor “Elizabeth.”
Mannering watched Yule, who pushed the bedclothes back slowly and climbed out of bed, looking at the gun. He sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning up his pyjama jacket. He poked his fingers through his unruly hair, while Julia’s daughter pulled the sheet up to her neck. She wasn’t looking at her best but she was lovely.
Mannering said: “I should think fast, Yule. The police will be here in a quarter of an hour.”
“That’s bad for you, they’re not fond of burglars.” The retort came out easily but there was an undercurrent of strain. “How did you find me?”
“I had a talk with a friend of yours.”
“No one knows about the place.”
“You forget too easily,” said Mannering.
Yule stood up, ran his fingers through his hair again – but didn’t look as if he were going to launch an attack, there was nothing of the wild youth about him. Why? A romantic might think that it was because he had found his “Fay” – that he had been frantic because he couldn’t find her, because he feared that Fiori had got her. How long had they been married?
“So Elizabeth told you. I didn’t think she’d ever talk.”
“You thought she was too scared, that you could do what you liked with her because of her excessive gratitude. I don’t think she’s any reason to be grateful to you. She won’t like the idea that you’re married, either.”
Yule said: “I can’t help that. I did all I could for her. I knew she was fond of me, but—” He shrugged his shoulders. The fact that the police were coming, the fact that Elizabeth had talked, didn’t seem to worry him. What was the explanation for his confidence? Instead of being ready to crack, as a guilty man might be when woken like that, he behaved as if he had no serious worries. “Never mind what Elizabeth thinks. Do you know who she really is?”
