by John Creasey
A maid passed; three couples walked slowly along. There was a silence for five minutes, then came the footsteps of a man.
Mannering got into a position where he could see the length of the passage. He smiled with satisfaction as he saw Jeff Dell turn into Charles’ room.
Mannering slid quickly out of his hiding place, strolled to the end of the passage and waited.
Jeff was in the room for a little more than ten minutes. He came out boldly, then entered Mark’s.
Mannering lit a cigarette, smoked half of it, and then tossed it into a brass bowl of sand, before going towards the room. He stood outside for a moment, then very gently tried the door. It was bolted.
Lorna would have recognised his expression then. There was a hint of dare-devilry in it which made him seem younger, very different from the mature John Mannering whom many thought a dull stick. Waiting for the hum of a distant vacuum cleaner to start again, he opened one blade of his penknife and thrust it into the keyhole. There was a faint click.
Satisfied that it had not been heard, he opened the door and stepped into the room.
Jeff Dell was on his knees, intent on searching an opened suitcase. Mannering closed the door soundlessly, and waited. Jeff made a fair job of going through the case, making little noise but breathing heavily. Whatever he was looking for he did not find, for presently he began to put the clothes and oddments back. He closed the case, and rose to his feet. As he did so he caught sight of Mannering.
He stood quite still.
“Good morning,” said Mannering, pleasantly.
After a long pause, Jeff said:
“Why are you here?”
“You may call me the hotel detective.”
“Handsome of you, but hardly accurate. You’re a guest.”
“There was a suggestion that the robbery was committed by a guest,” said Mannering, “and I was asked to keep my eyes open. I have.
“I have every right—” began Jeff.
“To search your brothers’ rooms?” said Mannering. “I wonder if they would agree. On the whole I should say it would be unwise to rely on family loyalty to that extent. You’ve strained it pretty far already.”
After a brief pause, Jeff said flippantly: “I don’t think any one of them would see me jailed for a fiver.”
“I don’t think any one of them will believe you were looking for a fiver,” said Mannering. “I don’t.”
“Hardly the speech of an unorthodox detective,” said Jeff lightly.
“Hardly the action of an orthodox Dell,” Mannering retorted. “I ought to take you downstairs and send for the police. Probably that’s what I shall do.”
“What makes you hesitate? Could it be that you’ve less right here than I have?”
“It could also be, that I know your father.”
“Oh,” said Jeff, really startled.
“And for some reason, not at the moment apparent to me, he has faith in, and liking for you,” said Mannering. “He’s an old man, and I don’t want to hasten his death by making him realise that he’s wrong about you.”
Jeff Dell brushed his hair back from his forehead, went to a chair and dropped heavily into it. Mannering lit a cigarette, but did not move away from the door. He liked the way the situation was working out. He liked Jeff Dell. He thought he knew why the man had come here, and was determined to find out if he were right. There were possibilities in the affair which went deep. Old Dell had not told him everything.
Jeff surprised him by taking out a charred pipe from his pocket and a leather pouch. Slowly and methodically he began to ram in the tobacco. His hands were large and well-shaped, the hands of a man who sometimes worked with them, who relied on them and knew their strength.
“How did you come to know my father?” he asked.
“We have a mutual interest in precious stones.”
That also seemed to satisfy Jeff, who lit his pipe, shifting his gaze from it for the first time.
“So you’re not satisfied that I am broke?”
“I’m not satisfied that you are broke,” repeated Mannering.
Jeff laughed. “I like your nerve. Your name’s Mannering, isn’t it? And you have a most charming wife. I still find it hard to believe you’re a detective, but you were certainly talking to the London policeman last night, I remember. Was your wife doing what I believe is called ‘working’ on me?”
Mannering grinned.
“So you were interested in me before you saw me here,” mused Jeff. He hesitated, and went on: “Will you be satisfied if I tell you that I came here on family business, that there is a skeleton in the cupboard and I want to remove it? The reason being that I don’t want the Old Man hurt. Or does that sound too tall a story?”
Mannering stood up abruptly.
“This is hardly the place for stories, tall or otherwise. We’re less likely to be interrupted in my room.”
Mannering half-expected to find Lorna there, but the room was empty. He pushed a chair up for Jeff Dell, and lit a cigarette.
“Well?”
“I will tell all,” said Jeff, in a voice of mock repentance, “with one condition.”
“You’re not in a position to make conditions.”
“Nevertheless, I intend to do so. But before you hear it, it is necessary for you to know that I, too, am interested in precious stones. In fact, I travel in them, my disreputable appearance – rather cleverly, I thought – concealing the fact. Few would think of looking in my pockets for a wash-leather bag containing a small fortune. I work for Gentian & Co. You will admit that is a reputable firm?”
“Certainly.”
“So I know about John Mannering, owner of Quinns, a man who has occasionally been consulted by the police. Are you that Mannering?”
“Yes.”
“What high circles we move in! You aren’t employed by the police, are you?”
Mannering laughed. “Hardly!”
“Then my condition is this, will you do a job for me?”
“If it seems to me to be worth doing.”
“I suppose I can’t ask for more than that,” said Jeff. “It concerns the family. Contrary to appearances, we are all fairly average. The Old Man is the only eccentric among us. He is never happier than when he’s tormenting us. I suffer less than the others, and Matthew is the second favourite. I think he likes nothing better than seeing the other three squirm, but in his fashion it is all done good-humouredly; the trouble is that Charles, Mark and Thomas can never see the joke.”
“I had that feeling before,” said Mannering.
“You did? So easily guessed! The Old Man would be disappointed. Well, that is the set-up before you now. About a year ago, he summoned us all to the baronial hall – have you been there?”
Mannering nodded.
“It is a marvel of the age,” said Jeff, “or better, a marvel of all the ages, but that’s by the way. We all gathered at Dacres a year ago, and while we were there, a diamond pendant was stolen. It—”
“What else was taken?” interrupted Mannering.
“I don’t know,” said Jeff, but I believe there was something. I don’t think the Old Man would make all that fuss over that one item. He has dozens more valuable. I don’t even know why the pendant was stolen, none of us is hard up for a thousand or two. At least, Thomas is, but he wouldn’t have the nerve to do the job.”
“Could it have been an outsider?”
“I doubt it. The Old Man swore that no one else had the opportunity. I think you can be sure that it was one of us. Now I don’t think the thing was stolen for the sake of its value. There must have been another reason. The Old Man seemed to think it would be sent back, and when it wasn’t he started writing unpleasant notes, saying that if it were not returned, every one of the family would be cut out of his will.
“Rather hard on the innocent four,” murmured Mannering.
“Damned hard,” said Jeff, feelingly. “I won’t pretend that I don’t want my share of the inheritance when the time
comes. I’d be a fool if I didn’t. But you can believe me or not, I was chiefly worried because it was upsetting the Old Man. A week ago there was another development. He wrote and told us all to come to the Royal Hotel. He said that he expected the present possessor of the pendant to bring it with him, and provided it was produced, he would give each one of us twenty-five thousand pounds, as earnest of our legacies. It wasn’t until last night that I realised what the old fox had been up to. I think he arranged the burglary here, expecting to find his precious pendant, and also discover who had taken it. It was quite a scheme in its way. You’ve got to admire him, and you’ve got to admire the original thief even more, for outwitting him.”
“If it’s here at all,” said Mannering.
“I think the thief would cough up for twenty-five thousand pounds. The queer thing is that it can’t be worth much more than five hundred. It’s a dull stone of poor quality, not particularly large, surrounded by a lot of chippings to make it look impressive – you know the kind of thing.”
“Yes, I know,” said Mannering.
“Now the Old Man might or might not be prepared to pay out a large sum of money to get it back,” said Jeff. “But he’s a man of his word, and his condition was briefly this: if the thief returned the pendant, all of us would get the twenty-five thousand apiece. He didn’t make any promise to pay if he got the thing back before it was sent to him.”
“I see,” said Mannering, thoughtfully.
Unexpectedly, Jeff snapped: “You don’t see. You think I’m lying. All right, lead on to the police station.”
“Now, steady,” said Mannering. “You can prove your case, can’t you? Up to a point, that is. Have you got the letter?”
“Oh,” said Jeff. “Yes.” He took out his wallet as he went on talking. “I thought I might find the pendant while the others were at Dacres. I was looking for it when you came in.”
He held out a folded letter: it was typewritten, signed by Montagu Dell in an unsteady hand.
“Does your father type his own letters?”
“Good Lord, no! His secretary does that.”
“Even on a confidential matter of this kind?”
“The name, ‘secretary’ is used in its widest sense,” Jeff explained. “Bunny Firth is my father’s general factotum. Youngish fellow, about my age, not unlike me to look at. There have been suggestions that he was a love child of the Old Man’s but I don’t think that’s so. The official, and probably true, story is that he’s the Old Man’s nephew, adopted when his parents died in his infancy, and brought up as one of the family. The difference between him and the rest of us is that he stayed by while we left home as soon as we could.”
“What is this young man’s attitude towards you and the others?” asked Mannering.
“Scrupulously fair. He worships the Old Man, and treats him with far more veneration than any of the rest of us.”
“But he, too, had the same chance as the others of stealing the pendant in the first place?” suggested Mannering.
“Hoe that row if you like,” said Jeff. “I wouldn’t pay it a moment’s attention myself, but detectives have, I suppose, to consider everything. I take it you’ll help me to find the pendant?”
Mannering hesitated, smiling faintly.
“I’ve been hired by your father to do just that,” he said at last.
“Well—I’m—damned!” exclaimed Jeff. “You knew all this before I started to tell you?”
“I’d heard the story,” said Mannering, “but it hadn’t altogether convinced me.”
“It’s true enough,” said Jeff gloomily.
“Yes, I think so now. The mystery, of course, turns on the other thing which we assume was stolen with the pendant; the pendant itself certainly wouldn’t be worth all the fuss.”
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“Look for the pendant,” said Mannering. “Have you any idea how long the others will be at Dacres?”
“I expect they’ll stay to lunch,” said Jeff, “but nothing is certain, they might be bundled out when the Old Man is finally convinced that they haven’t the pendant among them. Of course, the thief might have taken it there with him.”
“Somehow I don’t think so,” said Mannering. “Give it some second thoughts yourself, and work it out. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He nodded and hurried out.
Lorna was sunning herself on the verandah, gazing idly at the excited children playing on the sands.
“The latest bulletin, please,” she said, as Mannering leaned against the verandah rail looking down at her.
“Jeff caught in the act of burgling the family’s rooms. Jeff telling same story that his father had done, which suggests there is something in it. Job for you – keep an eye open for the return of the family, and if they appear, warn us in Room 41, 42, 43 or 44,” answered Mannering tersely.
“Must you?” asked Lorna, wearily.
“No,” said Mannering, “but I want to. Also I have a most uncomfortable feeling that Montagu Dell is in some danger.”
He went back to the hotel, carrying with him Lorna’s reluctant approval. Odd thoughts flitted through his mind. Why was he taking so much interest in this affair?
He found himself walking down the passage in which were the Dells’ bedrooms. A noisy party in bathrobes over their bathing costumes bounded past, pressing him against the door of Charles’ room. From within he heard a muffled sound, as if a drawer had fallen.
Chapter Seven
New Thief
He thought at first that Jeff had started work on his own, ignoring their agreement, but he quickly rejected that; Jeff would hardly return to a room which he had already searched. He stood by the door. There were little sounds now, none of them loud enough to be noticeable if one passed casually along the passage. A maid might be working in there. He tried the handle, but the door was locked; a maid would not lock herself in. He used his knife-tool again, and the lock went back, with hardly a sound. He pushed the door gently, but it remained firm.
He hurried along to his own room. Jeff, sitting back in his chair, regarded him with some amusement.
“Well?”
“There is someone in Charles’ room, and the door is bolted.”
“Is there, by George!” Jeff jumped to his feet.
“I want you to watch the door and catch him if he tries to escape that way, while I have a go at the window.”
“You’re taking a pretty big chance, aren’t you?”
“Not particularly. The windows look out on a blank wall.”
“Can’t I come with you?” asked Jeff; a little wistfully.
“What’s the good of that? He’ll probably rush for the door when I appear at the window. I must make sure which window it is, though,” he added. “Just a moment.”
Jeff watched as he unlocked the door of Matthew’s room with his knife-tool. He went to the window, and drew the curtain a quarter way across it.
Back in the passage, he parted from a reluctant Jeff, opened a door marked ‘emergency exit only’ and ran down iron steps to a yard. One wall was that of the Royal, the other was the windowless side of a cinema. He looked up, judging the distance by the quarter drawn curtain.
The window sills were solid, flanked by drain pipes and heavy, jutting cornices, the wall Was a cat-burglar’s paradise. The only risk of being seen was from the yard or one of the hotel windows.
He climbed on to a window sill, stood for a moment in front of a frosted glass panel, stretched up and hauled himself to the first floor. Hanging by his arms, he peered into a room two removed from Mark’s. It was empty. He pulled himself up easily, until he stood on the ledge of Thomas’s window.
There was no danger of being seen from inside.
He glanced down. The yard was empty.
It had been easy to get to the sill of Thomas’s room, but the next move was more difficult; there was no drain-pipe to give him support. He held tightly to the cornice, knowing that he was taking his
life in his hands and leaned sideways, but could not quite touch the next cornice. He drew back, stood on the extreme edge of the window sill and moved his right foot, groping forward. After the third attempt he managed to gain a foothold. Clutching at the corner his hand slipped, then held firm, and very gingerly he stood upright, balancing on the sill. The window, he was relieved to find, was open at the bottom.
Speed, he decided, would serve him better than prolonged caution. Slipping his hand beneath the bottom window he pulled swiftly, giving his whole mind to getting inside. The window flew upward with a screech. He swung his legs into the room, breathing heavily. Facing him was a man pulling furiously at the door!
The man did not look round, did not pause, as he wrenched the door open – then with a high, whinnying gasp backed into the room. Jeff followed him.
All three men stood still.
Voices sounded in the passage, then passed, dying away. Mannering nodded. “All safe,” he said.
“So now we can deal with this little gentleman,” said Jeff, placing a hand on the intruder’s shoulder. Their victim, undersized and badly frightened, shifted from one foot to the other, looking first at Jeff and then at Mannering.
Mannering said: “I don’t know why we’re waiting. Go downstairs and telephone for the police, Dell, will you?”
Jeff had the wit to conceal his surprise from the stranger.
“You—can’t—” The man began.
“There you’re wrong, we can and will,” Mannering told him pleasantly.
Cunning seemed to break through the man’s fright.
“You—you’re John Mannering, aren’t you?” he gasped, then turned to Jeff.
“And you’re Geoffrey Dell.” He looked from one to the other. “I was told—I mean, I had orders to ask you to—er—to telephone Larmouth 311 if—if either of you—er—found me.
“You’ll get a full explanation there,” the stranger added, taking courage in their silence. “I’m only doing what I was told. I’m not here to steal.”
“Who is at Larmouth 311?” demanded Mannering.
“Why – Mr Montagu Dell, of course!”
“So he sent you here?”
“Yes, he did, but—but he only wanted something of his own back.”
