by John Creasey
“So did I. So am I.”
He picked up the evening paper. Almost the first thing he saw was his own photograph. Next to it was one of Kingham, under the headline SEASIDE MURDER. There was no mention of Jeff’s arrest. Further down the column he read that ‘Mr. John Mannering, the jewel expert, had been consulted by the Larmouth Police,’ a sentence which would not please Kay. The suggestion that Scotland Yard would be called in, would also be bad reading for the Inspector, whose mysterious lack of curiosity over the fall down the cliff was at the forefront of Mannering’s mind.
Lorna lit a cigarette for him.
“Thanks,” he said, “and now for dinner!”
“It’s being sent up,” said Lorna, as a waiter wheeled in a laden trolley. Sole, braised chicken, and a lemon meringue pie, were put before them, and Mannering set to, Lorna also eating with a good appetite.
It was a little after nine o’clock before they had finished, the trolley had been taken away and coffee brought. Mannering stretched himself out on the bed, feeling pleasantly relaxed and, if he did not move too abruptly, quite comfortable.
He turned to Lorna, his expression serious.
“Well, having fed the brute, perhaps you will tell him what really happened.”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
“Ah. Mysterious man appeared out of bushes and pushed her over?”
“Not quite as obvious as that. Something was thrown – a piece of earth, I think. It struck her on the back of the knees as we were standing there, looking over the sea, and she fell without a chance of saving herself.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Absolutely. Without any doubt at all. I saw the soil spraying out. It must have been a few seconds before I turned, and when I did, there was, of course, no sign of anyone – except the boy who ran for help.
“Where was he?” asked Mannering.
“About fifty yards further along the cliff, running towards us.”
“That explains Kay’s lack of curiosity. He’s been at the boy, who probably saw the whole thing, and now Kay’s waiting to find out whether we make a clean breast of it or whether we keep it to ourselves. While I dress, will you telephone the police station and find out when it will be convenient for Kay to see me? Say it’s a matter of great importance!”
As Mannering dressed, he decided that it was most unlikely that Lorna had made a mistake. There was no doubt in his mind that there had been a deliberate attempt to murder Carol. Much, therefore, turned on the evidence of the boy. There was, too, the chance that Kay might even suspect Lorna of pushing Carol over the edge! To refuse to see that possibility was folly. Would Lorna see it?
He finished brushing his hair, put on his coat, and fit a cigarette. Lorna had been gone for more than twenty minutes. He waited another five, and went downstairs. The night porter was on duty; and he asked him if he had seen her.
Sam’s face darkened, and he tightened his mouth to a long straight line. “Yes, sir, I have.”
“Where?” Mannering’s heart began to beat uncomfortably fast, for Sam’s dourness scared him.
“She’s in Mr Lloyd’s office,” said Sam, “with that chap who calls himself a policeman.”
“Kay?”
“Yes,” said Sam. “That’s him.”
Mannering turned abruptly. A stalwart man in plainclothes was standing outside Lloyd’s door.
As Mannering attempted to pass, a large hand was stretched out to detain him, but Mannering avoided it, opened the door and flung it back. Kay, standing in front of Lloyd’s desk, glared round. Lorna was sitting in an upright chair, quite composed, although her eyes held all the danger signals of repressed wrath.
Kay barked: “What do you mean by bursting in here, sir?”
“I came for my wife,” said Mannering. “She will see you any time you like – by appointment, Chief Inspector.” He took Lorna’s elbow, helped her up, and turned towards the door, glad of an opportunity to force an issue with Kay.
“Just a moment, Mr Mannering,” said Kay, with a more conciliatory note in his voice. “It is quite proper for me to ask Mrs Mannering a few questions.”
“Not behind closed and guarded doors and without letting me know that you’re doing it,” said Mannering. “Had you telephoned the police station?” He looked at Lorna.
“Yes. The Chief Inspector wasn’t in. He was in the hall when I came from the kiosk,” explained Lorna, “and practically shanghaied me.”
“You see your mistake,” said Mannering, coldly, turning back to Kay.
“If I was discourteous, I certainly apologise.” The Chief Inspector was not sure of himself, “I was in a great hurry – and I still am, Mr Mannering. If Mrs Mannering will be good enough to give me a few minutes, I shall appreciate it.”
Mannering said: “A courteous approach – even if it is an assumed one – is certainly more tactful.” He came back into the room, ignoring the policeman who sat with notebook and pencils at the ready.
“My wife telephoned you,” he said evenly, “to tell you that I wanted an appointment.”
“Indeed,” said Kay.
“Because it now appears that Miss Armitage’s fall was no accident. Or had you come to that conclusion, Chief Inspector?”
Kay shuffled uncomfortably, aware that he had mishandled the situation, but bent, now, on creating a more amiable atmosphere. He was, he said, naturally curious about the fall over the cliff, and he had hoped Mrs Mannering could give him a little information. Miss Armitage had been interviewed, but only remembered something struck her at the back of the legs before she plunged over. She was quite sure she had been struck, and if a clod of earth, for instance, or some such object, had been thrown, that explained her statement.
“What you mean is,” said Lorna, very gently, “that I might have pushed her over, Inspector.
“I really haven’t had time to go into the details yet,” said Kay, with a great show of frankness, “but it seems incredible that you should not have seen the person who threw the missile. You say that you saw no one on the cliff edge or within throwing distance?”
Lorna said gently: “One’s first, and natural, instinct when someone is falling is to try to save them. Looking round for the culprit takes second place.”
“Yes, of course,” said Kay. “Of course.”
Mannering murmured: “Have you questioned the lad who went for help, Chief Inspector?”
For Mannering it was a good moment. It was obvious, from Kay’s expression that he had not tackled the boy. There was a momentary pause, before Mannering asked sweetly: “Did anyone make a note of the lad’s name and address?”
No one had. There was, however, no great difficulty in finding it out, for the boy had become a hero in the eyes of his family, and a small hotel near West Terrace was agog with his exploits. In less than an hour Mannering and his wife, Kay, and the attendant policeman with notebook and pencil, were sitting in the lounge of the small hotel, with a red-eyed, yawning boy in pyjamas and dressing-gown enthroned in a chair of honour, his proud parents on either side of him. The boy had a good memory and a clear mind. He had been walking along the cliff on his own, because he liked to see the fishing fleet anchor off the village near Larmouth; he went there every evening, and on this particular one, sitting on the cliff top for a moment, he had noticed the two ladies a little way off. He had also noticed a man in a field behind them.
“Are you sure about the man?” asked Kay, keeping his interest well under control.
“Clive wouldn’t say he saw a man, if he didn’t see a man,” declared Clive’s mother, virtuously.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” said Kay, bent on propitiation. “What was the man doing, Clive?”
“Well, sir, I thought he was throwing stones into the sea,” said Clive. “It isn’t as easy as you think to throw stones into the sea from the top of the cliff, but I’ve done it.”
“He won the cricket ball contest at the school sports three times in succession,” said Cl
ive’s father, in tones of barely suppressed pride. “There aren’t many lads of his age who can throw like that, I don’t mind telling you.”
“I’m sure there aren’t,” said Kay warmly. “Just what do you mean by saying that you thought he was throwing stones, Clive? Couldn’t you be sure?”
“Well, sir, I was looking at the fishing fleet, mostly, you see. I did see him throw something rather big. Bigger than a cricket ball anyhow. Then I turned away, and then I heard the lady cry out, and then—”
Then he had rushed to help, and Lorna had sent him post haste to fetch ropes.
Kay asked a few more questions, and then left the hotel.
It was a silent drive back to the Royal.
“Are you coming in?” asked Mannering, as they drew up outside the front entrance.
“I don’t think so, now.” Kay waited a little, and then said bravely: “I’m very glad you thought of the lad, Mr Mannering. It was a little difficult to understand what happened, but—” he hesitated, in embarrassment, then unexpectedly smiled: “I’m sorry, Mrs Mannering.”
“Forget it, Inspector.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bristow Again
The morning dawned bright and clear, but with a cold nip in the air. Summer had turned to autumn overnight. Contrary to Lloyd’s expressed fears, there had been no sudden departures from the hotel.
The newspapers all carried stories of the Larmouth murder, Mannering’s photograph appearing in most of them. So, now, did Geoffrey Dell’s. One reporter in the Daily Wire, had dug out the fact that Jeff worked for Gentian & Co. whom he described as ‘perhaps the most reputable and renowned firm of diamond and precious stone merchants in England’, and the same reporter had unearthed the fact that Montagu Dell had been taken ill. Montagu Dell, said the Wire with fine casualness, was of course the well-known collector of precious stones. It added that it was not surprising that the Larmouth Police had been quick to invite the help of that other, even more famous collector, John Mannering.
Kay had sent Mannering a note couched in friendly terms. He would be obliged if Mannering would call at his office about half-past ten. Arriving at ten fifty-nine, he was confronted by the well-known figure of Bristow rising easily from a deep chair.
“Well, well!” said Mannering. “You’ve been quick.”
“Not, apparently, as quick as you have been.”
“The papers certainly didn’t get the story from me,” Mannering said, laughing.
Kay shot a quick, speculative glance from one to the other. Perhaps he had been too hasty in assessing the erstwhile Baron. He saw that the advantage of having the assistance of a trained mind, one unhampered by regulations, would be considerable. If they could let bygones be bygones, and freely discuss the case, he would be happy enough. Of course, Superintendent Bristow was now in full charge, he, Kay, was taking, and pleased to take, second place. The responsibility of the whole thing was Bristow’s. Relief allowed Kay to resume a certain geniality and chattiness.
It was too much of a coincidence, he said, to believe that the attack on Miss Armitage and the murder of Kingham were unconnected. Obviously – or so thought Kay, and Bristow was of the same opinion – the murderer was afraid that Miss Armitage could give evidence against him. Had Mr Mannering the slightest reason for thinking that she had seen someone else at the shop?
“No,” said Mannering, “and I’m pretty sure that she is telling the truth.”
“That is certainly my opinion,” said Kay, blandly. “Yet I suppose the murderer must – or might – have reason to believe that she saw him.”
“That’s possible,” said Mannering, “and if so, it rather lets out Geoffrey Dell.”
“Hardly,” said Kay, “hardly.”
“Miss Armitage’s assailant could have been an accomplice,” murmured Bristow.
“Most things are possible,” said Mannering, unimpressed, “but nearly all of them highly improbable.”
“You must see, Mr Mannering,” said Kay, earnestly, “that Miss Armitage might have noticed something at the shop—some action on Geoffrey Dell’s part, or some evidence that a third party was with him at the time of the murder. The attack on her certainly establishes the fact that another person is involved, but we cannot rule Geoffrey Dell out. And the case against him, which is admittedly circumstantial at the moment, turns largely on your evidence.”
“I don’t think he killed Kingham,” said Mannering bluntly. “I can’t see a motive.”
“But there is a motive,” said Kay, and looked invitingly at Bristow.
Bristow tapped the ash from his cigarette, and sat up stiffly in his chair, a sign of danger, Mannering thought gloomily, which was shown to be justified. For it appeared that the police had established beyond doubt the fact that Kingham had dealt in stolen jewels; there had been an unknown fence somewhere in the south-west for a long time. The Yard had been looking for him, so had the local police. Kingham’s safe provided the answer. The proceeds of several recent robberies had been found there.
Bristow paused, inviting comment.
“I suppose I ought to be surprised about that,” said Mannering.
“I think you had a pretty good idea,” said Bristow. “However, that isn’t all. Kingham didn’t pinch the stones himself. Either they were brought to him, or he collected them from an agent in London.”
“He travelled to London two or three times a month, on business,” interpolated Kay.
“And occasionally went to Gentian’s,” added Bristow.
“Most dealers in precious stones go to Gentian’s sooner or later,” Mannering pointed out.
“Oh, yes. He went to see Geoffrey Dell, though,” said Bristow. “I managed to get that established when I was in London yesterday afternoon. Dell is a travelling representative, but he had an office of his own. Kingham often went to see him.”
“It’s building up nicely,” said Mannering.
“And yet you’re not convinced,” said Kay.
“Not yet,” said Mannering, “but that’s probably sheer obstinacy! The theory, then, is that Kingham and Geoffrey Dell were partners in crime, they quarrelled, Kingham uttered threats, Dell killed him and ran off.”
“Can you think of a better?” asked Bristow.
“Dozens.”
Kay leaned forward, disapproving now.
“That’s easy to say, Mr Mannering.”
“Bristow doesn’t believe in that one any more than I do,” said Mannering. “Let’s demolish it before we go any further. Geoffrey Dell is a man of intelligence. If he were a party to buying stolen jewels and quarrelled about it, he certainly wouldn’t have killed Kingham as and when Kingham was killed.”
Bristow said abruptly: “Go on.”
“Dell knew that I was downstairs, knew that I wouldn’t be away long, knew that Miss Armitage was in the shop, knew that if he did anything criminal the evidence would pile up against him. After he left the shop his movements can’t easily be checked, but if he had killed Kingham he would have made sure that everything he did afterwards could be closely checked, it would be his only hope of establishing his ‘innocence’ – or of creating the impression of innocence. It’s far more likely that someone else killed Kingham, knowing that Dell would immediately fall under suspicion.”
“Ah,” said Bristow, obscurely.
“As far as we know the only other person present was Miss Armitage,” said Kay.
“And she didn’t use a knife to slice Kingham’s throat like that,” said Mannering. “I think someone was waiting there for Kingham. The question is, who? Were there many visitors to the shop that morning?”
“I think I can safely say that we have interviewed everyone who called there,” said Kay. “We have Miss Armitage’s assurance that she was alone on the premises until you arrived and Mrs Kingham states that she left the flat empty when she went out, at ten o’clock, for an appointment with her hairdresser.”
“What about Webster the carpenter?” asked Mannering.
“He was not there after ten o’clock until you saw him.” said Kay. “He had been sent to a village nearby, to inspect some furniture offered for sale. A fairly usual occurrence.”
“Good!” said Mannering. “We’ve established one thing. By accident or design the flat was supposed to be empty after ten o’clock that morning. Webster was sent away, Mrs Kingham had her hair-dressing appointment, Miss Armitage never went upstairs except under her employer’s express instructions. That might have been arranged to enable Kingham to interview someone in secret.”
“But no one went to the shop and stayed,” objected Kay.
Mannering said: “Someone might have gone during the night or after dark the previous day, and stayed on. Mrs Kingham need not have know about it. There are six or seven rooms in that flat, not all of them in daily use. Kingham had an appointment, the man who was there to meet him waited until Dell left, killed Kingham and then made off – using the back door.” He smiled at Bristow. “Isn’t that your guess, Bill?”
“It’s a plausible theory,” conceded Bristow.
“If I were in your place it’s the one I would work on,” said Mannering. “A mysterious man at the shop; a mysterious man on the cliff. Probably one and the same, and the boy Clive might recognise him. I hope you’re having Clive carefully guarded.”
Kay looked startled. “Why should we?”
“Oh, my dear chap!” said Mannering. “He’s your most important witness. His story will be all over the town by now. He is in as much danger as Carol Armitage. Isn’t he being watched?”
“No,” said Kay, with a gulp. “No, but I’ll soon see that he is.” He hurried out of the office.
Mannering’s expression was angry and reproachful.
“You shouldn’t have let Kay leave that boy unguarded,” he said, turning to Bristow. “And nor should I. It didn’t occur to me that he’d missed doing it.”
“I’ve only been here half-an-hour,” said Bristow, defensively. There was a pause, then Bristow said slowly: “You know something else, don’t you?”
“Nothing that necessarily affects the murder,” said Mannering.
