by John Creasey
“Good!” said Mannering. “That’s cleared the air.”
But he was by no means certain that it had. Jeff might have made further reservations. The impression of a family conspiracy strengthened. Mannering felt the hidden grip of an inflexible family clannishness.
He was sure that Jeff hadn’t told the truth about the pendant, and that Montagu had kept back some pertinent facts about it. Much, perhaps everything, turned on the secret of the pendant. All that he had managed to learn so far, was: first, that one of the Dells had stolen it.
Second, that Montagu badly wanted it back, but had particularly good reasons for not reporting the theft to the police.
Third, Kingham had wanted it, and had taken grave risks to get it.
The theft and the anxiety to get possession of it were probably due to the same motive. It was reasonable to assume that the thief, Kingham and Montagu Dell all knew that motive. Montagu would not disclose it yet, Kingham could not. The only reasonable chance of learning the secret, therefore, was to find the thief.
Mannering went downstairs.
Lorna was still out, painting her old man and his boat, but in a corner of the lounge Mrs Kingham and Carol sat together. This new friendship was another odd thing. There was something wrong about it. If Mrs Kingham had engineered her husband’s murder, she would almost certainly know of the attempt to kill Carol. Was her friendliness aimed, then, at disarming the girl? Or was Mrs Kingham innocent of any part in her husband’s murder, and bent only on making sure that Carol would take on the main responsibility of running the shop?
Mannering, pondering these rival theories, saw Jeff walk purposefully towards the two women and join them. All Mrs Kingham’s blandishments being unable to dislodge him, she moved away a little huffily and left him deep in conversation with Carol.
Smiling a little, Mannering looked up and saw Bristow. His suggestion that they should both go to Mannering’s room was met a little uneasily. What now?
Bristow’s manner as he closed the door was both weighty and portentous. Without beating about the bush he said abruptly “you’re incapable of telling the truth, aren’t you?”
“Unwilling perhaps, but not incapable,” Mannering answered airily.
“You told me that Kingham called here to discuss business. Is that true?”
“In one sense, certainly.”
“That is mere prevarication. The only sense you intended by it was to deceive me.”
“Hardly to deceive, merely not to enlighten.”
“Ah, very clever. But don’t overdo it Mannering. I happen to know that he broke into a room here and that you caught him red-handed, and then took him off to his shop. Why did you lie about it?
“What crude words you do use, Bristow,” said Mannering plaintively. “You really shouldn’t.” He was thinking rapidly. To antagonise Bristow now might risk being detained for questioning. He needed a plausible reason, one which would carry conviction.
“Well,” barked Bristow, “what’s the answer?” When Mannering still kept silent, he went on harshly: “You’ve refused to take advice and leave the case. You’re pretending that you’re interested only because of the boy’s murder. Let me tell you here and now that next to Geoffrey Dell, you’re the most obvious suspect for Kingham’s murder. Are you going to tell the whole truth or are you going to make me detain you?”
Chapter Seventeen
Brush with Bristow
Kay angry and suspicious was one thing, Bristow angry and suspicious was a different matter. He would not threaten unless prepared to act upon his threats.
“I’ve been as helpful as I could and more helpful than the police deserved.” Mannering said at last. “If Kay hadn’t been so absorbed in working up a case against me, young Clive would not be dead.”
“If you had been helpful from the start, Kingham also might still be alive,” Bristow retorted.
“That’s childish. Kingham’s death was inevitable, now or later. The remarkable thing is that he lived so long. And on the subject of Kingham you and Kay can’t be feeling so good. A fence of that status should have been caught years ago.”
“Shall we stick to the point?”
“All right, let’s reduce the problem to the simplest terms. Your grouse is that I didn’t tell you the truth about Kingham’s visit to the hotel. Right?”
“Right,” said Bristow coldly.
“I still don’t see why it worries you.”
“Then I’ll tell you. If Kingham were attempting to steal something from one of the Dells, that something might be the motive for his murder,” said Bristow hastily.
“But the whole world knows that the Dells are possible murderers.”
“We don’t yet know all possible motives,” said Bristow, more sharply, “and you’re keeping one back.”
“But I’m not,” protested Mannering. “I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the pendant?” demanded Bristow.
Here was the real source of his complaint – reticence about the pendant. Obviously Jeff Dell’s indiscreet mention of it on the telephone to Dacres has been overheard by the police.
Mannering smiled easily. “My dear Bill, there doubtless is a pendant, and it may have been stolen. It’s an inferior piece of jewellery worth at most a few hundred pounds, its value a sentimental one. I didn’t tell you about it because doing so could only put you on a wrong scent.”
Bristow said nothing.
“Now and again I’ve wondered if there is something hidden in the pendant,” went on Mannering, as if thoughtfully, “but there’s no evidence of it.”
“Kingham came here to get it,” said Bristow doggedly.
“I don’t think so,” said Mannering. “He told me that he did, but that means nothing. Jeff Dell might have known the real reason, but I’m inclined to think that Jeff is a victim of a conspiracy. My own opinion is that someone – in the family or outside it, I’m not sure which – is after Montagu Dell’s collection. From what I’ve seen of it, that’s easy to understand.”
“You’ve actually seen it?”
“Oh, yes. He showed it to me this morning, when I went there at his invitation. I left, rather unconventionally, by the window,” went on Mannering disarmingly, “owing to the arrival of Mrs Kingham. As the time might come when I shall need to be in the lady’s good books, I didn’t want her to see me. Judging that she might consider any friend of the Dell’s to be suspect. I needn’t ask whether you’re watching her I suppose.”
“We are,” said Bristow, “but—”
“Why did I say that?” Mannering asked for him. “Because I think Lucy Kingham was probably in her husband’s confidence, because I don’t think she was wholly surprised by his murder. I think she knew why he was killed, and that he was killed because he has been buying stolen jewels from one of the Dell family or a close acquaintance, and had threatened to reveal the fact. None of these things can be new to you,” added Mannering, “there’s no point in telling you the obvious.”
Bristow looked at him steadily – and then he broke into a broad smile. “You’re the most plausible rogue I’ve ever had to deal with!”
“I take exception to the rogue,” declared Mannering.
“Then go on taking it,” said Bristow. “Will you give me your word that you do not know why the pendant was – and is – so badly wanted?”
“I’ve been told that it’s because of its sentimental value. On the other hand, the Dells are not a sentimental family.”
“You know that you’re strengthening the case against Geoffrey Dell, don’t you?” said Bristow.
“I’m possibly making it more circumstantial,” said Mannering. “Apart from the fact that Jeff Dell is fair-haired and a dark-haired man was seen on the cliff, Jeff is the obvious suspect. Too obvious.”
“No,” said Bristow, slowly. He took out his cigarette case, but found Mannering’s open in front of him. “So you think we’re friends again,” he said, and took one.
“
I don’t think you’re likely to waste your time thinking that I killed Kingham or that I’m after Dell’s sparklers,” said Mannering. “Kay’s another matter. You do know that when you told him about the Baron you made it impossible for me to work with him, don’t you? Anything I’ve done on my own is entirely your fault.”
“Well, well,” said Bristow, preparing to leave. “You can at least thank me for such a splendid excuse.”
It was growing more and more apparent to Mannering that everything turned on the mystery of the pendant. Pondering over the case as he sat in the hotel lounge before dinner he harked back to the primary problem. Who was it who had stolen the pendant in the first place?
Charles Dell, Mannering mused, was a customer at the curio shop, and dealt in antiques. Antiques had often been used as a cover for crime. Kingham had been in Charles’s room, looking for the pendant.
Charles was the head of the family, after Montagu Dell.
Kingham had probably known that he had the pendant.
The dinner gong sounded, and the hotel residents began to stir. Mannering watched the five Dell brothers and their four attractive wives file into the dining-room. It was odd that all of them appeared to be resigned to staying here indefinitely.
Lorna’s voice sounded in his ear. “How long are you going to daydream?”
“For ten minutes,” said Mannering, smiling abstractedly. “Go in to dinner, darling, mentioning in a carrying voice that reaches as far as the Dells that I have been called to the police station.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the police station, of course,” said Mannering, virtuously.
He went upstairs.
He was on the edge of excitement as he slipped along the landing to Charles’s room. It was locked; he forced the lock with little difficulty and went inside, bolting the door.
He stood in the middle of the room, trying to pick on the most likely hiding place. Not the suitcases, unless one of them had a false bottom or a hidden pocket. Would Charles rely on anything as simple as that? Probably, decided Mannering.
There was one of pigskin, heavy and solid-looking. Making short work of the lock Mannering examined it quickly and with an expert’s touch. It was a well-built case, far too well-built. Mannering ran his fingers along the edges, of the lining which was lightly clipped into place. He pulled it out; as he thought, there was a false bottom. He inserted his knife into the extreme edge and eased it up.
There, wrapped in cotton wool, was the pendant.
Mannering slipped the pendant into his pocket with a feeling of deep satisfaction and carefully replaced the tray of the suitcase. He crossed the room and stood listening for a moment. All was quiet. Very cautiously he opened the door.
As he did so, a fist shot out and caught him on the side of the chin. The blow sent him reeling back into the room.
Footsteps came hurrying along the passage. Immediately Mannering’s assailant turned to run. A woman’s voice – Lorna’s – cried out as Mannering, recovered from the blow, hurled himself in pursuit.
The man, however, was now out of sight. Mannering turned back.
Lorna was leaning against the wall, a hand to her cheek. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know.” Mannering spoke tersely, furious that the man had hit Lorna, hit himself, and got away with it.
“Why did you come?”
“Jeff, Matthew and Charles suddenly left the dining-room between courses,” said Lorna. “I thought they were coming up here.”
“In that case we’d better be prepared.”
He took her into Carol’s room, from which it was possible to watch Rooms 41 to 44. His hand closed over the pendant still safely concealed in his pocket, and he drew it out.
In the poor light it looked a pretty thing, and Lorna’s eyes reflected its sparkle.
“Did that man recognise you?” she demanded.
“Probably. I don’t think he will mention it.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“That makes life so exciting.” He patted her arm. “The brothers don’t seem to be coming, so we’d better go downstairs. We don’t want any speculations on our absence.”
She wanted him to put the pendant in his room, but he tucked it into his breast-pocket and refused to be parted from it. Downstairs, Matthew, Jeff and Charles Dell were standing together in the hall, talking earnestly and in low-pitched voices. They did not appear to notice Mannering.
Back in the dining-room Mannering and his wife were barely seated before the Dell brothers came back. Mannering looked at them closely. They were much of a height, any one of them might have been his assailant.
They seemed quite oblivious of him.
Mannering lingered over dinner.
The pendant pressed reassuringly against his chest. Of all the Dell brothers he preferred the thief to be Charles, liking him least. There was a hardness about him, even a ruthlessness that made it fairly easy to imagine him in the role of murderer.
Lorna said: “We must find out who attacked you.”
“Who attacked us,” corrected Mannering. “We will, in due course. If he recognised me, he may be waiting in our room.”
“Must you take it so calmly?”
“Aren’t I infuriating? If you’re aching to find out, let’s go.” He finished his coffee, and they went out, leaving only the Dells and a few late-comers still in the dining-room.
No one was waiting in their room for them. With a sigh of pure joy – for the moment he had been longing for had come – Mannering took out the pendant.
It was a pretty thing. Away from the more spectacular items of Montagu Dell’s collection it held both charm and beauty.
Lorna watched her husband’s reflection in the mirror as he poured over it. He was intent, forgetful of her, his long fingers handling the ‘jewel’ delicately. Suddenly there was a faint click and Mannering gave an exclamation of triumph.
The pendant came apart, disclosing a small cavity. Mannering’s fingers, still probing, drew out a slip of paper.
He smoothed it out: there was a series of numbers and capital letters.
“What—” began Lorna.
“The code and combination number of a safe,” said Mannering, breathlessly. He looked down at the pendant again, and his voice rose. “The setting is of steel, I think—”
Lorna watched, fascinated, as the intricate lining broke up into eight pieces, which Mannering reassembled.
“Keys of a Landon safe,” he said, in a voice of extreme contentment. “Montagu probably keeps his secret collection in a Landon.”
Chapter Eighteen
Montagu Dell Goes Further
“Are you going to tell Bristow?” asked Lorna, Mannering shook his head. “Darling, you must.”
“Not at this stage. Montagu Dell is desperately anxious that the police shouldn’t know what is in the pendant, and before I give him away I want to know why. Of course, if these are the keys to his strong-room, we don’t need another explanation.”
Lorna said: “You’re not going to try them out for yourself are you?”
“Not yet.”
“John—”
“Pop downstairs and see if Monty Dell can see me tonight.”
Lorna said slowly: “No kidding?”
“No, dear.”
She went off. He inspected the keys closely and felt certain they were of Dell’s safe; what else would make them so important.
Lorna came back to say that Dell was sending his car immediately.
“Nice of him,” said Mannering. “Will you copy those numbers half-a-dozen times, put a copy in six different places, and make sure that we don’t lose ’em.”
Soon, he put the original slips back in the pendant, then wrapped it in cotton wool and replaced it in his pocket.
“I wish that man hadn’t seen you,” said Lorna uneasily.
Maimering made light of it as they went downstairs, but he knew just how deeply she was troubled. The car had not arrived. Man
nering watched the street closely, then strolled through the shrubbery. He expected the man who had attacked him in Charles’s room to be waiting for him; but no one was there – except Tanker Tring.
The Daimler swung into the drive.
“I’ll be back before midnight, or else I’ll telephone,” said Mannering, kissing her. “If I haven’t given you a call by then, tell Bristow.”
The chauffeur was not the man who had previously driven the Daimler. This one was courteous, almost solicitous, shutting the door with an obsequious flourish.
On the farther side of the road Mannering noticed Tring getting into a police car.
It was now nearly dark. The chauffeur drove with slow care as if he were used to taking an old man out. Two or three cars were behind the Daimler, and it was impossible to tell which was Tanker Tring’s.
Mannering sat back comfortably, busy with his thoughts. They went up the hill. The driver changed gear and the car began to move very slowly, as if there was a great strain on the engine. Daimler’s did not behave like that except on an unusually steep gradient. Mannering leaned forward intently.
There was no gradient as steep as this on the way to Dacres. The Daimler reached the top of the hill. The headlamps shone on the thick hedges of a narrow country lane. The car gathered speed.
Mannering, unseen by the driver, slid to one side, and opened the near side door. Waiting for the Daimler to slow down preparatory to taking a corner, he pushed the door wider open, and jumped.
He made little sound, and the Daimler went on, the chauffeur apparently unaware of what had happened.
There was the sound of an approaching car engine.
Mannering stood quite still, pressed closely against the hedge, praying that it would be Tring’s. It was. Mannering stepped forward and held up his hand. The car came to an abrupt halt and Mannering rounded the bonnet and pulled open the door. There were two men inside, and one was Tring.
“Tanker,” said Mannering urgently, “follow that Daimler and identify the driver. Whatever happens make sure of finding out who he is. It’s vital. I’m going to Dacres, my wife will telephone Bristow if I’m not back by midnight.”
