by John Creasey
He gave Tring no time to question or protest, striding away almost before the last word was out of his mouth.
In a quarter of an hour he reached the main road and walked up the drive of the first house he came to. His car had broken down, he said, and he would be most grateful if he could telephone for a taxi, and also telephone his apologies for a missed appointment.
Soon he was bowling along towards Dacres. A couple of miles on his way he came upon the tall, gangling form of Tanker Tring.
He tapped on the glass partition, for the driver to stop.
Without a word spoken Tring climbed in and sat, wrapped in brooding silence beside him.
“Will you come up to the house,” asked Mannering at last, “or wait at the end of the drive?”
“I will say,” said Tring, repressively, “that of all the gentlemen I’ve had dealings with, you take the biscuit, Mr Mannering, you really do. I’ll come up to the house.”
“I think you’d better come in,” said Mannering, “they’ll probably find you a cup of tea. You made sure the local man went after that Daimler, I hope?”
“No blame to me if I didn’t. What is the game, Mr Mannering?”
“That’s what we’re finding out. The Daimler should have brought me here, no doubt you heard on the telephone that I had an appointment with Montagu Dell.”
“Oh, did we?” said Tring, in annoyance.
“You did if you are worth your salt,” said Mannering. “That you should know about it was my express purpose in telephoning.” He grinned.
The taxi stopped outside the front door. Again it opened.
“This is Sergeant Tring, of New Scotland Yard,” Mannering told the footman, “look after him while I’m with Mr Dell, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” said the footman, impassively.
Mannering was taken upstairs.
Montagu Dell was sitting at his desk. He greeted Mannering with outstretched hand, and regretted the accident – for presumably it was an accident of some kind – which had delayed him.
“No accident,” said Mannering. “A wilful delay. Did you send the same chauffeur that you sent before?”
“Indeed yes,” said Dell, “I have only one.”
“Then he was waylaid,” said Mannering. “It would be wise to notify the police at once.” Before he had finished speaking Dell was lifting the telephone. Authoritatively he asked for the Inspector on duty.
“Make it Superintendent Bristow,” whispered Mannering.
“Or Superintendent Bristow,” amended Dell. There was a pause, during which Dell pointed to an extension at the far end of the room. Mannering went to it, and heard Bristow’s voice:
“Yes, Mr Dell? Superintendent Bristow speaking.”
Dell explained, briefly, Bristow promised to look out for the Daimler, and Mannering broke in.
“You’d better do more than that, Bill, we need that driver badly. Tring is here with me. A local man went after the Daimler, and might be out of his depth. You want to watch the cliff near the headland. Everything might turn on the identity of the driver.
“We’ll get him,” Bristow said, sharply.
As Mannering rang off he saw that Dell was smiling.
“So you are sometimes very frank with the police, Mr Mannering.”
“I am always frank with the police, except when I am told something in confidence, Mr Dell. Who knew that the Daimler was on the way to fetch me?”
“Most of my staff.”
“Including your nephew Bunny Firth?”
“Naturally, but I do not think that he would give information of that nature away.”
“I shouldn’t be too sure of your nephew,” said Mannering, “he is far too fond of Mrs Kingham. Don’t you think he knew why Mrs Kingham wanted to see you when I was last here?”
Dell sat very still.
Mannering waited, watching the old man’s eyes, guessing at the thoughts which were passing through his mind. At last Dell said: “Do you know why she came?”
“Yes,” said Mannering, “I listened in.”
“You are also frank with me,” murmured Dell.
“It’s time you were frank with me,” said Mannering. “You’d told me so much, telling me about Mrs Kingham would not have made all that difference. Why did you keep it back?”
Dell said, gently: “I wanted to test your ingenuity, Mr Mannering, and I succeeded. I congratulate you. You must have picked the lock of the ante-room door.”
“I did,” said Mannering tersely, “and any child with a mechanical turn of mind could have done the same.”
Dell said: “Such resourcefulness must be applauded. Have you told the police why Mrs Kingham came to see me?”
“The police don’t know – yet.”
“One is on the premises, you say.”
“And others know where I am,” said Mannering, and smiled genially. “There’s just a chance that someone in this house doesn’t want me to get far with my investigations. It would be awkward if anything should happen to me while I’m here.”
“Yes,” said Dell, “I see that. However, I do not think that you are a man who would be easily outwitted, Mr Mannering. Will you tell me your reason for coming?”
“Why not?” said Mannering. He took out the pendant and slowly, deliberately, unwrapped it.
The test would come now.
He pushed the jewel across the desk.
“Thank you,” murmured Dell. “Thank you very much indeed.” He took the pendant, his hands a little unsteady, and pressed the top with his thumb. Immediately the jewel fell gently into two parts, exposing the slips of paper. Mannering schooled himself to show astonishment as Dell looked at him shrewdly.
“Now you know why I was so anxious about it,” said Dell.
Mannering nodded, as if words were beyond him.
“Probably you did not believe my first story,” said Dell, “but at that juncture it was all I dared tell you. Now you may know more. The pendant contained the combination code together with a spare set of keys to the safe in my strong-room. That is why it was stolen. With their help the thief intended to break into the strong-room, rob me, and escape in safety. One of my own sons,” added Montagu Dell, and his voice hardened. “Who had it, Mr Mannering? Was it Charles?”
“Yes,” said Mannering.
“I was afraid so,” said Dell, thoughtfully, “but did he work alone, I wonder? Did he work alone?”
Chapter Nineteen
The Strong-Room
Dell sat without speaking. He seemed much older and more careworn. Mannering found it impossible to dislike him and hard to distrust him. A clock was ticking faintly.
Slowly, the old man’s lips curved; the smile was something to admire.
“Where did Charles keep it?” he asked.
“In the false bottom of a suitcase.”
“I told Diver to look in that suitcase,” said Dell, “but he was not a very good cracksman – you are far better, Mr Mannering, you have had much more experience.”
Dell looked at him thoughtfully: “You are the Baron, aren’t you.”
It came like that, softly yet with the force of a steam-hammer.
Mannering said: “I don’t understand you.”
“I think you do,” said Dell. “Diver told me that John Mannering was the Baron. That is why I asked for your help. Diver was greatly impressed by your ability, he seemed convinced that there was not a safe in the county which you could not open.”
“I hate to disillusion you, but Diver was merely making use of an old wives’ tale. Even the police have heard of it – and are amused by it.”
“Then you are to be congratulated on fooling the police,” said Dell blandly. He gave a soft, clucking laugh. “Do you know what I was going to do, if you did not find the pendant, Mr Mannering?”
When Mannering said nothing, he went on: “I was going to ask you to open my strong-room.”
Mannering said: “Well, well. What odd ideas you get.”
“It can only be opened by someone who knows the code,” said Dell, “or is, in that line, a specialist. I could not get into the strong-room myself, because I did not know the combination off by heart. It is very complicated, as you have doubtless seen already. Do you think you could have opened it?”
“Not a hope in a thousand,” said Mannering frankly.
“I suppose your discretion is wise,” said Dell, “but I assure you that your secret is safe with me – and to show you how fully I trust you, I am going to take you to the strong-room. You do not know,” added Montagu Dell, “how delighted I am to have the pendant again. I have not seen my other collection for twelve months – a great sorrow.”
He moved towards the chiffonier, pressed the ends nearer the wall, and stood back. The chiffonier moved slowly, until it revealed an opening.
Mannering followed the old man into a much smaller room.
Against the wall dividing the two rooms was another chiffonier, almost identical in shape, colouring and carving.
“I do not think that anyone outside my family has ever been in here before,” said Dell. “You are greatly honoured, Mr Mannering! A room like this is a great boon, and could only be obtained in a house so monstrously mishandled as this one has been during its many reconstructions. I bought the house because of this room.”
“Then the previous owner and probably others have been in here,” said Mannering, quickly.
“Yes,” said Dell, “but that was over forty years ago. Memories grow dim, and no one lives forever. But we must not waste time!” He gave the clucking little laugh.
Mannering studied everything about him.
The room was about fifteen feet square. Panelled in dark oak it would have been quite charming but for the fact that there were no windows.
“You see how clever the builder was,” said Dell.
He stood by the fireplace, and pressed a spot in the surround. Another narrow opening appeared, leading to a flight of steps. A dank, earthy smell, greeted them as they moved cautiously downward. The farther they went, the more unpleasant became the smell presently moisture appeared on the walls, and a green, slimy growth.
At the foot was a door.
“There was another entrance, but I have had it blocked up,” said Dell. “I do not take chances, you see. Even if a thief broke in, Mannering, he would never get out. There is a small engine fitted there, to give off carbon monoxide. The thief would soon become unconscious, and in a very short time he would be dead.”
Mannering said nothing.
“There are other little tricks,” said Dell blandly.
“How was the pendant stolen from a place like this?” asked Mannering.
“It was not stolen from here, but from my study, where I carelessly left it.”
“Can you be sure no one has used the combination and the keys?”
“Of course,” said Dell. “The alarm would have been set off, and there has been no alarm. I have not spent a day – hardly an hour – out of this house since the theft.” He laughed. “Now – try to open the door, Mr Mannering. Here is the code – here, in fact, is the current combination.” He handed one of the paper slips to Mannering, who took it, looked at him thoughtfully, and approached the door. There was a small knob; it had the look of a combination safe, but he distrusted Dell on this. He was right to distrust a man who planned so coldly the death of another.
Mannering examined the knob but did not touch it.
He turned to face Dell. “This isn’t the entrance.”
Dell laughed, delightedly. “You are more resourceful even than I expected! No, it is not the entrance, you are standing on the entrance.”
Mannering stepped aside. Dell went down on his knees, and pressed the slimy wall. Part of the floor slid back. Beneath it was a steel plate, with a combination lock – not unlike a wall-safe.
Dell consulted the paper.
Mannering watched him turning the knob. The frail fingers moved quickly, the clicking seemed continuous, it was impossible to count them. The whole thing was done very quickly, then Dell stood up, and motioned to Mannering, who pulled at the handle. The steel plate, heavy and difficult, moved – slowly, disclosing another flight of steps. Dell pressed a switch and led the way down.
They stood in the strong-room.
It was about twelve feet by twelve, with stone walls, bleak and bare. There were a few chairs, a table, a small desk and two large safes, of Landon make – there were no better safes in the world, but once a man knew the secret of them they were easy to open. Mannering knew the secret. Tense and expectant, Dell took keys from his pocket – and soon the two safes were open.
Montagu Dell pulled out one of the trays. Refusing Mannering’s help he staggered with it to the table, his eyes bright with excitement. He was breathing heavily, under the stress of a great emotion. Adding a second tray to the first, he turned eagerly towards Mannering.
“I have not seen these for a year, Mannering. Your love of jewels, will understand my feelings.”
He unlocked the trays, one at a time, his fingers trembling. Then he stood in front of the first, touching the lid. Mannering watched him, deeply, absorbing, interested in this fever of excitement, which possessed the old man.
“Now!” cried Dell, and flung the lid back.
The tray was empty.
Indentations in the black velvet, marked where jewels had rested.
Mannering stepped forward, ready to support the old man, who looked as if his life were draining out of him. Yet he would not sit down. He stood there staring at the velvet, odd little sounds coming from his ashen lips.
Slowly he moved towards the other tray.
Mannering wished he would not open it, wished he would save himself for the second shock which he guessed was awaiting him, but there was no hope of that, the man was driven on to see, to know, by a great compulsion. Mannering stood in the presence of tragedy, gripped by the drama unfolding before him.
Dell opened the second tray. He did not fling the lid back but raised it slowly, as if its weight was almost too much for him. Like the first, it was empty.
He stood staring down for a long time.
He did not collapse, although he was trembling from head to foot. Slowly, he turned. Hopelessness and despair lay, naked, in his eyes, but there was no resignation in them.
“Charles,” he said. The word was hardly audible, but hoarse in his throat. He repeated it. “Charles!”
“Not necessarily,” said Mannering, but the words went unheeded.
“My own flesh and blood,” said Dell.
He gasped for breath. There was a tinge of blue at his lips now – and Mannering was, in fact, frightened lest he died before him. He must get Dell upstairs. He lifted the old man, carrying him like a child up the two flights of stairs, leaving the door open behind him. He reached the secret room, looked down at his burden, for the chiffonier was in its place; it might take him some time to find the right knobs to press and open it.
“Leave me here,” said Dell. His voice was just audible, but his breathing was better. “Close the doors, Mannering, and lock up.”
Mannering hesitated. “Lock up!” gasped Dell. He started to struggle, and Mannering lowered him into a chair, and hurried downstairs. The keys were on the desk in the strong-room. He put the trays back, locked the safes and came up the flight of stairs. He shut the steel door, found the mechanism of the stone slab, watched it slide home, came up again and closed the hole in the wall near the fireplace.
Then he turned and lifted Dell, half carrying him to the chiffonier. The old man indicated the places where he must press, the chiffonier opened, and they went through into the big room. Mannering lowered him to the chair at his desk.
Montagu Dell’s lips were blue but his voice was steadier. “I shall not die – yet” he said. “I will live to see my sons.”
He pressed a bell in the side of the desk. There was a pause before the door opened. Bunny Firth appeared, a startled, almost frightened l
ook on his face.
“Uncle, you’re ill, you—”
“Send for the doctor,” said Mannering sharply, “then help me to get Mr Dell to bed.”
Two of the menservants carried Montagu Dell to his room, Bunny Firth hovering in attendance.
“I think he will be all right,” said Firth at last. “I was afraid at first that it was another seizure. What happened, Mr Mannering?”
“He was talking to me, and collapsed,” Mannering said quietly.
Firth hesitated, then said slowly: “Did you give him some bad news, Mr Mannering? I know he hoped you would find out who stole the pendant. Do you know?”
“Not for certain,” Mannering said, truthfully enough. “Is the policeman still downstairs?”
“Yes.” There was reproach in the man’s eyes. “The doctor will want to know what brought it on,” he added, and stared at Mannering’s clothes. “You have been in the strong-room, haven’t you?”
Mannering said: “We were both there. Firth, I beg of you, for your Uncle’s sake, don’t let the doctor or the police know that he has been in the strong-room. Hide his clothes or clean them, and lend me a damp cloth and a brush,” he added sharply. “Do you understand, no one must know that he has been downstairs.”
Firth’s eyes were puzzled, but he answered at once.
“All right. I think I can arrange that, and the servants are loyal.”
The doctor arrived almost at the same time as Bristow and Kay.
“Well, Bill,” said Mannering, “what’s brought you?”
“Is Dell well enough to see me?” asked Bristow. “I doubt whether he will see anyone until tomorrow.”
“Then we’ll have to find out what happened from his staff,” said Bristow.
He added in a sepulchral voice: “The Daimler crashed over the cliff in an attempt – I have no doubt at all – to murder you.”
Chapter Twenty
The Dark-Haired Man
The driver of the police car which had followed the Daimler had given his report briskly and concisely. He had followed the Daimler along the cliff road, never more than fifty yards behind. He had not put on his headlamps, but against the glow of the Daimler’s lights he had seen the man jump out while the car was still moving.
