by John Creasey
“Movement is frequently mistaken for progress,” said Mannering, laughing.
There was a telephone call for Lloyd, who excused himself, and they went up to their room.
Mannering pondered over Bunny’s release, Bristow was undoubtedly up to his favourite trick, scaring his suspects by legal detention, then letting them go and watching them closely. So far he did not appear to have got on to Lloyd, but Bristow was deep.
There were no startling developments that day.
Even Bristow, who had hoped that Mrs Kingham, Firth or Jeff Dell would by now have made a move to give themselves away, was disappointed.
Mannering was interested in Lloyd’s brazen confidence. Obviously he was not worried by the possibility that the police had the deed box, and believed that he could deal with any attempt at blackmail. He might even think that he knew who had stolen it.
On the second morning, after Montagu Dell’s visit to the strong-room, there were letters for all the Dells and a letter for Mannering. Would Mr and Mrs Mannering have the kindness to call on Mr Montagu Dell at two-thirty that afternoon? A word with Jeff proved that the Dells had received a parental command for three-thirty.
Bristow did not visit Mannering, and Tring no longer followed him wherever he went, but when they left for Dacres in a taxi, he spotted Tring tagging along behind in a small police car.
Montagu Dell’s appearance shocked them.
His face was clay colour, while his eyes held the glazed, fish-like opacity of a devitalised man. It seemed hardly possible that he was in full possession of his senses. He sat, supported by cushions, at his desk, making no effort to rise in greeting. Instead, he turned testily to Bunny Firth, his voice thin as a reed. “Leave us, please.”
Bunny retired, reluctantly.
For a few moments Dell sat with his near transparent hands on the desk, looking straight before him. At last he spoke.
“I wanted to see you, to thank you, before I see the family. They will be here in an hour. I doubt whether I shall see any of them again.”
There was nothing to say to that.
“I am an old man, I have done much that I should not have done,” went on Montagu Dell, “and I have known for some time that I had alienated my sons, with the exception of Jeff, and possibly Matthew. I wanted them to make their own way in the world. They have not failed completely, but they have blamed me for failing to do better. They have been envious of my riches, except perhaps Jeff and Matthew, and I cannot be wholly sure about them. And now Charles has robbed me of what I love most in the world. Charles – and, I think, the others.”
Mannering said: “I think you’d better wait—”
“Hear me out, please,” said Dell. “You found evidence that the thief of the pendant was Charles, but I am not sure that he acted entirely on his own. I think that all of them shared in it, all of them feared that when I told them they would inherit a substantial sum from me, I was lying. I was not. Now, it appears that they wished to cash in before I died. Others may have helped them, but in the beginning this crime is a crime committed, by my sons.”
“I have doubts of that,” said Mannering.
Dell turned his dim eyes towards him.
“You are trying to ease the blow which had come upon me. That is kind of you, but a waste of time. You have helped me in many ways, and for that I am grateful.” He took a small roll of cotton wool out of his pocket. Fumbling with it he disclosed the two diamonds which he had first shown them.
He held them towards Lorna.
“I hope you will wear these,” he said, simply.
He folded them in her hand, patted it, and smiled – if a stretching of that parchment skin, without joy or merriment, could be called a smile.
Mannering said urgently: “Mr Dell, I must tell you that there is now clear evidence that Lloyd, at the Royal, was a partner of Kingham’s, and that Kingham’s wife was Lloyd’s mistress. I think it was Lloyd who waylaid your chauffeur last night. That, at least, was not engineered by one of your sons.”
“No?” said Dell. “As for Lloyd—” he shrugged. “So you have found out about him. I knew that he was Kingham’s partner, he sometimes acted as an envoy.” Dell paused, closed his eyes, and said: “Mrs Kingham told Bunny last night that Kingham had worked with several of my sons. She was intent on saving Lloyd, of course, she was afraid that I would give him away. But she told the truth, I have no doubt of that. Well! I shall soon see them, I shall confront them with what I know, and I shall punish them in my own way. Mr Mannering, I particularly want your assistance in one respect.”
“What is it?” asked Mannering.
“That you will not aid the police to add further punishment. Mine will be enough. At least I ask you to wait until you know what steps I have taken, before you help the police to take legal action.”
He sat there, looking like death, only the desire to see his sons, and to tell them what he believed he knew, seemed to be keeping him alive. Of the punishment – he would leave them nothing, Mannering felt sure of that.
“One other thing,” said Dell. “My precious stones might be recovered by the police, and returned to their original owners. But many, even in the secret collection, were rightly mine. In a codicil to my will I have directed that the proceeds from the sale should be given to charity, and that you should have the first refusal of every gem. I have also asked you, in that codicil, to superintend the sale of the jewels and to make sure that none of my sons can benefit from their sale. Will you see to that for me?”
“As well as I can,” said Mannering.
“Thank you,” said Dell. “I will ask you to leave me now, I need to rest before the others come.” He bade them goodbye with a certain ceremony, as if he knew this was to be the last, the final, time they would ever see him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Message From Bunny
At the Royal, Lorna dropped into a chair with a certain exasperation.
“Supposing he’s wrong? You could have reasoned with him.”
“Not with Montagu Dell,” said Mannering. “In that mood he was quite impervious to reason. Besides, he knows something which he hasn’t told us.”
“What will he do?”
“What can he do?” asked Mannering. “If his sons have conspired to rob him, he can only make reasonably sure that they don’t benefit from the jewels. He can do that by leaving a statement that they are stolen, and describing each one carefully – by making them criminals twice over.”
“But he doesn’t want you to help the police against them.”
“No,” said Mannering. There he was at a loss, worried by something which he could not understand. “He has a tortuous mind,” he said slowly. “I think he’s worked out a way to make sure that they don’t benefit from his will or from the robbery.” He lit a cigarette, and watched her in the mirror. “I think a walk is indicated, don’t you?”
“I feel too restless,” said Lorna. “Walking won’t help.”
“Then painting will,” said Mannering, “choose your model.”
“Free choice?”
“Yes.”
“You,” said Lorna, and put up her easel.
Mannering was used to sitting for Lorna. His body fell now in the accustomed position which he could hold tirelessly, leaving his mind free to dwell on Montagu Dell and the oddness of all that had happened.
Lorna had finished the sketch, and was beginning to paint, when there was a tap at the door.
Bristow came in, alone.
“Hallo, Bill,” said Mannering. “You’ve chosen a solemn moment, my profile is about to be delivered to posterity.”
Bristow did not smile. He looked at the drawing absently. “Very good,” he said. He fidgeted with his cigarette case. “What did Dell talk about this morning?”
“His family.”
“Something has happened up there – what is it?”
“He has lost some family possessions,” said Mannering warily.
“What are
they?”
“He didn’t say.”
“You mean you won’t say,” said Bristow. “What did you take out of the hotel safe the night before last?”
Lorna raised her hands so sharply that the brush smeared the canvas.
“What, another robbery?” Mannering asked, lightly.
Bristow said: “What did you take?”
“Don’t be an ass, Bill. I was here with Lorna all last night, after getting back from Dacres. What’s missing?”
Bristow said slowly: “Evidence to convict Lloyd.”
“Lloyd!” cried Mannering.
“So you’re surprised,” said Bristow, in a more natural voice. “How refreshing to learn that there is still something you don’t know! Lloyd and Kingham were partners, Lloyd was once a jewel dealer, he ruined his credit with funny business and he’s officially been out of the trade since then – but only officially. Mrs Kingham is his paramour.” Bristow seemed satisfied enough, yet there was something, some vague disquiet underlying his satisfaction as if he feared he had not got to the bottom of the business yet. “The set-up is simple,’ he said. “Montagu Dell has been robbed by Kingham and Lloyd. Mrs Kingham strung the nephew Firth along, to get information from him, and use him as a go-between. The only trouble,” said Bristow, “is that we’ve had no official complaint from Montagu Dell about a burglary.”
“Oh,” said Mannering. “That’s hard.”
“Now don’t be funny,” said Bristow sharply. “We want proof of a burglary before we can go much further, but I can tell you this: Lloyd was out at the time of Kingham’s murder and was seen near the curio shop, Mrs Kingham and Lloyd knew that Kingham was here during the morning, and might have been waiting for Kingham when you got back to his place. Lloyd was seen near the headland when Carol Armitage was attacked, and Lloyd was out, officially on business near Milden Woods, when young Clive was killed. But if we charge him with murder on that evidence it will fall through. Our starting point must be the burglary. Mrs Kingham won’t give evidence against Lloyd, and to counteract any suspicions we may have against him, is piling the blame on Firth.”
“By direct accusation.”
“No, by innuendo. She made appointments with Firth near the cliff, near the shop and near Milden Woods at the crucial times, then failed to turn up.”
“Anything against Carol Armitage?”
“No.”
“Where is Lloyd?” Asked Mannering.
“At the police station – we’ve charged him with buying stolen gems in partnership with Kingham, and we’ve got Mrs Kingham on the same charge. They will probably blame Kingham and plead ignorance.” Bristow lit a cigarette. “Now I’m being frank with you, and it’s time you were frank with me. Where are the papers from Lloyd’s safe?”
“What papers?” asked Mannering, innocently.
Bristow said: “I think you know. We looked in Lloyd’s safe and they aren’t there. Mrs Kingham let slip that there was an intruder here two nights ago. Under pressure Lloyd had admitted it, but says that nothing was stolen. He did see a man with a blue mask. He didn’t mention the Baron, but—”
Mannering laughed, “Bulldog Bristow, the man who never lets go! Aren’t you underestimating Lucy Kingham?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she might not have let slip a mention of the burglary, she might have told you about it deliberately, and Lloyd might be pretending a grudging admission. They probably smelt trouble and destroyed the papers, blaming a burglar. That would be the wise thing to do. Is there any other evidence about this mysterious creature with a blue mask?”
“No,” said Bristow, and added sourly: “Not yet.”
“You’ll have to work hard,” said Mannering.
“Without those papers I doubt whether we can make any charges stick,” said Bristow, “and without a complaint from Montagu Dell we can’t prove robbery. In my opinion robbery was the motive for the murders. You know there’s been a robbery at Dacres, don’t you?”
“My guess is no better than yours,” said Mannering. Bristow stayed only a few minutes longer.
“He’s right, of course,” Mannering said. “He can’t get the evidence without knowledge of the burglary.”
“You mean Lloyd might get away with the murders?”
“Might,” said Mannering. “But I don’t think he will. I think we’ll go along to the Post Office and buy a stamped letter-card, handle it with gloves on and tell Bristow about the package for Mr Smith – don’t you?”
It was tea time when they got back from the Post Office. The Dells had not arrived. Nor had they returned at dinner time. Carol was back, and joined them at dinner. She knew the police had detained Mrs Kingham for questioning, but she had stayed to finish the work Mrs Kingham had given her.
She looked pale and tired, and was obviously disappointed that Jeff was so late.
The Dells had not returned by nine o’clock.
It was nearly ten when Mannering was called to the telephone.
“Mr Mannering!” The voice was Bunny Firth’s. “Can you come here at once?”
“Where?” asked Mannering, “and why?”
Firth’s voice sounded as if he were in an extreme state of agitation. “I must see you, Mr Mannering. I can’t send the car tonight, but I can arrange for a taxi.”
“I’ll find my own,” said Mannering. It was as if he had been expecting such a summons, it did not occur to him to ignore it.
Lorna was in the hall.
“Trouble at Dacres,” said Mannering briefly. He could not understand why it affected him so much. “I’m going there at once. Let Bristow know if you haven’t heard from me by midnight.
“Must you go alone?”
“Yes – and without Tring. Will you telephone for a taxi? Ask the man to wait for me at the end of West Terrace in ten minutes’ time.”
Lorna wanted to go with him; but she did what he asked, and as soon as he knew that the taxi was arranged he left the Royal. Tring was on the other side of the road, leaning against the police car. Mannering walked towards the centre of the town at a slow pace, then sauntered back, as if he were out for a late stroll, Tring faithfully in attendance.
Firth’s voice and agitation were urgent in Mannering’s mind. He was desperately anxious to get to Dacres, but dared not take chances.
He slowed down outside a late night cafe, saw Tring just inside the radius of light, and then, when the road was clear, hurried across. Tring followed, hot in pursuit, Mannering took a side street, and then doubled back on his track, within five minutes he had shaken Tring off. He went along the promenade towards West Terrace and saw the rear light of a taxi.
The driver was standing by its side.
“Do you know a house called Dacres?” asked Mannering.
“Yes, sir, Mr Dell’s place.”
“I’m in a hurry to get there,” said Mannering.
He never had a quicker journey.
At Dacres he paid off the taxi, then for the first time he had to ring the bell. It was some minutes before it was answered, and his conviction that there was serious trouble strengthened. Yet the footman who eventually opened the door looked calm enough, and took him straight up to the big room.
It was empty; and he had expected to see the whole family there.
“Mr Firth won’t keep you a moment, sir,” said the footman. To Mannering the waiting seemed interminable.
He wondered whether Bristow still had men watching the house and, if so, whether they knew that he was here.
The door opened, and Firth came in.
He was white-faced, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy.
“Thank God you’ve come!” he gasped, unsteadily. “It—it’s a most terrible thing, I can’t believe that it’s happened, but—”
He broke off, and Mannering waited with growing impatience.
“Mr Dell—”
“Is he ill?” demanded Mannering.
Firth said, desperately: “I think he’s mad!”
<
br /> “Well?”
“He—had them all in here,” said Firth, and stopped again. He was shying from the truth, as from a horror too dreadful to contemplate, but—
What was it?
“I wasn’t with them, he didn’t want me to hear, but I—well, I was frightened of him, he seemed so strange. He—he’s downstairs, in the strong-room—with them!”
“Well?” said Mannering again, but the word was hardly audible as a glimmering of the truth sprang to his mind.
“They can’t get out!” cried Firth. “They’ve been down there for three hours and they can’t get out. Earlier—earlier in the evening I heard him tell them that he had destroyed the code. There—there was a terrible quarrel. Then things quietened down. I—I was just outside the door when they left the room, but I don’t know how to get into the next room or downstairs, no one knows. Oh, God!” he gasped, and buried his face in his hands, “I don’t think he means them to get out, I think he means to keep them there until they die!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Punishment
Mannering said: “You’re talking nonsense! If he’s gone down there, he would naturally close the doors behind him.”
“No, no!” gasped Firth. “They are all to die together! It’s their punishment. He told me he would punish them, but I thought he meant that he was going to leave them out of his will. But he didn’t mean that. He’s got them down there and they can’t get out because he’s destroyed the code!
Mannering said: “Telephone the police at once, and tell them to come here.”
“No!” cried Firth, “I can’t call the police they’d arrest the Old Man for attempted murder. You must get them out.” He was gasping for breath and there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. “He told me there was only one man in the world who could break into that strong-room, and he named you.”
Mannering said: “If you don’t telephone the police at once, the death of every one of them might be on your conscience. Get Bristow or Kay. Tell them they need tools for breaking into a strong-room, that they mustn’t lose a moment. Don’t wait!”
