by John Creasey
‘Only hope the police don’t find him,’ said Fauntley, more jaunty than he had been for some weeks. ‘The only fly in the ointment is that John’s haven’t arrived. But they may do, they may!’ Crane smiled soberly.
‘We can’t expect the thief to be too generous, damn it. Well, John, you’ve got two worries on your mind, I gather.’
‘I take it the first has just been mentioned,’ said Mannering easily. ‘What’s the other?’
Crane frowned. Nothing he had done or said suggested that he knew anything about the robbery, although Mannering had slipped in one or two apparently ingenuous questions without result. He was beginning to believe that Lorna had raised an unjustified scare.
‘Do you mean you don’t know?’
‘I can’t think of anything alarming, no.’
Crane looked uncertainly from one to the other.
‘I hope I’m not dropping a brick. I slipped in to see Mendleson last night, and he was in a pretty bad humour. Sharron had just been, and you were supposed to have warned Sharron and Fauntley off some new company. His solicitor came while I was there. Did you warn them off?’ Crane asked.
Mannering nodded.
‘But Mendleson’s as sound as the Bank of England!’
‘Is he?’ asked Mannering, good-humouredly, but he was trying to see how this development was going to affect him, with his present quest. ‘We’ll see. Who is his solicitor, do you know?’
‘Yes, Hartman. I hope you don’t figure in a cause célèbre, John, mud has a habit of churning up from unlikely places.’
‘Let’s try a more cheerful subject,’ suggested Mannering.
‘Right,’ Crane smiled. ‘When are you bringing Lorna over for an evening? We’re home birds generally you know, and Hampstead’s a bit out of bounds, but it’s time you came.’
‘It’s not a month since I spent a weekend with you.’
‘It seems longer. I’m thinking of adding to my staff, by the way. We need another man in the house at nights.’
‘Ha!’ exclaimed Fauntley. ‘You keep too much jewellery at The Laurels to rely on a safe.’
It was on Mannering’s lips to mention Errol, but he thought better of it.
He left Portland Place early, and the only good thing he had discovered was that under the united influence of the Fauntleys, Fay was getting more cheerful.
Mannering was less perturbed by the possibility of facing a legal action than by the fact that it divided his attentions. He wanted to give his whole mind to the problem of the Glorias and the Towers burglary, but he could not ignore Mendleson’s attitude.
It suggested that the company was genuine. The financier would not dare to face a full inquiry – essential if he brought an action for slander – unless he knew that he could face it with equanimity. Moreover it seemed unlikely that Mendleson would lay himself open to any kind of police investigation if he had been connected with Gillison in the theft of the Kallinovs. Could he be safely ruled out?
His wife presented another problem.
So far Mannering knew definitely of three conspirators – Mervin, Rogerson and Gillison. But none of them had been in a position to get the particulars of the strong-room; there was another operative to find. The list of possibilities had widened, and he went through them in his mind, weighing the pros and cons as detachedly as he could.
They were:
Lord Sharron. Known to be jumpy on and immediately before the night of the robbery. Refused to ask for extra help from the police.
Reggie Sharron. Kept short of money.
Theo Crane. Possessed of a full knowledge of the architecture of the Towers. In a position to know the precautions that were taken.
Mendleson. Connected with Gillison, queer behaviour on the night of the robbery. Opportunity of examining the strong-room.
Clara Mendleson – associated with Mervin, who was clearly involved.
Servants. All of good reputation.
His long sleep that morning had its uses, for he was wide awake although it was nearly midnight. He felt the urge to be working, and he telephoned Leverson. For the benefit of those listening on the wire, they chatted for five minutes, and immediately afterwards Mannering went to a call-box. Tanker Tring was back at work, standing near the kiosk. Leverson answered from the other call-box almost at once.
‘How’s the prisoner?’ asked Mannering.
‘He’s difficult,’ said Leverson slowly. ‘You won’t find it easy to get him to talk.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In the attic here.’
‘You shouldn’t have risked that,’ said the Baron. ‘Bristow’s a sight too sharp lately. Can I come over now?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Leverson assured him, ‘but make sure you’re alone.’
Mannering hung up, and stepped out of the kiosk. Tring made an attempt to dodge out of sight, and Mannering called out to him: ‘A nice night, don’t you think?’
‘It’s perishing cold,’ answered Tring sourly.
‘With snow in the air,’ added the Baron, and as if to emphasise his words the sharp wind whistled along the street, bearing with it the first light flakes of snow. ‘What you want is a walk, Tanker, a sharp one across the Park. And instead of walking behind me you may as well keep alongside. I’d enjoy a chat for once.’
‘Hmm,’ said Tring, dubiously.
‘No need to worry,’ said Mannering cheerfully. ‘All Bristow told you to do was to keep me in sight, he didn’t specify whether the view was to be back, front or sideways.’
Tring, out of his depth, fell in beside him. Snow began to fall more heavily, by the time they reached the other side of Piccadilly there was a thin film of white on grass and sidewalk. The Baron reached the gates of the Park, hesitated and turned back.
In a way he hated what he had to do now.
Standing by the kerb as the traffic streamed in both directions, he suddenly moved forward. Moving, he knocked against Tring’s legs, and the sergeant fell backwards, while the Baron slipped into the roadway. Traffic swerved and brakes squealed, but he made a passage and as he reached the far kerb a taxi with its flag up slowed down. Mannering leapt for it.
‘Aldgate Station, fast!’
He could see Tring, on his feet now and surrounded by half a dozen sympathetic passers-by. The traffic was thick, and Mannering did not think there was any danger of immediate pursuit; nevertheless, reaching the Circus he told the cabby to drive along Regent Street, and then to take side turnings. No cab or car followed them.
‘All right,’ Mannering said, ‘Make for the station.’
Twenty minutes later he was entering Leverson’s Wine Street house. Flick opened the door himself.
Rogerson was lying on a small bed in the attic, fully dressed but for his shoes and collar. He glared up as the light flashed on, but his lips were set tightly.
‘Still obstinate I’m told,’ said Mannering, sitting down on a convenient chair and stretching his legs. ‘But not for long, I hope. Rogerson, you’ve been a damned fool. You tried to murder me, apparently believing I’m the Baron, and I can’t blame anyone for wanting to put that gentleman away. I’ve suffered a lot from him. All the same,’ he went on musingly, ‘that glass and cabinet remain exactly as they are, and the prints are very clear. Unless you talk there’s no alternative but a trip to the police.’
‘You daren’t do it, they’d want to know why you’ve waited so long!’
‘And who is to say when it happened?’ said Mannering airily. ‘Do you think the police will believe you if you tell them of your little stay here? I’ll deny it, and so will my friend. I’ve carefully covered the evidence with a large bowl; there’ll be no dust on it, so the attempt might have happened half an hour ago.’
Rogerson was sweating.
‘Worried?’ murmured Mannering. ‘You needn’t be. The police and I want Mendleson, not you, providing you didn’t kill Armstrong or the girl. Tell me all you know about the new company, and you’ll be as free as the air.
I shall, of course, retain evidence that you were at the Towers during the robbery to make sure you don’t let your tongue run away with you, but while you behave you’ll have nothing to fear. Why not be sensible?’
‘How do I know you’re not just talking?’
‘You don’t,’ Mannering admitted, ‘but you have my word for it.’
Rogerson was breathing fast. ‘What figures do you want?’
‘Any to implicate Mendleson.’ Mannering had pushed the company angle, knowing that Rogerson would say nothing about the jewels, for he was convinced by now that Rogerson had worked with Gillison on them, and that Mendleson was not aware of it. The thing which most worried Rogerson was the robbery – and the murders.
‘He keeps them in his safe,’ the man said sullenly.
‘Where?’
‘At South Audley Street.’
‘Have you got the keys?’
‘No I haven’t – but I could get the papers. Let me go and I’ll send them to you!’
His breath was rasping now, but Mannering knew he had won: he felt elated, confident.
‘I think I’ll take a chance on you, Rogerson, but there’s a difficulty. Won’t he want to know where you’ve been?’
‘No—no. I had arranged to have two days off.’
‘Right.’ The Baron straightened up. ‘I’ll have you released in the morning. You’ll be followed, and you’ll get the papers and post them to me before you go anywhere else. Understand? Remember, those admirable fingerprints—’
Downstairs, Leverson said: ‘You’re not trusting him, are you?’
‘I’m taking a chance because I’ve got to,’ said Mannering. ‘If he sends the papers, or copies of them, it might help: but I’m more intent on letting him go than anything else, while having a watertight reason for it.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ Leverson said.
Mannering chuckled.
‘It’s simple, Flick. Rogerson will contact with Gillison and the others pretty quickly. Can you find me a man to follow him? I want a note of everywhere he goes.’
‘Of course – a clever idea.’
‘I hope it isn’t too clever,’ said Mannering, grimly. ‘If Rogerson was one of the murderers—’
‘What happens if you find proof that he was?’
Mannering looked sombre.
‘I’d let the police have it.’
‘And he’d talk about you.’
‘That,’ said the Baron, ‘would be damned unfortunate. Flick.’
As he walked through the flurrying snow it occurred to him that he could have given Errol the job of watching Rogerson, but he was glad that he had not. Errol might be dependable, but a policeman’s respect for the law died slowly, and if Errol made a discovery of importance it was likely to be reported to the police instead of the Baron. Leverson’s men were in that respect far more trustworthy.
Whether he was wise in letting Rogerson go, remained to be seen.
Mannering had been away from the flat for an hour, which meant that Tring had ample time to return to it, after reporting the mishap. It was even possible that Bristow would try to construe an assault charge, but Mannering did not think it likely.
Tring was not in the street.
A little worried, Mannering went into his flat. He knew at once that someone was inside.
Sudden alarm, the fear that Bristow was waiting for him, flooded his mind. He steeled himself to show no surprise.
Lorna, muffled in furs, her cheeks glowing with the cold, confronted him.
‘Phew!’ exclaimed the Baron. ‘Am I glad to see you, angel! But have a heart next time and let me know!’
‘I couldn’t,’ explained Lorna. ‘I did ring through but you were out. It’s lucky I had a key.’
Mannering was eyeing her keenly, sensing that there was something untoward in her visit, that she was labouring under the stress of excitement, for all her coolness.
‘Well, what is it?’
‘Sharron,’ she said.
‘What about him?’
‘He’s tried to commit suicide, at the Towers. His wife rang for Fay, who’s hurried down there with Mother. I think it’s touch and go.’
Chapter Twenty
Snowstorm
Sharron had taken two hundred aspirin tablets, and his life was in the balance. His wife had found him on his bed, with the empty bottle at his side, and she had summoned the local doctor. A plain-clothes man on duty at the Towers had learned what had happened, and informed Horroby immediately. Two doctors were working desperately to save the peer, while downstairs Fay and her mother were sitting, white-faced and tight-lipped: Lorna and Lady Fauntley were with them.
Mannering was with Bristow in the small library.
Outside the wind was howling almost at gale force, and the snow was driving against the windows, its unceasing patter merging with the crackling of the logs in the great open fireplace.
‘Why did you have to come?’ Bristow eyed Mannering grimly.
‘I could hardly stay away,’ said Mannering, ‘seeing that I’d encouraged his daughter to leave the Towers.’
‘Hmm. Why did he do it?’
‘I’m not clairvoyant, Bill.’
‘You know as much as any man,’ snapped Bristow. ‘Who did you get the Kallinovs from?’
Mannering stared.
‘What the devil is in your head now? I haven’t seen them since they were here.’
‘One day,’ said Bristow slowly, ‘you’ll find it advisable to tell the truth – all of it. But if you won’t admit you found the Kallinovs and returned some of them, you can at least tell me why Sharron and Mendleson didn’t get their stones.’
‘Meaning,’ said the Baron, ‘that you’re linking me with the unknown benefactor? It’s a pleasant change, William, but I can’t help you.’
‘Look here,’ said Bristow, ‘Sharron wouldn’t have tried to kill himself unless he knew something – had been a party to it. If you know he had anything to do with the burglary—’
Mannering stopped him.
‘That won’t do! You’ve no reason for connecting Sharron with it, this business might have an entirely different explanation. He’s been worried for a long time: as far as I can see, since he first began to consider working with Mendleson.’
‘Yes.’ Bristow lit a cigarette as though to give himself time to think. ‘You might say from the time he began to lose money on the Stock Exchange – oh, don’t pretend to look surprised. You must have known of that.’
Mannering raised his brows.
‘Now we’re getting somewhere. You knew Sharron was in need of money, and you’ve been keeping him up your sleeve for complicity in the burglary? I gave you credit for thinking up something sounder than that. I still think Sharron’s chief worry has been the company Mendleson is promoting with him.’
‘You do, eh? What do you know about it?’
‘Nothing. I know just enough about Mendleson to distrust anything he touches.’
‘Who warned you?’
‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
Bristow shrugged.
‘I suppose it was Errol. He shouldn’t have talked. For your information, Mannering, we’ve gone into this new company thoroughly, and we can’t find anything wrong with it. It looks as if you’ve burned your fingers by slandering Mendleson, and it might teach you not to meddle. Sharron wasn’t frightened of the company, it must have been—’
‘Be wise,’ interrupted Mannering, ‘and don’t commit yourself.’
‘Listen to me, Mannering.’ Bristow’s voice sharpened and Tring, in the shadows, straightened up in his chair. ‘There have been two murders, and we’re no nearer finding the killer than we were at first. You didn’t come down here because you owed it to Fay Sharron. You know something about Sharron’s attempt to kill himself. You got the jewels – or some of them – from Mervin’s place. Why not admit it?’
‘Mervin? I—oh, you mean the Baron’s last victim? Not being in the Baron’s confid
ence, Bill, I don’t know where he found them. I doubt whether he did, it doesn’t sound Baronial to me.’
Bristow said sternly: ‘Mannering, this is a murder case, you’ve got to tell me what you know.’
‘Gladly, Bill, but I don’t know as much as you do.’
Bristow stood up abruptly. Tanker Tring rose with him. He had, it transpired, been watching for Mannering’s return to Brook Street, but Mannering’s rush to the Towers and the later developments had robbed his anger at the incident in Piccadilly of its edge.
Horroby of the local police, had been at the Towers when Bristow and Mannering had arrived, but he had been summoned to Andover on an urgent case, and was not loath to leave the Beverley affair in the hands of the Yard men.
‘This dead girl,’ said Mannering unexpectedly. ‘You haven’t traced the man who was at the dance with her?’
‘All I know,’ said Bristow, ‘is that Mendleson’s secretary was friendly with her – he was down here for one day, wasn’t he? A man named Rogerson, with a none too savoury past. We are picking him up for questioning, although it might come to nothing.’
Mannering went rigid, fighting against showing his alarm.
If Rogerson was questioned he might break down: if he told the whole story he would implicate Mannering, and the game would be up. A crook’s evidence might not be reliable, but a word in Court, even vaguely, connecting Mannering with the Baron would start rumour and innuendo that would ruin him in London.
With an effort he stretched his arms and yawned. ‘It seems a long shot, Bill. Well, I’m off to bed. I’m tired.’
‘You shouldn’t work so late,’ snapped Bristow.
‘I don’t work at all,’ murmured Mannering. ‘I’m one of the idle rich.’
Mannering put a call through to a friend when he reached his room. He had to send a message to Leverson; Rogerson must be kept under cover for a time at least, but it would be dangerous to contact with Leverson direct by telephone.
He discovered from Lorna, ten minutes later, that there had been a full reconciliation between Fay and her mother. Lady Sharron was as shocked by the development as her daughter, but she steadfastly maintained she could offer no explanation.
