by John Creasey
“Do you need this cabin locked and sealed?” asked the Gibraltarian policeman.
“It wouldn’t do much good. We’ve been over it, and had all necessary photographs taken. Unless there’s anything more you’d like to do here, we can hand it back to the ship.”
“We’ve finished,” the local man said.
When they went outside the narrow passage was crowded with people. At the Purser’s Bureau Hall, Dottie Mills was lurking. She kept making signs to Mannering.
He joined her.
“No,” he said simply.
“Mr. Mannering, you can do the Globe a very great favour.”
“I doubt if I’m in a position to do anyone a favour,” Mannering said.
“Oh yes you are. My editor has recalled me, and I have to fly back. Will you be a special reporter for the Globe for the rest of the trip?”
Mannering actually chuckled.
“No, Dottie, I will not. But if I can give you a story afterwards, I certainly will. Sure the editor won’t stake you as far as Aden?”
“I only wish he would,” said Dottie wistfully. She took his hand between both of hers. “Do your best for us, John, won’t you?”
She went off, like a happy ugly duckling.
Gordon and the local police had gone away, presumably to see the ship’s Captain. Mannering stepped to the grille of the main bureau, and a plump man in snow white uniform looked at him pleasantly.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon. Can I book a passage?” Mannering asked.
“I think we can fix you up, sir, quite a number of passengers disembarked at Gib. Where are you going, sir?”
“Mombasa,” Mannering said thoughtfully. He knew the ports of call, and he knew Mombasa was a major one, where the ship stayed for several days; it was as good a place as any to book for now.
“First class, sir?”
“Yes, please. Cabin 73, preferably.”
The plump man started.
“73, sir? Why, that’s where—”
“Miss Yesling’s cabin, I know.”
“You want that cabin?”
“If it’s available.”
“I’ll have to check with the Purser, sir. We may wish to leave that room empty. Have you brought your luggage?”
“It’s at the Rock Hotel,” Mannering said. “I’ll have to nip back and pack.”
The plump assistant Purser seemed to be more embarrassed than ever.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the only tender—oh! You came with the police party, didn’t you?”
“Yes. They’ll look after me, I’m sure,” Mannering said.
He turned round, to find Gordon at his elbow. Gordon was frowning, and yet his manner was still not really hostile; Mannering had known him much more sour than this with less excuse. Gordon was alone.
“Spare me a minute, Mr. Mannering?”
“Of course.”
Gordon moved to the far side of the hall. Three Indian stewards were gathered in a silent group.
“So you’re going ahead with the ship,” Gordon said.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“You think the mask is still on board.”
“If ever it was on board – yes, I do.”
“So do I,” said Gordon. “And so does Mr. Bristow. We can’t be absolutely certain but there isn’t much doubt that the dead woman got it from Toji. It’s possible that she gave it to someone else, but it isn’t likely they would send her to Gibraltar as a decoy. The incident with the man who attacked you makes it pretty certain that he was involved, recognised you, and was scared out of his wits.”
“It could be,” Mannering agreed.
“As he didn’t have the mask, and it hasn’t been brought ashore as far as we can trace, the East Africa Star is the best bet,” said Gordon. “The Captain has promised to be as helpful as he can, and Lister, his Master-at-Arms, is an ex-Scotland Yard man, but Mr. Bristow thinks you’re more likely to trace the mask than anyone else.”
Mannering murmured: “Nice of him.”
“You know that I’m not a great lover of amateur detectives,” said Gordon. “But I agree with my Chief this time. You’re the man for this job.”
“Ah,” said Mannering. “What about the Captain? Does he know the true situation?”
“I’ve just discussed the situation with Captain Cross,” Gordon said. “There are obvious difficulties for him whichever way we work. If there should be an official search of the ship, it would soon get round. Some passengers would get angry, others would start a lot of gossip, and the man we’re after would be on the alert all the time. You can understand all this, can’t you?”
“Perfectly,” Mannering said. “But the Captain can’t possibly give me the all clear to search. Not if I know ships’ captains!”
“You obviously know ships’ captains,” said Gordon. “No – but you could work on the passengers and single out suspects, then co-operate with the Captain and the Master-at-Arms.”
“I see,” said Mannering.
“You don’t seem too enthusiastic.”
“If ever there was a case for working on my own without having to call on authority, this is it,” said Mannering.
“If you started visiting cabins and searching them they’d probably have you in irons within a couple of days,” said Gordon. “I’m sure this is the best way. Will you go ahead?”
“Yes,” said Mannering. “How much is known, Gordon?”
“Nothing for certain,” said Gordon. “We’ve been in touch with the police in Bangkok and in Sumi. There’s a possibility that the theft has a political motive – as you know. And it’s quite as likely that it’s just the loot the thieves are after. There’s one rumour we can’t confirm.”
“What is it?”
“That the secret of the hiding place of the rest of the jewels can be found in the mask,” answered Gordon. “But it’s only a rumour.”
“It could explain why a life or so doesn’t stand in anyone’s way,” Mannering said. “Gordon.”
“Yes, Mr. Mannering.”
“Do you think Melody Yesling killed herself?”
“It would be quite a coincidence if she had,” Gordon said. “You know the dangers all right. They’ve killed twice.”
“I know the dangers.” As Mannering spoke, he thought of Lorna, and he realised just how great those dangers were. He recalled those moments of panic on the hillside, but the killer of Nikko Toji and Melody Yesling had worked with stealth. The killer might be on board; almost certainly someone on the ship had the Mask of Sumi, and would kill to get it for its intrinsic value, its political significance, or because it could lead to the rest of the jewels.
“There’s one other thing,” Gordon said.
“Have you any idea whom I might be looking for?” Mannering asked.
“No, nothing like that,” said Gordon. “If we learn anything from the Yard, through Harding for instance, I’ll see you’re told by cable or radio-telephone. I’m going to be much more prosaic, I fear. Mr. Bristow feels that if you are able to help it would be as an official consultant, and your expenses would be paid. I hope that’s acceptable, Mr. Mannering.”
Mannering stared, and then burst into a chuckle.
“Sorry,” he said a moment later. “The Daily Globe made me a similar offer. Expenses would be very welcome!”
“Within reason,” Gordon put in quickly.
“Most certainly within reason,” Mannering assured him.
He kept chuckling to himself on the way to the quay in a police launch which cut cleanly through the pale blue water. The side of the great rock seemed to carve a chunk out of the sky; a wisp of cloud lay across its top. They tied up, and nearby an aeroplane screamed as its engines warmed up.
&nbs
p; “Mr. Mannering,” said the Gibraltarian policeman, “I’d be happy to have one of my men show you round the island. It’s a pity to get so near the Cave without going inside, and there’s a lot you ought to see.”
“I only wish I had time,” said Mannering truthfully. “But as soon as I’ve packed my things I’ll have to catch the tender. It goes at six-forty-five, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. And Captain Cross will be off the moment he can, he never loses a minute,” the policeman said. “Any time you find yourself in Gibraltar, Mr. Mannering, don’t hesitate to let me know. My name is Davis.”
“I’m very grateful, Mr. Davis,” Mannering said.
He was even more grateful when Davis put a staff car at his disposal to take him to the Rock Hotel. He had less than an hour to pack, pay his bill and be off, and fit in a telephone call to Lorna. She could not be surprised at what he had decided, but she would be very anxious, especially if the Press played up the stone-throwing incident.
His left wrist, stiff and sore, did not help him to hurry.
He put in a call to Lorna, noted a few things he must ask her to arrange with Larraby at Quinns. Naturally an orderly man with a precise mind, he packed quickly and well. But he had very little to wear for a long voyage, and if he had to go through as far as Mombasa, he would need tropical clothes. He knew what the heat of the Red Sea was like. Was there a chance of a little shopping in Gib?
There was a tap at his door. He called out, “Come in,” and stepped to one side, wary in case of danger; now that his mind was alert to the possibility of attack he would be on the qui vive all the time.
The door opened, and Nikko Toji’s daughter stepped in.
Pearl was small, and quite, quite lovely.
When she had first come to the Chelsea flat, Mannering had seen at once how Lorna had been impressed, and then they had been expecting her. Now, completely unexpected, wearing a slim-fitting dress of lemon-coloured linen, and a small hat to match, she came in like a wraith.
Mannering judged from her expression that she wasn’t quite sure what kind of welcome she would get. She stared straight at him with a directness which was at once naïve and yet filled with the wisdom of the ages. Her skin, olive-coloured but not really dark, was without blemish; her eyes were honey-coloured. Her heart-shaped face had something of the child’s about it, and her dark hair had a sheen as glossy as a raven’s wing.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “May I come in?”
“My dear Pearl!” exclaimed Mannering.
“I expect you are angry because I am here.”
“I’m not angry but I’m certainly startled,” Mannering said, and made himself ask: “Why did you come?”
“I had to see you.”
“Has anything new happened?”
“No,” said Pearl. She spoke with bell-like clarity, choosing her words with care; the American accent was less noticeable than on the telephone. She took a step forward, hands stretched out. “Have you found the mask?”
“No,” Mannering said gently.
“Was not the woman here?”
Mannering said: “She was here.”
“Then she did not have the mask?” Consternation rang in Pearl Toji’s voice.
“Not when she was found.”
“Mr. Mannering.” Pearl was now so close that her hands almost touched his. “What is wrong?”
“She died,” Mannering said.
“She was killed?”
“The police say she killed herself.”
Excitement blazed up in the girl’s eyes.
“With poison, like my father? Is that what happened?”
“Exactly the same way, yes.”
“They can’t believe that two people would kill themselves in such a way!”
“They’re not as sure as they were,” Mannering told her. “It’s too much of a coincidence even for the police to accept.”
After a pause, Nikko Toji’s daughter said: “So she was killed, but you did not find the mask. Is it now on Gibraltar?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then—where?”
“On board the ship.”
“Still there?” Doubt and dismay clouded Pearl’s eyes.
“I think so.”
“Then how can it be found? The ship’s Captain, is he going to look for it?”
Mannering smiled. “No. I am.”
Pearl caught her breath.
“You are to sail on the ship?”
“Yes.”
“To look for the mask. Is that your only reason?”
“Yes,” Mannering said. “I think it’s the one way to—”
The telephone bell rang; it was probably his call to Lorna. He turned towards it, glad to have a moment’s respite, and picked it up. “I think this is my wife.” Voices came and went, and then Lorna’s came – explosively.
“John!”
“Yes, I know,” Mannering said. “She’s here.”
“Is she with you?”
“She arrived ten minutes ago,” Mannering said.
“I didn’t realise she’d gone when I telephoned before,” Lorna told him. “I thought she was resting in the spare room.” There was a pause; then she asked with a kind of stubborn hopefulness: “Is it over, John?”
“No,” Mannering said. “I only wish it were. I’m going on with the East Africa Star, my darling. There’s a good chance that we’ll find the mask on board.”
“I had a feeling that might happen,” Lorna said resignedly. “Be very careful.”
That was all. No hint of reproach, nothing but ‘be very careful’. Yet Mannering needed no telling how afraid for him she was. Tomorrow, when she read in the papers exactly what had happened here, her fears would increase as they had so often before, but she would not write or do or say anything to add to his difficulties or his anxieties. He was a thousand miles and more away from her yet he had never felt so close.
“I’ll be careful,” Mannering said. “Sweet, make a few notes for Josh Larraby will you?”
“Yes.”
Mannering dictated some routine notes, and then went on: “Ask him to find out all he can about James Harding, the Chelsea dealer—” Mannering explained why. “And tell him to cable me in the Antiquarians’ code – they’re not likely to have a copy of that on board the East Africa Star. I’ll telephone from the ship if there’s any need, but I won’t make it routine.”
“All right,” Lorna said. “What about Pearl?”
“She’ll fly back later today,” Mannering said. “Try to persuade her to stay with you until—”
He broke off, for Pearl Toji thrust a slip of paper in front of him. It read: “Please tell your wife not to worry about me. I also shall be on the East Africa Star.”
Chapter Eight
ON BOARD
Mannering sat in the tender with Pearl by his side, aware of the countless covert glances from the passengers going back after a few hours on the Rock. Sun-browned and sun-reddened faces and knees, short-sleeved shirts and dresses, shorts and T-shirts, made a kind of homogeneous mass. Except for a child clinging to its mother’s knees and whining, everyone seemed happy. A boy of five or six suddenly started to climb on to the tender’s rail. His mother shrieked: “Nigel! You’ll fall!”
A man grabbed the boy.
Someone said: “Doesn’t she look beautiful.”
Two men glanced at Pearl. “Oh, she’s a fine ship,” another man put in.
Mannering, his leg against Pearl’s, glanced down at her and saw how intently she was staring across the still water towards the East Africa Star. Two or three people moved into position for a photograph. Mannering had not taken much notice of the ship until now, but as they neared it and it seemed to grow bigger, he felt a stirring
of interest – even of pride – in her clean white lines, vivid as the late afternoon sun shone on her. A few people lined the ship’s rails, a few moved about. Cameras clicked. A burst of laughter came from a group of teenagers in the bows.
Mannering leaned his head close to Pearl.
“What do you think of your fellow passengers?”
She looked up at him with a slow, thoughtful smile.
“Most people are good,” she said simply.
“There’s at least one very bad one on board if we’re right.”
“That is what my father always told me,” said Pearl. “You look at fruit and there is one bad and you see it and throw it out. It is the same with fish, even the same with pearls. But with people you cannot tell.”
“You can tell some people,” Mannering declared.
“Yes, some perhaps. But among all these – can you say who is good and who is bad?”
“Not many people would think you were bad.”
She smiled more freely. “How easily I could deceive them.”
She looked away towards the ship. They were passing the bows and the ship itself was head-on to the Rock of Gibraltar which rose so dark and massive against a sky now clear of cloud.
The tender pulled alongside and the crowd surged towards the gangway. A few held back. A young man with sandy-coloured hair and a pleasant face came towards them.
“I haven’t seen you on board, have I?”
“We’re just coming on,” Mannering said.
“Oh, good! We can do with a bit of brightening up.” The young man’s eyes were on Pearl with deep admiration. “My name is Joslyn – Raymond Joslyn.”
“I’m John Mannering.”
“Glad to know you, Mr. Mannering.”
“May I introduce you to Miss Pearl Toji?”
“Very glad to know you!” Joslyn showed good teeth in an easy smile. “If you need anyone to show you round, just say the word.”
He turned away. A little dark man with a dozen garishly-coloured silk scarves over his arm was selling one to an elderly woman in black, otherwise the tender was almost empty. They went towards the gangway, which was quite steep as it led up from the tender to a doorway in the ship’s hull.
