by John Creasey
“Do you know who they are?”
“No. How the hell could I? I didn’t dream anyone knew I’d taken them or had any idea what I’d given to Alicia. I tell you I can’t imagine how they found out. But they robbed her and no one knows what they’ve done with her. That’s the hell of it. Mannering, I must rescue her. I’ll give myself up, tell the police everything, if it will help to find her.”
“A very worthy sentiment. She ought to be proud of you.”
Nigel flushed. “I didn’t think there was any danger for her, I tell you. If I had I’d never have gone to her place with the jewellery. I was going to bring them to you, but couldn’t get hold of you yesterday afternoon. Then I got the wind up. So I dumped them on Alicia and was going to get them back when I called you. I—”
“Why did you go away, when you first called? Where did you call from?”
“My flat in Liddell Street. I didn’t want you to know where I was. I thought someone was at the door. I heard footsteps. When I went to look, there was no one there; but someone was downstairs, I could hear them moving about. I went out to see who it was, but I couldn’t find anyone. Then I called you again. I knew I was being followed. So I asked you to go to Alicia’s place. If only you’d gone—”
Mannering said: “If only people would eat, drink and breathe for you, you’d have a happy life, wouldn’t you?”
Nigel bit his lips.
“Well, it’s happened,” he muttered. “Can you find Alicia?”
“If I don’t, the police will.”
“All right, all right,” said Nigel. “I once thought I might be able to find her without the police knowing. I suppose it’s hopeless. Do you know why they took her?”
“They probably discovered that the diamonds were fakes and thought they’d get the real ones if they blackmailed you by threatening her.”
Nigel swallowed the bait whole.
“So you figured that out too. Someone brought a message—”
“Who was the someone?”
“I don’t know; it was dropped through the letter-box. It said that the diamonds were paste and I’d better get my hands on the real ones if I didn’t want more trouble. That was a threat against Alicia, I suppose. Mannering”—for the first time he met Mannering’s eyes frankly and with courage—“I don’t care what happens to me, provided Alicia’s safe. If you think it will help her I will go to the police at once. You can take me to them.”
“It won’t help Alicia,” said Mannering, “because she’s quite safe now.”
Nigel cried: “What?” He jumped up from his chair and stretched his hands out; his eyes blazed. “You’re lying to me! You must be, it says in the paper—”
“She’s quite safe. Do you want to see her?”
“Do I want to see her?” Nigel could hardly speak. He leapt up eagerly, buoyantly. “Where is she? Can we go at once?”
“Soon, I want you to answer a few questions first. Did you tell her or anyone else that you were in trouble over money?”
“Well, I told her a little; she could see that I was worried about something.”
“Did you tell her of the easy way out you’d discovered?”
“Good Lord, no!”
“Did you tell your stepmother the exact position?”
“It would have been like talking to a brick wall. I suppose Allingham was here about the same business. I—” he broke off. “Look here, why did you throw Allingham out?”
“I threw him out because I didn’t like the way he behaved in my office,” said Mannering. “Do you know him well?”
“Too well. My father trusts him – but he won’t after this.”
“What does Allingham do for your father?”
“He’s a kind of general business manager, looks after the Grange and the estate, all his business and investments. Allingham’s no fool. Nor is she.” He spoke bitterly, and suddenly reached for the door and opened it. “Forget it. I want to see Alicia!”
He had to be steadied up the stairs at the Chelsea house. Mannering whistled twice as he went up the top flight; if Lorna were in she would come and open the door. She didn’t. Nigel leaned against the wall, his hands clenching and unclenching, as Mannering inserted the key and opened the door.
No one moved inside the flat.
The kitchen door was closed; the only door open was his study, and that was usually locked unless in use. Nigel rushed past, but his knees bent; Mannering had to grab him.
Mannering said sharply: “Lorna!” There was no answer.
Mannering pushed Nigel into a chair and strode towards the study filled with unreasoning fear. The first glimpse increased those fears; the room had been ransacked. Pictures were out of place, drawers stood open, papers were strewn on the floor.
Mannering swung round and rushed towards the bedroom. Nigel called thickly: “What the hell …”
Mannering flung the bedroom door open.
Nigel staggered to his feet and stumbled towards him.
“What—”
Mannering didn’t speak.
Lorna lay on the bed, her hands and feet tied, a gag in her mouth. Her eyes were open and she looked towards him. The other bed, where Alicia should have been, was empty.
Chapter Twelve
Humble Pie
Lorna lay back in an easy chair, while Mannering rubbed her wrists, ridged by the tight cords. Her lips looked stiff and frozen. Nigel sat on the bed, staring at her, the glow gone from his eyes. He hadn’t said a word since Mannering had told him that Alicia had been taken away.
Mannering said: “Easier?”
Lorna nodded.
Mannering held a glass of water to her lips from which she drank in painful, uneasy gulps.
Nigel muttered: “Oh, hell, hell!” They ignored him.
“Is Ethel here?”
Lorna shook her head, and then muttered: “No. I sent her out.”
“How many men – two?”
Lorna nodded.
“How long ago?”
“Nearly—an hour.” Lorna’s voice was hoarse; it hurt her lips to speak.
“Alicia?”
“They—they drugged her.”
“Drugged!” shouted Nigel. He jumped up and came swaying across the room. “They might have killed her; they might do anything to her!”
“If they’d wanted to kill her they’d have done that here,” said Mannering. “Go into the kitchen – it’s the third door on the right – and get yourself something to eat.”
“Eat! How can I eat?”
“Go and try.”
Nigel stumbled out blindly, and Lorna waited until he had gone. “I opened the door and they overpowered us. She was with me, and they hit her first. I came round and saw them giving her the injection.”
“Big, medium or small men?”
“Medium,” said Lorna. “There wasn’t much time to notice anything. They had hats pulled down over their foreheads and handkerchiefs across the lower part of their faces. If I’d dreamt who they were I might have stopped it, but—”
“Blaming yourself is not a good idea. I’m ready to kick myself.” His heart was hammering; fear for her had sickened him, and the fear was only easing now. Risks for himself were one thing, risks for Lorna another. “I was being so clever, too! That’s the boy friend, Nigel.”
“I didn’t think it was her father,” said Lorna, her eyes suddenly sparkling as of old. “Where did you find him?”
“He found me. It’s a long story, but it can wait. I have a date with a policeman named Bristow.”
“I hope it annihilates you,” said Lorna feelingly. “How much are you going to tell him?”
“About the kidnapping, and counter-kidnapping, of Alicia Hill.” He rubbed the back of his head. “How much I tell him of Thelma Courtney and the other job depends on his attitude.”
“So it’s Thelma already,” said Lorna drily. “By tomorrow evening you’ll be telling me that she’s a much misunderstood woman.”
“You and Ni
gel must have an affinity. I wonder what he’s up to.” Mannering went to the kitchen.
Nigel sat, slumped, at the enamel-topped table, biscuits and cheese in front of him. He seemed doped with fatigue – too weary, now that the shock was over, even to think about Alicia. He looked utterly dejected.
“Come and rest.” Mannering helped him up and led him into the bedroom. Lorna didn’t speak as Nigel dropped on to the bed nearest the door, and closed his eyes. She stood staring down at him for fully a minute, while Mannering watched.
“Well?”
“He could be made into a man,” said Lorna. “Darling, I know you don’t regard this as your greatest triumph, but you might show a little more feeling.”
“About whom?”
“The girl.”
Mannering said: “How will it help to get worked up about Alicia? Finding her’s the thing, and I don’t propose to chance trying that on my own. Too many of my ideas turn out to be buzzing bees.” He led the way to the study.
“I haven’t looked to see if they discovered the hiding-place in the settle. Look for me, will you?”
As Mannering dialled WHI 1212, Lorna raised the seat of the settle and felt along the edge. The spring worked, the secret panel slid open. The dialling sound was loud in Mannering’s ears as he stared at Lorna. There had been a fortune in gems in that hiding-place.
She said: “It’s all right.”
“Scotland Yard. Can I help you?” asked the operator.
“Give me Mr. Bristow, please,” said Mannering, and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Fine! I wonder why they searched. For jewels, or—”
“What else would they want?”
“Any indication that I know much about the Courtneys. It’s a queer business. I—hallo, Bill.” He paused. “Polish up the handcuffs. I’m coming to see you and to make a confession. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.” He hung up. “That’ll wipe the smile off Bill’s face. Get yourself a gun, sweet, shoot first and ask questions afterwards if more masked men arrive. Not that I expect anyone eager enough to kidnap Nigel. No one appears to want him.”
“Except Alicia.”
“Well, we’re going to find her, aren’t we?” asked Mannering. He went across and kissed Lorna lightly on the forehead. She did not tell him to be careful, but it was in her attitude. He went out whistling under his breath, though he could see nothing to be cheerful about. He was still whistling when he reached the street and looked both ways; he saw nothing of interest. He walked to his garage. The door was unlocked and the Talbot still there. He climbed in and backed out of the garage, left it open and turned towards the Embankment. As he did so, a small black car which had been parked at the corner moved after him. He noticed but thought little about it at first. He drove fast along the Embankment, and the little car, modern and streamlined, moved almost as swiftly.
He swung left; the little car swung left.
He drove along the rabbit warren of streets off the Embankment and eventually reached Victoria Street. The little car was only a dozen yards behind him.
As he slowed down before entering Scotland Yard the other car stopped. He turned and glanced at the driver. It was a woman, undoubtedly young, dark-haired and sharp-featured, but in her way not unattractive. She showed no sign of interest in him.
A policeman saluted on the steps of the Yard. Five minutes later he was talking to Bristow.
Bristow picked up the telephone and, after a pause, said: “Gordon, about the Alicia Hill girl. She was at Mannering’s Chelsea place until four forty-five or so this afternoon. Two men attacked Mrs. Mannering and took the girl away. They were men of medium height, each wore a trilby hat, and presumably they had a car. Get a move on.”
He replaced the receiver. His eyes weren’t friendly.
“You’re about the biggest fool in creation. I ought to put you inside.”
“Yes, Bill,” murmured Mannering.
“I can understand you doing it – just. But why the devil did you keep silent when I came this morning? We could have had that girl safe. If anything goes wrong with her now, it’ll be your fault.”
“Yes, Bill.”
“It’s not funny, damn you!” Bristow thumped his desk. “You’ve never been anything but a ruddy nuisance to me – to everyone at the Yard. I wish to heaven we’d put you inside in the Baron days; you’d have learnt some sense in jail. Now you’re in a jam and even if I wanted to help you I couldn’t. And you have to do this when I want your help.”
“That seems to be one bright spot,” said Mannering.
“Well, it isn’t! Maybe you can pick up odds and ends from the crooks that we can’t get, and maybe you can find out what’s happening about the Carla pearls, but this … listen! If it were possible for me to sit on this story and that girl was injured or killed, it would have to come out. That would put me on the spot, too.”
“We can’t have that,” murmured Mannering.
“What the blazes do you expect me to do?”
Mannering said mildly: “You could confide in the Assistant Commissioner. He might be inclined to turn a blind eye. After all, I didn’t kidnap the girl with malice aforethought or with intention to do her harm; I thought it was a kindly deed. Withholding the fact from you – well, good intentions have gone wrong before. It’s no crime as such—”
“Only a benighted idiot would have done it.”
“I confess I am a benighted idiot.”
“I’m glad to hear you admit it,” growled Bristow. “What else do you know?”
“Not much. There is undoubtedly funny stuff going on about the Carla pearls. Oh – and Alicia Hill’s boy friend, you’ve heard about him—”
Bristow snapped: “Yes? Know him?”
“Yes. He’s at my flat now. Fast asleep. I think you’ll make a mistake if you wake him. If you want to find out the truth about the Carla collection and the whole racket I think you ought to forget to question Nigel Courtney for the time being, as you ought to overlook my little misdemeanour. Nigel is—”
“The Carla Courtney’s son?” Bristow was abrupt.
“Yes.”
Bristow said: “Well, you certainly get into the thick of it. What else?”
“Odds and ends. With luck I’ll have a few more when I’m friendlier with Thelma Courtney. She is showing all the signs of being eager to make friends. What can you tell me about a certain Gerald Allingham?”
“Nothing,” grunted Bristow. But that wasn’t true; his manner gave him away – he knew something about Allingham. “You haven’t told me everything yet, and you’re sitting on dynamite. Any doubt that the Alicia Hill’s boy friend is Nigel Courtney?”
“None at all.”
Bristow said: “It’s the devil.” He lifted the telephone and, in a voice grown suddenly suave, asked to be connected with the Assistant Commissioner. Then: “It’s Bristow here, sir. Can you spare me five minutes? … At once, if possible … It’s that idiot Mannering.”
Mannering kept a poker face.
“Yes, I’ll come straight along,” said Bristow, and put down the receiver. “If you move out of that chair I’ll put you on a charge,” he growled to Mannering, and went out of the office.
The past could come out and hit in so many different ways.
It had hit, through Lorna; again, through Allingham. It was hitting now. It would be the third conspirator as Bristow and Colonel Anderson-Kerr discussed him. The two men might reject its influence, but it would be there.
Had he not told Bristow, and Alicia had been rescued and talked …
He would have become deeply involved; a suspect who could not be ignored. He would have been detained, questioned, held. And Allingham, who hated him and whom he’d angered, would have been free. To talk?
The past was like a suffocating gas.
He waited for ten minutes; fifteen; twenty. He smoked two cigarettes. Then he heard Bristow, who pushed open the door, came and sat down, all without a word. He lit a cigarette, then pushed the yell
ow packet across the desk to Mannering.
“If you slip up again, this job will be used as evidence against you,” he said.
They’d rejected the past …
“Thanks, Bill,” said Mannering; and meant it.
“Don’t jump too fast. What do you know of the Courtneys and Allingham?”
“There’s no love lost between Thelma and her stepson. He’s a young fool and heavily in debt. Alicia was attacked because he left some valuables with her – family stuff. A man can’t be charged with stealing his own family heirlooms, can he?”
Bristow said slowly: “So that’s it. No, he can’t.”
“Nigel Courtney can claim ownership of some of the gems. Only his father can decide. Nigel borrowed them, to use a euphemism, and left them in Alicia’s charge. They didn’t stay there long. His stepmother wanted me to find out the truth. Allingham – well, I don’t know much about him. I would trust him about as far as I would trust a hungry tramp with a steak pie. He wants me to work with him. I don’t yet know what I’m to do.”
“I’ve never found a way of making you tell me everything at the proper time,” Bristow said. “Don’t play the fool again, or you’ll really be in trouble. Any news of the Carla collection?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep at it,” said Bristow.
“Yes, Bill,” said Mannering meekly. “You might do a little thing for me, about that. Richard Courtney is supposed to be on board the Queen Elizabeth, a day out from New York. Will you check and make sure he’s aboard?”
“Yes,” said Bristow, and made a note on a pad in front of him. “Anything else?”
“Trifles. Let me know if you find Alicia, won’t you? And watch young Courtney. I think he’ll be approached again. The obvious way for bad men to work would be by blackmailing him. They’ve managed it, up to a point; they might manage to get him involved much further. And, above all, Bill, keep it up.”
“Keep what up?”
“Your patience. You’ll need it. We’re in deep waters.”
“You’re nearly sunk,” Bristow growled.
But as Mannering went out, the detective was smiling; and the only thing likely to make Bristow smile just then was satisfaction. About what? Because Mannering had laid himself open to attack in the form of charge and arrest? Was Bristow rejoicing in the prospect of a little judicious ‘white-mail’?
