by John Creasey
Mannering said: “I was not at the Grange.”
It was like trying to push a car over with a feather pillow. Bristow didn’t believe him. It was easy to think that Bristow wanted to, but, with the best will in the world, he couldn’t.
And he’d taken Lorna.
“You’d better get your clothes on and come along with me,” said Bristow. “I haven’t much time.”
Mannering said: “Warrant?”
“I haven’t one yet. I can get one in twenty minutes. Why make a fuss?”
“No fuss. I’m staying right here.” Mannering got up and opened the door, peered out, closed it again and turned the key in the lock. It would take a miracle to fend Bristow off; he had to work one. He said: “I take it that you’re being straight, Bill. There was a robbery and Allingham was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve a fool notion that I was there. All right – here’s the proof that I wasn’t.” Mannering lowered his voice, glanced again towards the door, as if even now he was afraid of being overheard. “I was at Langton Square.”
“Where?”
“At Langton Square. The London home of the Courtneys.”
Bristow said heavily: “Oh, you were, were you?”
Probably he’s already been to see Thelma Courtney, for she would be the first to be told of the robbery. The lie was futile. Once they started questioning Lorna …
“So you were with Mrs. Courtney,” Bristow said. “You’d like me to believe it. You’d like me to believe that you’d do that to Lorna. It isn’t true.”
Mannering gave a world-weary shrug. “It’s true enough.”
“I’ve just come from her. She—”
“Oh, grow up!” snapped Mannering. “Would you expect her to admit that I spent the night with her? We were alone at the flat. Her maid was killed – remember, I told you about that last night. Lorna is never surprised when I’m out on a job; there was no reason for her to suspect the truth.”
Bristow said: “Oh no. Not you.”
“What’s got into you? Am I a saint?”
“No, you’re not a saint. But—”
Mannering said: “The time will probably come when I’ll regret last night. I don’t know. I do know that woman has driven me crazy, and I’ve known her—how long?” He gave a harsh, low-pitched laugh. “Forty-eight hours! There’s something about her I can’t escape. Call me mad. Say anything you like, but—damn it, you’ve seen her. Have you seen anything more perfect?”
Bristow said slowly: “No. No. But—”
“Go and see her again. Find out from her where I was.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t really believe it, but was no longer quite sure that it was a lie. He said sardonically: “And the moment I’ve gone, you’ll call her and fix it.”
Mannering said: “So Thelma Courtney will do what I say, will she? With her husband coming home in a couple of days? I’m not a love-sick boy you know, my intelligence is still clear enough to see that she’ll do anything to get what she wants out of me or anyone else. She’s as selfish as they’re made – and I mean selfish. I haven’t been fooled by the beauty, but there’s something I can’t resist, something, damn it—let’s leave it at that! Take me there with you. Leave me in the car outside. But make her admit it, Bill; it’ll be the simple truth.”
Bristow said: “I wonder.”
He smoothed his moustache. He was more man now than policeman – and he was confused and perplexed.
Mannering said: “I’ll go and dress.”
“Not yet!” Bristow stepped between him and the door. “Maybe you’re right and I ought to try her, but you’re not going to have a chance to speak to your wife alone. I’ll send the maid in for your clothes.”
“You could let me send her; she mightn’t think it so odd.”
“All right.”
Mannering went to the door. He had to get word to Lorna. He called Ethel, and she came hurrying.
“Get my clothes – everything – from my room. Don’t disturb Mrs. Mannering.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mannering saw the morning papers on the hall table. He went across to get them, but that was simply to gain a moment to think.
Allingham was dead – strangled.
By whom?
He opened the Daily Record – and saw his own photograph. It was below a half page headline:
MURDER CHASE IN WEST END RECORD REPORTER’S EYE-WITNESS ACCOUNT by Rachel Smart.
He had thought that nothing could jolt him out of the immediate danger; this did. He saw the sharp-faced woman in his mind’s eye – of course, this explained her.
She had been assigned to the job of watching him. The Record had heard a rumour, and—the front door bell rang.
He was near it. Bristow appeared in the study doorway. Mannering opened the door, and the sharp-faced newspaper woman stood there.
She smiled in the same quick yet grave way that he had noticed the night before; and her gaze fell to the paper in his hand.
“I hope you like it,” she said.
Mannering laughed. “Come in and meet a real policeman.” Bristow obviously recognised the reporter. “I haven’t read it yet, but if you can write as well as you can drive, you ought to be good. Bill, here’s someone to entertain you while I’m dressing.”
“I know Miss Smart,” said Bristow heavily.
“Oh, we’re old friends,” said Rachel Smart. She looked keenly from one man to the other – and then at Ethel who came out of the bedroom with Mannering’s clothes over her arm.
“Thanks,” said Mannering. “There’s a cup of tea in there, if you feel thirsty. You can have your story afterwards.”
“What story?”
Mannering laughed. “Ask Bristow.”
He went into the drawing-room, crossed quickly to a writing-desk and scrawled on a slip of paper: Tell my wife to call Mrs. C. at once. She must say I spent the night with her at L. Place. He screwed the paper up into a ball, and began to take off his pyjama jacket.
Bristow came in.
“Why, isn’t she a nice girl?” asked Mannering.
“I’m going to keep my eye on you,” said Bristow. “This is a waste of time, and you ought to know it. You were at the Grange last night.”
“Why not wait and see? If you’ll exert your wits to questioning Thelma Courtney, you’ll get what you want. Or what I want. Not that I care all that much,” Mannering said abruptly. “I wasn’t at the Grange; ultimately you’ll have to prove that I was. But I’d rather not spend a few days on remand at Brixton – and certainly I’d rather avoid a trial and all the muck-raking. From the look in your eye you mean to get me in the dock this time.”
“That’s right,” said Bristow.
Mannering pulled on his trousers, and he slipped the message into a pocket. In ten minutes he was ready.
Rachel Smart was waiting in the hall.
“If you really want a fresh line on this, see Nigel Courtney,” Mannering said. “Tell him I sent you. And whatever you learn from him is off the record for the time being. That’s all I can say just now; Bristow’s in a hurry.”
“What is all this?” she asked.
“Police thoroughness,” said Mannering, taking his hand from his trousers pocket. “Goodbye.” He shook hands.
She took the paper without letting Bristow know that anything had passed between them.
“My wife isn’t likely to want to talk, and if you’re wise you’ll let her sleep. Thanks for the buggy ride.”
He opened the door.
Bristow said: “Come on.” They went out together, and the door slammed.
A detective sergeant sat next to the driving seat of Bristow’s car.
“Mrs. Courtney’s house,” Bristow said. They reached Langton Square in twenty minutes. Bristow went quickly into the house.
He came out, frowning, but it wasn’t the same heavy frown of bewildered anxiety which he had shown before. He opened the door and said: “You pass my understandi
ng!”
“Now what have I done?” Mannering had to force himself to keep a poker face.
Bristow said: “Well, it’s no affair of mine, what you do with your private life.”
Mannering could feel the pressure of his nails on his palms.
“Nice of you to say so. Want me any more?”
“No.”
Mannering climbed out; Bristow stood with a hand on the car door.
“No,” he repeated. “She’s prepared to swear you spent the night here, and I can’t prove you didn’t. That lets you out. But I still think you know plenty about the Grange job. It was murder. Watch yourself.”
“Thanks,” said Mannering.
He stood motionless as the car moved off. He had an odd feeling that for the first time since they had known each other Bristow was contemptuous. He waited until the car disappeared. It was all wrong; he should be feeling a wild sense of exhilaration. Lorna hadn’t lost a moment; Thelma had played ball. There were snags; Rachel Smart knew more than it was safe for her to know, but he was over the worst fence.
He turned towards the house.
Thelma Courtney opened the door for him.
Chapter Eighteen
Breakfast for Two
She said: “Have you had breakfast?”
“Bristow didn’t think of giving me time.”
She led the way through the flat to the kitchen. A kettle was singing. Toast stood up above a toaster, waiting to be taken out. Water was boiling in a small saucepan.
“Hard boiled, or soft?”
“Soft,” murmured Mannering.
She lowered the eggs carefully, taking care that they remained uncracked.
“So you went to the Grange yourself. I hope you didn’t kill Allingham.”
“Your guess is as bad as Bristow’s.”
“Is it? I’m not grieving for Gerald. What you think was between us, wasn’t. It was by way of being a test, to find out if he could really be trusted.”
“You could have let me in on your doubts.”
She laughed.
She wore a wine-red housecoat, flowing to the floor. Complete lack of make-up gave freshness to her beauty.
“His reputation was excellent. My husband trusted him more than any other man. I wasn’t sure. I tried two ways of finding out. Personal conquest, and … you.”
“Let me know more about it.”
“There isn’t much. I’d heard these rumours about the pearls. I couldn’t believe that anyone but Nigel or Allingham was behind them. I had to find out which. If the pearls were for sale, they had been stolen. Did you find them at the Grange?”
That was so smooth; so clever.
“I wasn’t at the Grange.”
Thelma Courtney looked at a small kitchen clock.
“Three minutes. I suppose I can’t expect you to admit it. The police say that the pearls are not at the house. Surely I couldn’t have made a mistake as fantastic as that.”
“As what?”
“Trusting you without good reason. Believing you’re not a murderer.”
Mannering said: “You take after Bristow.”
“I’m in a slightly different category,” she said. “You wouldn’t have sent that message to me unless you were really in trouble. I gave you your alibi, but I could easily change my mind. I had a feeling all along that the superintendent didn’t want to believe me; it would be easy to convince him that I was lying. Were the pearls there last night?”
Mannering said: “You know, they tried to blackmail Nigel, too. I don’t react well to blackmail. You asked me to do a job for you – I’ll do it. You’ll get all the results you want, if you play the game my way. But if you won’t, I’ll resign. I might get into an unpleasant spot because of it, but that’s all. Bristow had to be convinced that I was in London last night, and I couldn’t think of a more plausible way of doing it.”
“I see,” she said. She slid the eggs into the egg-cups. “Take them into the dining-room, will you; I’ll make the tea.”
The table was already laid for one. Mannering found more plates and cutlery and set them out.
“You’re quite domesticated,” she said, putting the tea-tray down. “I hope the eggs are as you like them. Toast?”
“Thanks.” He took the top off an egg neatly. “Just right. Now, where we go from here is up to you.”
“We have breakfast.”
“We talk, too. What did Bristow tell you? When did you learn about what had happened at the Grange?”
She told him briefly. Bristow had telephoned to her just after eight o’clock and had arrived at half-past eight. He had asked her where she had been during the night, then asked what she could tell him about Allingham and the staff at the Grange. He’d not mentioned Mannering. She had arranged to go down to the Grange during the morning – Bristow was going, too, and wanted her to travel with him. From that she had judged he was anxious that she shouldn’t get to the house before him.
“That’s probably true,” said Mannering.
“You mean Bristow thinks that I—”
“That you might have good reason for wanting to get hold of the Carla collection before your husband returns. You can never tell what remarkable ideas policemen will get hold of, can you?”
“You should know; they get strange ideas about you.”
“It encourages them.” Mannering buttered some toast. “And what happened on his second call?”
Thelma laughed. “He beat about the bush for ten minutes and then asked me point blank if you had been here. I denied it indignantly, and it took him five minutes to extract a ‘confession’ – and for me to tell him what I thought of busybody detectives.” She laughed again. “He dislikes me as much as you did when we first met. Why should he suspect that you were at the Grange?”
“Because he knows that I’m working for you, and has those naïve suspicions of your honesty.”
“And what else?”
Mannering considered. “I don’t know. Possibly Allingham whispered poison in his ear. I forgot to tell you earlier that Allingham had me shanghaied yesterday morning and taken to the Grange. He was so convinced that I’m a rogue and could prove it that he took it for granted I would do what he wanted. As a business proposition. I’ve known worse. I was to sell the Carla pearls, on a commission.”
Thelma’s face went hard.
“So he was going to get them.”
“He said he had instructions to sell.”
“From whom?”
“Their legal owner.”
She said sharply: “That’s nonsense! My husband wouldn’t arrange for them to be sold. He—”
“Allingham seemed quite sure of himself. On the other hand, if it were to have been a legal transaction, why should he shanghai me? Obviously it was to be a secret deal. Either Allingham was going to break into those vaults and steal the collection, having lied to me about the legality of the business; or he was acting on secret information from your husband.”
She sat quite still.
Mannering said easily: “And now we come to the really interesting factor, don’t we? When you heard that the Carlas were coming on the market you just had to find out. Did you really think it was because they were stolen? Or did you suspect that for some mysterious reason your husband wanted to sell without letting you know his intention? I’d call that the crux of the matter. Wouldn’t you?”
Thelma Courtney said quietly, “Certainly, I wanted to find out. I knew there wouldn’t be a robbery at the house without me knowing. So if the pearls were on the market it would mean that the code instructions had been sent to the bank managers – therefore, that it was by my husband’s wish.”
“And you didn’t like the idea of that.”
“No,” she said flatly.
“Why not?”
“Because he made the collection over to me, on our marriage. If he has to sell because he is in financial difficulties, I shan’t object. I should object if he sold them without my knowing. It would alter
our relationship quite a lot. Were the pearls at the Grange, John?”
Mannering said: “My dear lady, we aren’t going to make any progress that way. Trick questions are out. Will you show me the documents making the collection your property?”
“Yes. They are in the flat.”
“Then I shall have to believe something else you’ve told me, shan’t I? I still don’t know why you’ve been so desperately anxious to find out about the pearls.”
“You will,” she said. “But before then you’ll have to find the pearls.”
“You certainly believe in miracles. Were you and Allingham in this racket together?”
“You know, it wouldn’t be difficult to get angry with you,” she said softly. “I am in no racket. I have reason to suspect that someone intended to steal the Carla pearls or that they were being sold without my knowledge. I also have reason to suspect that someone else was blackmailing Nigel to steal the diamonds and perhaps to facilitate the theft of the pearls. The diamonds could have been simply the first step. Those who are blackmailing Nigel could be the same people planning to steal the pearls. That isn’t difficult to reason out is it?”
“It’s ABC.”
“Whether Gerald was in it, I don’t know. Probably I shall never know now. You haven’t met my husband, have you?”
“No.”
“When you do, you may understand a little more than you have hitherto grasped,” she said. “What is your next step, now that you have compromised me?”
“I’m going to see Nigel,” said Mannering. He got up slowly. “You’ve nothing at all to worry about if you’re as good as you say you are. You’ve a hell of a lot if you’re as bad as—”
“You think I am?”
“Allingham thought you were.” Mannering murmured. She didn’t move as he left the room.
Would an innocent woman risk her reputation to help a man she knew might be a murderer? Was her help a measure of her guilt?
Someone had come upon Allingham while the bonds had been round his wrists and ankles and had then strangled the life out of him. It mattered; it followed the pattern of most of the violence in this affair; it had the same cruel ruthlessness as the running-down of Thelma Courtney’s maid. It had the same mark of cruelty as the blackmailing of Nigel.
