by John Creasey
“Thank heavens for that!”
“That’s the romantic in you,” said Mannering. “Rachel is going to get places if she goes on like this; she has a nose for news and the nerve for anything.”
“She’s brilliant,” Lorna said. “She talked to the taxi driver and arranged for him to call; that distracted their attention. She and Nigel went round to the back of the house and climbed in. The others just ran hell for leather. There was no time to take anything with them, so Bristow ought to be pleased.”
They were silent until they drew near Hammersmith Broadway. “Lorna, what does Rachel Smart know?”
“She may guess it was you, although she cannot be sure. I don’t think Nigel has any idea, and Rachel can be trusted.”
Mannering said: “Cross your fingers about that.”
“Where will you change?” asked Lorna abruptly. “Bristow has a man at the flat.”
“I’ll get a cab. You go to Garbett Mews in Brook Green.” He gave her a key. “You’ll find the Humber with the pearls in Garage 3. Take the pearls, and be careful how you handle the bag. Don’t touch it with your bare hands. Put ’em in a box, stick a label on it, address the label to Bristow at the Yard, mark it ‘Urgent’ and drop it into a newspaper office.”
“I can think of the rest myself,” Lorna said. “You’d better take the car.”
“No, a cab’s better,” said Mannering. “Where did you get this car from?”
“It’s Nigel’s.”
Mannering said: “It’s a wonder he hadn’t sold it to help pay his debts. Any news from anywhere?”
“Mrs. Thelma Courtney has not telephoned,” Lorna said.
Old Sol welcomed Mannering warmly, lent him a small private room where he could clean off the make-up and change, said nothing about the fact that the small box wasn’t wanted, and when Mannering left reminded him to be careful.
One of Bristow’s men was in the street near Mannering’s flat. Mannering nodded, but the man showed no sign of recognition. Nigel’s car wasn’t outside. Mannering went upstairs slowly, thoughtfully. His wrists still burned and his body felt tired. His mind was tired, too; all sense of exhilaration had gone completely. He had said that this was Lorna’s case; it was. He’d thought it folly to take her with him! He smiled wryly.
Why had he missed so badly?
There’d been wild confusion of motive, a deliberate strewing of the trail with the smelliest of red herrings. He still didn’t know the whole truth, but he had most of it. Allingham and Smith, competing for the pearls – once working together, afterwards separately. The talk of the legal sale of the pearls – all my-eye-and-Betty-Martin; or was there something in it?
He wouldn’t know until Richard Courtney reached London.
He’d acted blindly almost from the beginning, but he saw one thing clearly now. One?
There were several. Bristow would get the Carlas, would know who had sent them but would not be able to prove it. The danger from Bristow was as acute as ever; he mustn’t forget it. Thelma Courtney could make or break him. If she changed her story Bristow would hold him. Nigel had more guts than most people believed; he’d done quite a job at Elms Avenue. Of course, Smith had ‘bought’ Nigel’s debts and then blackmailed him. It was fairly evident that he had done that after the quarrel with Allingham.
Smith had planned to get the Carlas through Nigel.
Feeling completely sure of himself, he had talked to Mannering too freely. He had been confident that talking was safe; had been certain, in his mind, of the identity of the man with him.
Now he was on the run, and would never get the Carlas. Would he give up trying? Would the police find anything at Elms Avenue to enable them to trace Smith and his men?
Questions—
He had just one piece of knowledge which he didn’t think anyone else had discovered yet.
He reached the front door and let himself in. Ethel was singing. He wished she would stop. He went straight to the study, but before he reached it the drawing-room door opened.
Thelma Courtney said: “Back already?”
She was lovely enough to hurt.
Mannering went to join her, leaving the door ajar. She smiled faintly.
“Didn’t you want to see me?”
“Not just now,” said Mannering. “There are other things on my mind.”
“You look tired,” she said. “Perhaps you’re getting too old for work like this.”
“Thanks. What do you want?”
“Is there any news of the Carlas?”
“Not yet. My wife telephoned me just now.” The lie didn’t matter. “Nigel has been throwing his weight about, and has found his Alicia. A household full of crooks is on the run and the police may soon have something to show in the way of results. They may even have the Carlas. I don’t think there’s anything else.”
“You rely a lot on the police, don’t you?”
“Don’t blame me. There are too many rogues about.”
“You’re still suspicious of me, aren’t you?”
Mannering said: “There’s too much I don’t understand. What I do understand is that you want the Carlas and you want to know the truth about them. I think there’s a chance that you’ll have both before your husband reaches Southampton. As soon as there’s any news, I’ll tell you.”
Thelma said lightly: “You’re so friendly this afternoon I hardly recognise you. I know you’re tired but you’ll have to suffer one more shock.”
He stood quite still. “What is it?”
“My husband is not on board the Queen Elizabeth.”
Bristow had said that Courtney was aboard, so this was a lie. Did it matter? She wouldn’t lie unless she had good reason to do so. He watched her, noting something different about her, a buoyancy which hadn’t been there before.
She said: “I had a telephone call from him an hour ago. He set out to return on the Elizabeth but changed his mind at the last minute. He had to. He was kidnapped and impersonated. The New York police rescued him.” She laughed; she was gay, she was happy. “There is a wealthy American who collects pearls and has wanted the Carlas for a long time. He made an elaborate plot to get them. He planned to have my husband impersonated. He learned about the way in which the vaults could be opened and obtained the codes from my husband – under threat of violence, of course; Richard likes life better than he likes his pearls. The plot was really very simple. The code messages were to be sent to the banks; Allingham was in the know, and was to sell the pearls – for himself, not Richard – to the American impersonator, who is on the Queen Elizabeth. The real buyer is travelling on the same ship.”
Mannering said slowly: “Well, well!”
“I’m sorry you weren’t able to solve it for me, but at least you tried,” said Thelma. She laughed again, and there was no doubt of her gaiety or her happiness – the news was a relief. Mannering began to realise what she really felt for her husband. “But there’s still something you can do,” she went on. “Get Nigel out of his mess.”
Mannering said: “That won’t be difficult, and what you have told me explains plenty. As I see it, Allingham was prepared to work with Nigel’s blackmailer until he discovered this American plot. Then he worked on that. Afterwards, rather than sell to the American at a cut price – and he’d have to – he wanted to put the stuff on the free market, and tried to persuade me to handle it. Not bad. He would have had the Carlas as soon as the vaults were opened. I suppose the cables were to be sent from the ship?”
“Yes. They were received by the bankers this morning.
I have seen one of them. I’ve been to the vaults, too.” She didn’t turn a hair as she added: “The Carlas have gone, but nothing else was taken. It’s a pity, but—”
“It won’t break you or your husband.”
“No. And the pearls are insured.”
“You’re lucky” said Mannering. “One of these days we’ll find out why the diamonds were stolen. Do you stick to your story, that you were makin
g up to Allingham to find out what he was really doing?”
“Yes.”
“Oh well,” said Mannering. “When’s your husband coming back?”
“By air, tomorrow. He should arrive about the same time he would have arrived had he been aboard the Queen Elizabeth. I shouldn’t worry too much, John. I shall tell him the story of the alibi; it will amuse him. I wonder—”
She broke off.
“Yes?”
She said slowly: “I wonder if you have any idea how much it means to me. Life was quite perfect until he went away and doubts crept in. I’d encouraged him to go away because of Nigel, thinking I could help to cure Nigel, the one fly in our ointment. Then these damnable doubts and suspicions came. And they weren’t necessary. It’s all over.”
“Not quite,” Mannering said. “Allingham was murdered. Your maid was murdered.”
Thelma Courtney said: “So you haven’t any idea what this really means to me. Perhaps your wife—”
The door opened and Lorna came in quietly. She ignored Mannering, smiled at Thelma, crossed the room and held out her hand.
“Mrs. Courtney?”
“Mrs. Mannering?”
“Yes. I’m very glad to see you.”
“Did you hear what we’ve been talking about?”
“All that matters,” said Lorna. “I’m really glad. And there’s a lot in Nigel—”
“I know there is,” said Thelma Courtney, “but it takes some digging out.”
“It’s beginning to show,” said Lorna, and turned to Mannering. “Darling, I’ve had the craziest afternoon; both of you ought to know—”
When Thelma Courtney had gone, Lorna poked her fingers through her hair and said: “I should never have believed that I could really like that woman. John – what now?”
“I haven’t had time to work it out. She says that the alibi is safe and we needn’t worry about that. Bill’s probably come to his senses and realised that I didn’t kill Allingham – that I might have busted those vaults but didn’t commit murder. That leaves only today’s business.”
“Did Smith know—”
“He had a pretty good idea, and may try blackmail, but he won’t dare to show himself yet, and—” The telephone bell rang.
Mannering went across to it. Lorna, her face pale and her eyes bright with anxiety, watched him as he moved. He hesitated, than lifted the receiver.
“Mannering here.”
“Well, son,” said Smith, as calmly as if he had not fled from Elms Avenue in a panic. “I wondered when I’d hear you again. I’ve been doing some hard thinking. I still want those pearls. You can fix it. You may not think I can prove anything against you, but I can cause you a hell of a lot of trouble. Don’t forget it. I’ll be calling you again.”
Lorna said: “Who was it?” Mannering’s manner, the stillness with which he stood with the telephone in his hand, told her what to fear. “Was it—Smith?”
“Yes.”
“He does know?”
“He’s guessing, and backing his hunch.” Mannering moved away from the telephone. “He could make a hell of a lot of trouble, and seems more than willing to do so. If Bristow gets a tip from Smith, if Pratt is prepared to swear on oath that he saw me at the Grange, I’m for it. No use blinking at facts. But there would be one way out.”
“What way?”
Mannering said slowly: “Proving that Pratt killed Allingham. Simple, isn’t it? Bristow might believe that I took the pearls and be prepared to leave it at that, knowing that he hasn’t a hope of proving it. But if the murder charge is tied up with it, he’ll go all out to break that alibi. He can break it, too. There will be limits as to how far Thelma can go.”
Lorna said: “Can you prove that the killer was Smith?”
“Pratt. There’s just one way. A possible way.”
Lorna said; “It just goes on and on, John. I can’t stand much more of it. You’ve never had a worse case—”
“No clear issue. I know.” Mannering stubbed out the cigarette, which was only smoked a third of its length. “Where is Nigel?”
“Like a broody hen, with Alicia. He’s taken her to his flat. I’ve just been there. The police arrived just after we left. John, it is really hopeless.”
The front door bell rang sharply. Ethel moved from the kitchen with torturous slowness. Mannering went to the door of the study and watched her. She stood back; and before the caller moved into the hall, Mannering recognised Bristow.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Last Chance
Ethel said: “Yes, sir, Mr. Mannering is in. I know he’ll want to see you.” She led the way, brimming over with excitement. Bristow came towards the open drawing-room door.
“Come in, Bill,” Mannering said heavily. Bristow pushed the door to behind him. “I thought you’d be out of the country by now.”
“What have I run away from?”
“Plenty.” Bristow’s voice was low-pitched and without spirit; he looked as if he were carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders. “Well, you walked into this with your eyes open.”
Lorna stood by the window, looking at him intently, fearfully. Mannering offered cigarettes; it wasn’t easy to keep his hand steady.
Bristow continued: “Not satisfied with breaking into the Grange and putting up a phoney alibi, you have to break into a house in broad daylight.”
“So Thelma Courtney is phoney, is she?”
Bristow shot a startled glance at Lorna.
Mannering said: “Yes, Lorna knows. It’s better that way. You haven’t any domestic tangle to worry about, just be a policeman. But be a good policeman.”
Bristow said: “I oughtn’t to be here. I’ve always been crazy enough to like you, and I’m here as a friend.” He hesitated, as if he were trying to decide the exact position of the thin dividing line between what was permissible and what was not permissible for a policeman to say. “I don’t think you have any chance at all of escaping the Grange charge. I think I can break that alibi. If you make a full statement, telling me exactly what you did down there, you might escape a murder charge. It s your only chance.”
Mannering said: “Forget it!”
“You can’t brush this off. I know you sent me the Carlas. I know that you didn’t go down there to steal the pearls for yourself; it was your cock-eyed idea of doing someone a good turn. But it’s smashed you. The past always catches up with those who won’t let it alone, and you never would. A full statement will enable us to get after the murderer.”
“You’re improving, Bill.” It was easier to talk now. “You’re doing quite well – I’m just a thief, not a killer.”
Bristow said: “As a man who knows you pretty well, I do not think that you would tie a man up and then strangle him. I believe you tied Allingham up and someone else killed him. But that is simply my personal opinion. All the evidence makes it look certain that whoever attacked Allingham in the first place, killed him – and that the killer was the man who broke into the Grange. If you deny everything, that charge will stick.”
“As I wasn’t there—”
Bristow said: “That alibi will be broken within twenty-four hours.”
Mannering shrugged. “Your guess, Bill.”
“It’s more than a guess. I know. Then there was today’s job. It will not be difficult to prove that Mrs. Mannering brought you away from Elms Avenue. Rachel Smart will have a pretty good idea of the truth. Nigel Courtney will be an easy witness to handle, and we can find a lot of circumstantial evidence. The Isleworth house was owned by a rogue. When it’s established that you were with him, it will be easily proved that you went in the way of business – unless you tell the whole truth about the job. I can’t put it blunter than that.”
Bristow stood up abruptly.
“I hope you’ll think better of it. Don’t leave London. If you try to, I shall put you on a charge.” He crossed the room to Lorna. “Mrs. Mannering, if you want to save him from a sentence for murder, make him tell the who
le truth. He hasn’t any other chance.”
He stared at Lorna, grimly, then turned and walked out.
Mannering went to the front door with him, but Bristow didn’t say another word.
Lorna said sharply: “What does he guess?”
“Nearly everything. I’m more worried about what he can prove.”
The front door bell rang again.
Lorna said sharply: “I’ll go.” She moved past him quickly, nervously, leaving the door open. There was a moment of silence before her voice came again, a little less taut. “Hallo – come in.”
Mannering saw Rachel Smart.
The reporter looked at Mannering frankly, and sat down in the chair he pulled forward.
“I waited until Bristow had gone,” she said, “I thought he would probably take you with him.”
“Odd idea, for a reporter!”
“Need we fence?” asked Rachel, and gave a quick, vivid smile. “I know you were at Elms Avenue, of course. Mrs. Mannering wouldn’t have been so concerned about anyone else. And as you needed that alibi and went to such lengths to get it, I’m pretty sure you were at the Grange.”
After a long pause, Mannering said: “Well?”
“I’ve been to the Yard this morning,” said Rachel. “There was quite a sensation. The Carla pearls had been delivered there through a newspaper office; the thief turned them in. Not much of a money-making thief, was he? Rather like one I’ve heard a great deal about in the past. Do you know who I mean?”
“I can guess.”
Rachel beamed. “When I was young I thought the Baron wonderful!”
“When you were young.”
She laughed.
“The past isn’t going to help you very much now. You know that I was at Elms Avenue for a few minutes before the police arrived. I found something that I thought would interest you. It would cost me my job if anyone ever discovered that I’d taken it.” She opened her handbag and took out a book; Mannering recognised it as the book in which Smith had been writing.
“It isn’t exactly a diary,” Rachel said. “It’s more a note-and-reminder book. It develops an argument that John Mannering and the Baron are one and the same. It starts with a comment from Allingham to the man Smith and builds up to the time of your call there. There are one or two rather thoughtful notes in it; one is a kind of question and answer. Smith seemed to like putting his ideas on paper. Some people can only think that way.”
