by John Creasey
Mannering said: “Think? Or guess?”
Rachel said: “There isn’t much guesswork about this, and if the police ever get their hands on it they’ll use the statements there to try to build a case up against you. The worst bit is the last. It’s in the form of a statement from the man Pratt – one of the men who work for Smith – who says that he saw you killing Allingham at the Grange. He says he saw and recognised you. I think it was written down so that Smith could show it to you, and persuade you to do what he wanted. Whatever the reason, it’s there – a coldblooded statement in black and white that Pratt actually saw you killing Allingham. He goes on to say that he was scared of getting mixed up in it, because he had been working with Smith, who wanted to get the Carla pearls. That’s the statement that Pratt is likely to make if he’s caught and charged, isn’t it?”
Mannering said slowly: “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Lorna turned her back on them and looked out of the window; her shoulders were very erect.
“Is there anything I can do – apart from destroying the book?” Rachel asked. “Or tearing out the worst pages, anyhow?”
“Why are you prepared to do that?”
“Remember you were my girlhood idol. And remember that you’ve helped a surprising number of people since the Baron stopped working. You went into this to help the Courtneys and Alicia Hill, so my conscience is quite clear. The book need never be read by anyone else, but there’s plenty of danger.”
Lorna turned sharply.
“John, can we get out of the country?”
“Not a chance,” said Mannering. “Can’t you see Bristow’s men outside? He’ll have more than one watching all the time, and they’ll be good. He’s probably put out a general call to all sea and airports. But I think there’s still a narrow door open.”
Lorna didn’t speak.
“Pratt killed Allingham – proof of that would do it,” Mannering said.
Lorna cried: “There isn’t any proof; don’t fool yourself!”
“Confession is as good as proof. Another interview with Smith and Pratt would help a lot.”
“John, you’re just talking.” Lorna came towards him, eyes darkly shadowed. “You don’t know where they are. The police are far more likely to find them first. There isn’t anything you can do about it.”
“I’ve been wondering,” said Rachel, and left it there.
Mannering said: “Where is Nigel?”
“At his flat, with Alicia. I told you so. Nigel—”
Rachel Smart said rather sharply: “You don’t think he’s a rogue, do you?”
“More fool than rogue, but I think I’ll see him. Nigel’s had a lot to do with Smith in one way and another.”
Lorna said: “If that’s the only chance, it’s hopeless.”
“Not quite,” said Mannering. “There is another. If you go over the affair dispassionately, you may come upon it.” He took Lorna’s hands, held them for a moment and let them go. “We’ll get through.”
As he settled down at the wheel of his car, two police cars lined up behind him.
The chance was so slim that Lorna wouldn’t admit that it existed. It was difficult for Mannering to persuade himself that it did. Unless he could prove Pratt’s guilt, he would stand trial. Even a ‘Not Guilty’ verdict on the murder charge would save only his life; there would be no reputation left. Bristow was sure that he could break the alibi. Why?
Mannering drove slowly towards Bayswater as he pondered that; and then thought he saw the truth. Bristow knew that Courtney would be in England tomorrow, was sure that his wife would retract rather than have her husband know.
She thought Courtney would laugh at the story.
Who was right?
Forget it! Forget everything except the coming interview, the one slender chance.
He pulled up outside the house where Nigel lived. A police car pulled up a few yards behind him, another turned into the street from the far end. He might escape them for an hour or two; he would never be able to keep away for long, and another attempted escape would probably mean they’d arrest him. He nodded to both police drivers, and walked up to Nigel’s flat.
He rang the bell.
Nigel opened the door almost at once.
“Why, hallo, Mannering!” He was untidy and his right hand was heavily bandaged, but he was much brighter. “Come in! Have you heard the wonderful news? Alicia’s all right she’s here with me!”
“My wife told me – fine.”
“I don’t care a rap what happens after this,” Nigel said. “But I don’t think Smith will give us any more trouble. Did you hear that newspaper woman and I raided his place and put the fear of death into him? He ran so fast you couldn’t see him for dust!” Nigel laughed uproariously. “Pity you weren’t there; you would have enjoyed it.”
“Very much. Have you seen the police?”
“That chap Bristow came along for ten minutes, just to have a word with us,” said Nigel. He led the way towards the living-room and opened the door. “Didn’t have much to say – rather a dull stick. Did you know the paste diamonds were found at Smith’s place? I think I’d better make a clean breast of it all, don’t you?”
“Not yet,” said Mannering.
“Any idea what happened to the real ones?”
“No. Hallo, Alicia.”
“Why, hallo!”
Alicia, looking very small and childlike, was sitting in a huge armchair. She held out her hands with seeming impulsiveness.
“Isn’t it wonderful? Nigel made up for everything; he actually found me, rescued me. It’s like a dream!”
“It is indeed,” said Mannering. “But there comes a time when dreamers wake. Listen to me, Alicia, this is important. Nigel might be in a jam, even now, but we can get him out of it if we’re careful. You know he was blackmailed into taking those diamonds, don’t you?”
“Yes, he’s told me everything.”
“And someone must have known he had given them to you. That someone came to Liddell Street and doped that coffee – remember?”
“How could I ever forget?”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” said Alicia, starry-eyed.
“I’ll give you some clues. It was someone who knew that the coffee was always left on the hob for everyone at Liddell Street to help himself. It was someone who could get into the kitchen without being noticed, who wasn’t likely to be surprised. It—”
“Anyone could have broken in!” protested Nigel.
“It isn’t likely an outsider would break in and dope that coffee. If ever there were an inside job, that was it. Wasn’t it, Alicia?”
She was no longer smiling.
“Of course not! The thieves—”
“Someone had to tell the thieves the daily habits at the house. Your room was searched by the two thieves and you were also drugged. They injected the drug. You didn’t drink the coffee, did you? They didn’t hurt you, although they appeared to have handled you roughly. In fact, they were quite friendly.”
“It’s a lie!”
“What are you getting at?” Nigel’s voice was strained.
“Facts. Here’s another. After you were taken away from my flat, Alicia, you went to Elms Avenue. There, you were apparently a helpless prisoner. You still wore the pyjamas which you had on when I took you from Liddell Street. You had nothing else with you – no make-up, nothing – yet you’d made up at Elms Avenue. I saw that with my own eyes. You made Smith bring your make-up – he wouldn’t have done so for an enemy.”
Alicia said sharply: “What are you saying?”
“Be careful, Mannering,” Nigel growled.
Mannering said: “Nigel, this isn’t going to be easy, but you have to take it. Alicia has been working with Smith all the time. She got in touch with you because Smith wanted her to. She told Smith all about you. She knew about the diamonds long before you told her. She doped that coffee. It was all carefully laid on so that she couldn’t be s
uspected, but she didn’t play her hand well enough. She’s made a fool of you from the beginning. Well, Alicia?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Truth
Nigel said hoarsely: “You’re crazy!”
He stared at Alicia, and there was nothing in her face but hatred for Mannering.
“It’s a lie!” she cried in a sharp, over-high voice.
Mannering, untouched by her protest, continued his deadly summary of facts.
“Smith came to my flat, pretended to knock you out – did knock out my wife. He brought you some clothes and you went away with him to Elms Avenue. It wasn’t until a certain man was known to be on the way to the house that you scurried into those pyjamas and were tied to the bed. You knew when Pratt arrived. You know what he did. You know what they planned. You’re in this up to your pretty neck”
“You’re crazy!”
Mannering said: “You know by now that Pratt killed Allingham. That makes you an accessory after the fact. You are in this as deep as Smith and Pratt. You’ve tormented Nigel by helping to blackmail him; you’re due for a long stretch – perhaps a life sentence.”
She didn’t speak.
Nigel made an odd noise in his throat.
Mannering said: “You probably know all about this nonsense talk that I’m the Baron. You know what Pratt and Smith planned. You know that Pratt wants to frame someone else for Allingham’s murder. I’m not worried by the Baron clap-trap, but another murder was committed – Mrs. Courtney’s maid. You’ve heard about that, haven’t you? I don’t like murderers running around loose.” He turned and went to the telephone, and rested his hand on it. “The quicker the police are here, the better.”
Alicia gasped: “No!”
Nigel’s eyes were fixed unswervingly on her. Mannering lifted the receiver.
“It’s got to end, Alicia, and the quicker the better. There isn’t any way you can avoid the police. There’s one thing you might do to save your neck.”
Alicia opened her mouth, but no words came.
“Where is Smith now?”
She didn’t speak, only her breathing was heard, loud and uneven. Mannering said: “Right. If you want it that way.”
He dialled WH – but before he reached the next letter the girl leapt from the chair and rushed towards him. Nigel stood staring at her.
“Don’t!” she cried. “Don’t. I couldn’t help myself, they made me do it, they scared me—”
“Alicia!” The word seemed to be torn from Nigel’s lips.
“They did! Smith—Smith’s my brother, I couldn’t help—”
“You won’t be able to help yourself when you’re in the dock,” said Mannering. “You were in the racket from the beginning. You know everything. The police—”
The pressure of her hands on his was so tight that it hurt.
“I wasn’t, but I heard them talking. What can I do? Tell me, what can I do?”
“There’s a thing called King’s Evidence,” said Mannering. “The police are going to have a lot of trouble clearing up all the odds and ends of this job, but they’ll do it. They’d be happier if they had help. You can tell them the whole story, from beginning to end. How Allingham and Smith once worked together, how they wanted to get the Carlas, how they quarrelled and what Smith did after that to try to get them. You know they blackmailed Nigel into stealing the diamonds and would have gone on from that to blackmail him into getting them into the vaults at the Grange; they already started. You can tell how Pratt came to Elms Avenue and told Smith about killing Allingham and gloated because the burglar would be blamed – can’t you?”
“If—they find out—”
“They needn’t find out. You know where they’re likely to be, don’t you?”
She gasped: “Yes! Yes, I know!”
“Tell the police that first. All three of the men will be in jail; they won’t be able to do you any harm from there. Then tell the rest. Better still – make out a statement now. It needn’t take long.”
Nigel said: “It’s—unbelievable!”
“You—you swear they won’t—won’t hang me,” Alicia breathed. It was over; he could get through.
Twenty minutes later Mannering helped the girl into his car. The two police cars started immediately after him. He turned into Scotland Yard fifteen minutes after leaving the flat, and a policeman on duty saluted him.
“Mr. Bristow’s expecting me,” Mannering said.
“Very good, sir.”
Mannering kept his hand on Alicia’s arm. She was trembling, her face colourless. They went up in the lift and walked quickly towards Bristow’s room. Mannering opened the door without knocking. Bristow, sitting at his desk, rose portentously.
“News for you,” said Mannering, and handed Bristow the statement he had written out and Alicia had signed, with a ceremonious little flourish.
Mannering said easily: “Of course, if you’re really in a generous mood, Bill, you could let me come along with you when you pick Smith and the others up from the Putney house where Alicia says they may be hiding out.”
“Not on your life! You go home and wait there.”
“No, thanks. I’ll wait here. I’d like confirmation from one of the others. When Smith and his husky know their necks are really in danger, they’ll talk fast enough, and they’ll pin it on to Pratt. You’ll get the whole story.”
Bristow said: “All right, wait downstairs. Miss Hill, you needn’t worry too much. If you do what we tell you, and stick to the truth all the time, you won’t come out of this badly.”
Under his breath, Mannering said: “A pity.”
Two hours later a policeman came quickly into the waiting-room and said: “Oh, Mr. Mannering, there’s a message for you from Mr. Bristow.”
“What?” Mannering’s voice was sharp.
“He said it’s all clear. The men weren’t at Putney, but they’d been there; they were caught on the road. Mr. Bristow has a statement from one of the men, the chauffeur. He said he’d call you at your home later.”
“That’s fine,” said Mannering. “That’s fine.”
He began to laugh—
He went out, and sat at the wheel of the Talbot, alongside the Yard, looking towards Westminster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament. He felt a curious sense of relaxation.
He had seldom been in a worse jam, but he had come out of it without too much indignity. The Carlas were back; there had been burglary but no robbery; Bristow and his superiors would not be vindictive. There might be rumours, but nothing that he couldn’t brush off easily.
He let in the clutch and started off for Chelsea, hoping that Lorna would be alone.
She wasn’t; Rachel Smart was still there.
Lorna jumped up from her chair.
“All over,” said Mannering. “Did you guess the clue?”
Lorna closed her eyes and put out a hand.
Rachel said quickly: “What was it?”
“Alicia Hill was in the conspiracy, making a complete fool of young Nigel. He’s still at his flat, if you really want a story—”
She went out quickly; and Mannering didn’t follow her. He glanced at the fireplace; there was a pile of charred paper from the slim book; all the sheets had been torn out, but the cover was on the floor. He broke the charred fragments into tiny pieces with the poker, then stood up.
Lorna didn’t speak, but quite suddenly they were close together and their arms were round each other.
Mannering and Lorna watched at the airport as Richard Courtney stepped down from the Constellation which had brought him from the United States. Thelma had managed to evade all regulations and was waiting inside the Customs’ barrier for him. She did not know that the Mannerings were watching, and had seen the love in her husband’s face, and the answering glow in her own.
Lorna said: “Rewarded, darling?”
“Pretty well. And she’s done what she wanted to – shaken Nigel out of himself. He’ll be all right. You might call them a happy family.
I’ve a feeling that Rachel Smart will contribute a bit, as time goes on. Satisfied?”
“Yes. John, Thelma’s the most lovely woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Not bad, coming from you! Well, it’s all over. I wonder if we’ll ever know the buyer who wanted those Carlas from Smith? Or what happened to the first diamonds.” He turned away, and they were off the airfield, without the Courtneys seeing them.
In the West End, Mannering bought an early evening paper. The headline ran:
“PRATT AND SMITH ON MURDER CHARGE – Remanded.”
“Put it away,” said Lorna. “Forget it, darling, let’s be out of London for the trial.”
“Just say where you’d like to go,” said Mannering, and dropped the paper neatly into a rubbish bin.
That evening a special messenger brought a letter and a jewel case to the Mannerings’ flat. Mannering opened the letter first, and Lorna looked over his shoulder. They read:
‘Dear Mr. Mannering,
My wife and I hope you will dine with us one day soon. This is to assure you that if you need her help – and we sincerely hope you will not – you may rely on her.
We should like Mrs. Mannering to accept the enclosed pendant – one of my original diamond collection, which wasn’t with the others. The police are hopeful of finding the remaining items of the collection, which were apparently stolen by Allingham, with the connivance of my wife’s maid.
If at any time you wish to see the Carla pearls you have only to say so.
Yours very truly,
Richard Courtney’.
Series Information
Published or to be published by
House of Stratus
Dates given are those of first publication
Alternative titles in brackets
‘The Baron’ (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)
‘Department ‘Z’’ (28 titles)
‘Dr. Palfrey Novels’ (34 titles)
