A Case for the Baron Read online

  “It wouldn’t occur to you that he’s led you up the garden, and is actually—”

  “Leader of your smuggling racket, and perhaps responsible for your secret horror – any late news of that?’

  “No. You wouldn’t believe Shayne on his unsupported statement. What else do you know?”

  “Only odds and ends, nothing that could justify your ‘horror’ talk. Could that be the bait for me, Bill? I’ve agreed to help Shayne. I couldn’t very well turn him down. You wanted me to get on the inside, didn’t you?”

  “Are you with Shayne – or with us?”

  “Silly question – if I were with Shayne, would I tell you all this? I’m trying to help both, so far. But I haven’t finished yet. An attempt was made on Shayne’s life, another to rob him, at the Grange.”

  “Rob him of what?”

  “Cash. Being a large dealer, he often buys for cash, and he usually has a good sum on him.” He gave the wad to a trusted servant, a man named Ferris. Ferris was waylaid and robbed. I followed the thief, who came straight to Holly Cottage. This afternoon. I’ve had a heck of a time keeping tabs on him – and I thought I’d got him when you turned up. I’ve seen him. He doesn’t like the idea of me helping Shayne, and said he’d frame me if I didn’t back out. He had the nerve to say that if I were working with you – he’d watched the cottage, knew you’d been here – he would lend a hand. But I know a rogue when I see one, and that man is a rogue. He hates Shayne, too. I left him guessing, and followed him here. He went off, I stayed behind to see what he had been doing here, and thought that he’d come back. Your bad luck.”

  “You let him come and you let him go, knowing that—”

  “You still don’t know everything. There were two men, both armed. I’m a married man, William, and discretion can be the better part of valour. I didn’t have a chance to catch them unawares, and they scurried off in a taxi. Mine had gone, so I was stuck here – I don’t run a car these days.”

  “What did they do while they were here?”

  “Looked round. I had an argument with a ditch, and missed a lot of it. They used the telephone – I heard one of them talking, but I couldn’t catch what he said.”

  The story built up beautifully; he could see that Bristow was already half-convinced.

  “I see. It was money that was stolen from Ferris, wasn’t it? Not some pearls?”

  “What makes you say pearls?”

  “I suppose you’d better know. I’m still staying in Winchester, and was called up on the telephone. My informant said that the Carley pearls were here.”

  “The Carley pearls?”

  “They were stolen from the Countess Carley, ten days ago. The night watchman was badly hurt.”

  “And you believed him.” He looked angry, spoke harshly. “Don’t deny it, you believed him or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Now, John.” Bristow smiled. “I had to make sure that it wasn’t a hoax, but I didn’t want you to be on the Winchester black book. So I took a chance, and came by myself.”

  “Shayne’s man was only robbed of money, but my merchant may have planted the pearls, he was here long enough. You’d better look round and satisfy yourself.”

  “When you’ve had time to work ahead of me?”

  Mannering shrugged. “If you feel like that, there’s nothing I can do. The whole business stinks. I promise to help Shayne; his enemy gets to know it and tries to frame me. You’re wrong about Shayne. Others are trying to make you concentrate on him, and so waste your time. I might have had a chance of finding out more about it, but”—he shrugged—“I’m through.”

  “Now, look here—”

  “After this show, what do you expect me to do? If I go on, I may be laying myself wide open to blackmail. Supposing these people have the Carley pearls, or another bundle of loot, and I find it? You with your blasted notion that I’m the Baron, might find them here. I’d have a hell of a chance to get results if I’ve got to look out for a frame-up. If I’ve got hot stuff, you don’t stop to think, you just nab me. I was a crazy fool ever to think that you meant what you said on Friday. You thought you’d found a way of catching me red-handed.” He stood up abruptly. “I’m through, and I’m hungry.”

  He stalked towards the door. Bristow stared after him. Mannering went into the kitchen and opened the larder door, took out a can of meat, a piece of bread from the bread bin, and a packet of Rye biscuits. He began to open the tin, Australian Chopped Mutton, scowling.

  Bristow was at the door.

  “John, don’t be hasty. I’ve told you this Shayne show is pretty nasty, and—”

  “You’ll find the knives and forks in the table drawer, and the plates in the white cupboard.”

  They ate in silence. Afterwards Mannering brewed tea, which they drank sitting at the kitchen table. It was a clash of wills, with Bristow struggling among his official difficulties, seeing the pitfalls, yet convinced more than ever that Mannering could help; Mannering maintaining his air of angry resentment.

  “Are you staying the night?” he asked abruptly.

  “No. I’ve a taxi outside.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? The driver will be perished. You’d better bring him in and give him a cup of tea.”

  “Nice of you, but I must get back. My car’s out of action. Know anything about that?”

  “No. And that’s how you make sure that there’s no gossip. Taxi drivers don’t talk!”

  “I gave you a break. John, I think you’re wrong about Shayne. But the other business is worth following up. Who was this crook you talked to?”

  “He calls himself O’Malley.”

  “You can give me a description, and I’ll put out a call. This needn’t interfere with what you’re doing, you know. Normally I’d be after Shayne because of the shooting and robbery. But I’ve got to find who is handling these smuggled jewels. That’s first and last; the rest can sweat. You can—’

  “You’ve forgotten that I’m through.”

  So Bristow was falling for it.

  “This O’Malley may be my man, or may work for him. You’re in a good position to help. I can get you leave from duty—”

  “You know as well as I do that I can’t handle the job the way you would. Personal loyalties might influence me. What it amounts to now is that you want me to act as a police agent, even an agent provocateur, a very different proposition. I’ve promised to help Shayne, and I’ll help him until I’ve proof that he’s a rogue. You want a description of O’Malley. If I give it to you, you’ll be wise to an affair which Shayne wants me to handle. Only I could have named O’Malley; no one else knows of the fellow. In short, if you go after O’Malley, Shayne will drop me like hot bricks. I don’t want to go on with the job, and you’ve built it up to be impossible. Damn it, I can’t expect you to give me carte blanche, and I can’t work without it.”

  So the challenge was out.

  How real was this ‘horror’? How sincere was Bristow when he said he’d let other things sweat if he could get results on the main job? If a Yard man was prepared to wink at shooting and highway robbery, then only an ‘unspeakable horror’ could explain it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “There may be a way out, if you’re prepared to help us,” Bristow said quietly. ‘I can’t give you carte blanche myself, but I can probably arrange with the Assistant Commissioner for you to work as you like. And I can get Army leave for you. To do it, I’d have to stake my reputation on your good faith.”

  “I can’t make up your mind for you. Let’s go into the other room – oh, you’d better fetch that cabby, he really will be perished out there.”

  The grateful cabby came in to brew himself some tea, while Mannering and Bristow sat in the living room.

  “Now, let’s try to cut away the dead wood,” said Mannering. “I think Shayne is being persecuted. I might be able to find out why. The reason might be tied up with your show. Must you really be mysterious about the horror?”

  “Yes.�
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  “Well, give me the go-ahead, and I’ll do what I can. If Shayne proves to be a crook, I’ll tell you. If his reasons for keeping away from you seem sound to me, I’ll respect his confidence.”

  “As Mannering, you’d be sympathetic towards the Baron, too.”

  “The old canard! All right – if I find that Shayne is making money illegally, I’ll pass the news on.”

  Bristow said, “Good enough.”

  “You haven’t forgotten that if O’Malley or anyone else should try to frame me, and—”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing,” said Bristow.

  The rear light of Bristow’s taxi disappeared past the white wall, and Mannering returned to the cottage. His jubilation was sobered only by that ‘horror’ which could persuade Bristow to take a chance like this.

  O’Malley had planted the Carley pearls here, which meant that he’d either done that job or been a party to it. Mannering remembered the robbery vaguely, and went into the kitchen, rummaging in the wastepaper drawer for last week’s papers. Lorna kept them, religiously, for salvage. He glanced through several copies of The Record. He found what he wanted:

  ‘Night Watchman Savagely Attacked; Famous Pearls Stolen’

  He read swiftly, frowning. The night watchman at Lady Carley’s country house had been battered almost to death and taken to hospital in a critical condition. No wonder Bristow had been eager; no doubt that O’Malley was a killer.

  The front-door bell rang, and made him jump.

  His hand flew to his pocket and the Carley pearls. Better leave them there. He went warily to the door, picking up a breadknife on the way. He put the hall light on, went to the side of the door, and peered through a small window. He could see a woman’s figure.

  He opened the door hurriedly. It was Lorna.

  “I’d quite forgotten you were coming.”

  “I had a message that sounded like an S.O.S.”

  “Alarm over.” Footsteps sounded on the drive, and Mannering said sharply, “Who’s this?”

  “A cabby, with our luggage.”

  ‘This is a taxi driver’s Mecca tonight.” Mannering helped the man in with their cases, paid him, and sent him off.

  Lorna said, “Well, darling? Were you just dying to see me?”

  He lead her into the living room and gave her a drink.

  Mannering talked. She listened well, now anxious, now amused; and alarmed when she heard of the Carley pearls.

  “Is Bristow serious?” she asked.

  “He’s never been more so. I have a licence to crack cribs to further orders!”

  ‘Don’t take it too literally. John, could he think that the Baron’s been working? Is it an elaborate trap?”

  “By coming here alone he answered that. Had he been sure and seeking proof, he would have brought the local police. O’Malley gave him a nasty shock, and he took a chance which he wouldn’t have done in London. He’ll play fair – but he hasn’t told me everything.”

  “Any idea what he’s really after?”

  “Beyond awful hints at horror, no. The Yard is badly rattled, the business is really big. Whatever else, Marion wouldn’t become involved in horrors, would she?”

  “We were wrong about Marion. I’ve come to know her a lot better this weekend. And I like Shayne. What are you going to do with the Carley pearls?”

  “Hold ’em for the time being. When O’Malley learns that Bristow hasn’t taken action, he’ll try to get them back. How were things at the Grange?”

  Lorna said, “I was glad to get away. Shayne’s preoccupied, Cherry unbearable, and something is under Gertrude’s skin; she either sulked or talked scandal. She’s a fool – if she took the trouble, she could be quite striking, but she lets herself run to seed. Marion has so much on her mind she can’t concentrate on any one thing, and Bob Ley—John, Bob’s worried.”

  “What about?” said Mannering.

  “It could be Charles. Or Marion and Shayne. Shayne is fascinating. Bob’s a dull stick beside him. There’s certainly something on Bob’s mind.”

  “What do you make of Celia?”

  “I don’t know. She told Bob she’s twenty-four. If she’s a day under thirty – she lied because she’s afraid Ley will object if he knows the truth. Charles is wealthy and will inherit a fortune.”

  “And Celia may be a scheming adventuress. Does Marion think so?”

  “She’s suspending judgment. I’m a bit doubtful of Celia.” Mannering chuckled.

  “Oh, if a woman has a pretty face and curves, you—” Mannering leaned forward and kissed her. “She’s beautiful,” he said, and kissed again. “Quite lovely. Dream of a figure. Enough and to spare to make a man’s blood”—he kissed again—“get hot and his eyes go smoky. Charles is a nice boy, too. No fool. Love me?”

  “No,” said Lorna. “I think you’re a gullible idiot. Kiss me again.”

  Mannering went out, soon afterwards,, with the Carley pearls in a small, sealed packet, and posted them to himself, care of his unit. They’d be safe among the red tape.

  Mannering woke just after seven o’clock. Lorna was sleeping, with one bare arm over the bedspread, her dark hair massed in waves against the pillow. He looked at her dreamily, then put on his dressing gown and went to make some tea.

  He left for the camp at nine; at ten, he was called to the CO’s office. There a gloomy colonel told him, without any enthusiasm, that he had been ordered to report to the War Office and that he would not return to the camp until he was released from his special assignment.

  So Bristow’s horror was real.

  There was no sign of Lorna when he got back. He put through a call to Whitehall immediately and was told to report to Superintendent Bristow, of Scotland Yard. Lorna didn’t show up. He felt a nagging fear, lest O’Malley had struck swiftly, tried to laugh his fears away, and telephoned Bristow.

  “Oh, you’ve seen your C.O., have you?” Bristow was gruff. “It’s all arranged here. Don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t.” Mannering didn’t linger, was on edge again. He lit a cigarette, went into the front garden, and was recalled by the telephone bell.

  “I’m glad I’ve found you in,” Shayne said. “Are you free today, Mannering?”

  “Yes, I’ve a week’s leave.”

  “Can you come to London?”

  “Yes, if it’s worth it. Where are you?”

  “In London. Meyer has found O’Malley.”

  Mannering said, “Has he, then!”

  “Thanks to you. What train will you catch?”

  “The three-thirty – earlier, if I can make it. Where shall I find you?”

  “At my Bond Street gallery. I’ve a flat at Number 11, Craven Mansions, Westminster – near the cathedral – where you will find me if you’re later than six o’clock. Earlier, I’ll be at Bond Street. You won’t get the address from the telephone directory, so don’t forget it.”

  Mannering said, “11, Craven Mansions. Thanks.”

  He rang off, staring out of the window. Where was Lorna?

  He felt a sudden, wild relief. She was coming along the road, with a shopping basket in her hand.

  She looked at him in surprise, when he met her.

  “Leave already?”

  “You’d be surprised! Yes, Bristow has worked the miracle.”

  Lorna said, “I’ve hated this business from the beginning, and I hate it more, now. Bristow couldn’t have done this unless it were really ugly. Could it be spying?”

  “We’ll soon know. Darling, you’ll enjoy a day or two here on your own, won’t you?”

  “Where you go,” said Lorna firmly, “I go.”

  At five-fifteen that afternoon, Mannering’s taxi pulled up outside the Portland Place home of Lord Fauntley, Lorna’s father, deposited her and their luggage, and took Mannering on to the Leyden Galleries in Bond Street.

  The door was closed; he tried the handle and found it locked. He pressed the bell, but there was no response. He peered into the shop throu
gh the window, seeing no sign of movement, rang again, and rapped with his knuckles.

  “I’d better try Craven Mansions.” Mannering looked again into the narrow front window. A single Sheraton cabinet, with velvet draperies behind it, was the only piece on display. The shop was long and narrow, gloomy in the middle. At the far end there was a small window, and the light from it shone upon an upturned table. Nothing else in the shop appeared disturbed. The table worried him more than the lack of response.

  He was trying the handle again when a man came up and said, as if surprised: “Is it locked?” His foreign accent was unmistakable.

  “Yes.” Mannering turned.

  “I thought that M’sieu Shayne—” the other began, then stopped and took a key-case from his pocket. ‘I can perhaps help you. I will keep you but a moment.”

  The man was stocky, well dressed in grey, and sported a diamond tiepin in a black and white cravat. His iron-grey hair was thick and wiry, his eyebrows darker, almost black, and his deep-set eyes were bright. An interesting rather than a handsome man, with a Continental touch, hard to define.

  “Are you Captain Mannering?”

  “Yes.’

  “M’sieu Shayne told me you would be here. So! I am Francois Duval, his partner. He has mentioned me, perhaps?”

  He’d mentioned partners. Mannering smiled. “Yes, often!”

  “It is strange he is not here.” The Frenchman put the key in the lock. “He is the punctual one.” He opened the door and stepped aside for Mannering to enter. A thick red carpet, stretched to the back of the shop. Mannering went first, still looking at the upturned table. On either side were antiques, pictures, objets d’art, beautiful things, to love and to possess.

  But that table – it was outside the door of an office, and the door stood ajar.

  “Enter, please.” Mannering stepped inside, pushing the door. It struck against something which did not move. He glanced round – and then stopped quite still.

  Mannering said in a dull voice: “He was punctual.”

  “M’sieu Mannering! What is it, what—” Duval pushed past him and looked behind the door. Then his voice sank to a guttural murmur, his face blanched, his hands clutched Mannering’s arm. “It is—terrible. Terrible!”