Reward For the Baron Read online

  “I shouldn’t let the line become too thin,” said Bristow. “This case is breaking fast. Valuable jewels, stolen jewels, are involved. It’s not a business you want to get involved in.”

  “I am involved. Even Lorna has been under suspicion. Kay won’t forget that. I doubt whether he’s really convinced by the boy Clive’s story. And Carol Armitage is still in some danger. For the time being we’ve adopted her. I can’t drop the case now.”

  “I see,” said Bristow, sombrely. “I’m sorry, because you will probably burn your fingers.”

  “I’ll wear gloves,” said Mannering.

  Bristow’s attitude made him uneasy. There was little doubt that the Yard man knew more than he had yet divulged. Stolen jewels on a big scale were almost synonymous with the Baron. Kay would never forget that, or allow Bristow to forget it.

  The breakers ahead were rolling closer, to himself, but he thought they had receded a little from Geoffrey Dell.

  They had; Jeff was released about mid-day.

  Bunny Firth came to the Royal to report.

  Mannering noticed that he met Mrs Kingham in the hall, and stood talking with her for some minutes.

  Young Clive, it proved, had gone with a party of boys on a picnic to Milden Woods, a tree-clad stretch of countryside above the cliffs to the east of Larmouth. A policeman was sent hot-foot after them.

  He met the boys, white-faced and shocked, being shepherded by an old farm worker to whom they had gone for help.

  They had played a game of hide and seek. Clive, the last of the players to be found, was discovered lying at the bottom of a disused quarry, his neck broken.

  The distress of Clive’s parents was heart-breaking. It did not seem to have occurred to them that it was anything but an accident. They blamed themselves, and it was left to Mannering to tell them what the police had proved beyond doubt, that Clive had been murdered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dacres

  Two mornings later, there was a registered letter, marked ‘urgent’, on Mannering’s table at breakfast. Lorna looked at it curiously.

  “A mystery,” said Mannering, “though with the eye of an detective I note that it is typewritten, and was posted in Larmouth last night.” He opened it. A sheet of good quality paper, was headed Dacres, Larmouth. There were only a few lines of typescript: “Mr Montagu Dell would greatly appreciate the favour of a visit from Mr John Mannering at about eleven o’clock tomorrow, September 19th,” and it was signed ‘B. Firth’.

  Mannering handed it to Lorna without a word.

  “A royal command,” she said, with a lift of her eyebrows.

  “And one I intend to obey,” said Mannering, laughing.

  It was the first time he had laughed since the boy’s death, Lorna thought worriedly. She hoped it was a sign that the shock was over.

  Later, she walked with him along the promenade, for once relieved that their police shadow was following them.

  It was again a crisp, clear morning, those who faced it stepping out briskly in coats or furs.

  The Mannerings passed Kingham’s shop, where a policeman still stood on duty, being careful to turn back before they reached the harrowing spot where Carol had fallen. Their shadow must have expected them to go further, for he was caught in sight, a tall despondent looking man in a bowler hat.,

  “Well, well, well!” exclaimed Mannering. “So you see who is here?”

  “Detective Sergeant Tring,” said Lorna, faintly.

  Detective Sergeant Tring knew all that Bristow knew about the Baron. There were times when he almost hero-worshipped Mannering, others when he longed to bring him to book. His attitude depended chiefly on the freshness of the wound which he imagined Mannering – either as himself or the Baron – had inflicted on his sensitive nature. For a policeman who had been in the Force for over thirty years, Tring’s sensitiveness was phenomenal.

  “My dear fellow, this is one of the really bright moments,” said Mannering, shaking his hand warmly.

  “Well, what do you make of it now you’re here?”

  “I haven’t been here long enough to form an opinion,” said Tring, cautiously.

  “You’ve had time to talk to the Superintendent,” said Mannering, and added: “Have you replaced Mount?”

  Tring gave an almost impish smile. “What I’ve really come for is to keep an eye on you, Mr Mannering.”

  “That makes two of us,” said Lorna drily.

  Tring guffawed. “It’ll take more than you, Ma’am, and more than me if I’m not careful! This isn’t a very healthy place for people who like jewels. And that’s all I’m going to say.” His discretion, more than that, his awareness of his discretion, gave an added springiness to his step.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Mannering, “always look on the bright side.”

  They walked along in a line, Mannering on the outside. From somewhere in the centre of the town a clock struck ten. A country bus lumbered past as Lorna pointed something out to Tring. When he turned back again, Mannering had gone.

  Tring’s mouth, fallen open, snapped shut. “One of these days,” he said, allowing one quarter of it to function, “Mr Mannering is going to be too clever by half.”

  Mannering walked happily along towards Dacres. It was, he considered, a hideous building. Nevertheless it basked in the slick and contented atmosphere that only many well-paid underlings could produce.

  A footman opened the front door before Mannering rang the bell. Behind him hurried Bunny Firth, eager and a little flustered.

  “It’s very good of you to come, Mr Mannering, I know that Mr Dell is most anxious to see you. And I may say,” added Bunny lowering his voice, “that he is always most gratified when appointments are kept punctually. So many people are unpunctual, nowadays.”

  “A distressing habit,” said Mannering, solemnly.

  “I can never understand it,” said Bunny, leading the way up the thickly carpeted stairs, past paintings which looked grim and gaunt in the slanting light.

  Following him Mannering caught a quick, almost furtive movement, above him. When he reached the landing a faint scent of perfume lingered there, unexpected in this great house. Quickening his pace, he caught a glimpse of a high-heeled shoe disappearing behind a door, before it shut softly.

  The woman’s presence puzzled him; he was anxious to know who she was and why she had been watching him so closely. She might, of course, have been a maid. Yet the perfume lingered.

  Ushered into Montagu Dell’s presence, the old man advanced with hand outstretched, “My dear Mr Mannering, how good of you! I thought by now that you would have had your fill of the Dell family!”

  “Not quite,” said Mannering.

  “Well, that is to our advantage.”

  Dell led Mannering to a chair by the great desk.

  On an ash-tray near, Mannering noted three half-smoked cigarettes, all faintly stained with lipstick.

  Dell sat down opposite to him,

  “Well, Mr Mannering, what progress?”

  “Little or none,” said Mannering.

  “I was afraid of that! So much has happened, and the loss of my pendant has become a trifling affair compared with the larger issues involved. It is distressing, most distressing. I feel for the parents of that child, Mr Mannering – far more, if I may say so, than I do for Kingham’s relatives. But both were horrible crimes, and I do understand that you have been preoccupied. Yet, you know, I cannot absorb myself in them as deeply as in my own small affair. Have you given up all hope of finding the pendant?”

  “No,” said Mannering slowly.

  “Does that mean that you think you know who has it?”

  “I won’t commit myself,” smiled Mannering, “but I do know one thing, Mr Dell. Kingham also wanted it.”

  “So you think my pendant and the murders are connected?”

  “I do.”

  “In what way?”

  “In a very straightforward way,” said Mannering. “I think Kingh
am knew who had the pendant, and that he was murdered to prevent him from obtaining it or from selling his information. It couldn’t be simpler than that, could it?”

  “No,” said Dell, “no. The simplicity is there, but I do not necessarily agree with you on the other point. I find it hard to believe that my pendant is of such importance to anyone outside the family.”

  “Need the murders be outside the family?”

  “Are you suggesting that one of my sons murdered Kingham and this boy?” asked Dell, slowly.

  “Either that, or someone working on their behalf.”

  “I think you are wrong, Mr Mannering.” Dell’s expression held an odd dignity, and his voice was slow, deep and deliberate. “You do understand that it is a shock to me to find you holding such beliefs. There are few people from whom I would accept them. I do so from you only because I am quite sure that you would not present them unless you had extremely good grounds. Will you tell me what those grounds are?”

  Mannering said, gently: “I think your sons are afraid that you might lose too much of your fortune, and so lessen their future inheritance.”

  Dell did not move, and seemed hardly to be breathing.

  “That is very hurtful,” he murmured at last.

  “But a supposition not entirely new to you?”

  “I have never admitted thinking it.”

  “Well, now that I’ve forced it on you, do you want me to go on?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “Right,” said Mannering briskly. “Then here’s what I think, and why I think it. At least one, and probably two, of your sons believe that your fortune has been made dishonestly. They’re frightened out of their wits in case the police find out and you’ll die a poor man. The key to the truth lies in the diamond pendant. I think Kingham told them he could produce proof of your illegalities, tried to blackmail them, and so he was killed.”

  Dell nodded in silent invitation for Mannering to go on.

  “They also believe that Carol Armitage can give evidence that could ruin you. In attempting to kill her, they were seen by the boy, and were thus forced to murder him.”

  Dell said: “And you think that of a member of my family?”

  Mannering said bluntly: “One of them.”

  “May I ask if the police share your theory?”

  “Not unless they know about the pendant, and that is unlikely. I’m told, however, that there was evidence, in Kingham’s safe that you did a lot of crooked deals with Kingham, and the police now have access to it.

  “Who told you about this so-called evidence?”

  “One of your sons.”

  “I must not ask you to be more precise,” said Dell. “You think, then, that the police do or will shortly believe that I am a criminal?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Mannering said: “I don’t always take the orthodox view. There are degrees of culpability in buying stolen jewels. You might have suspected they were stolen, while refraining from probing too deeply into their history.”

  Dell smiled faintly.

  “That remark could have come only from a collector, Mr Mannering. Whether you are right about the intentions of one or more of my sons, I don’t know. You are probably right when you say that Kingham tried to blackmail them, but not that they murdered him. For years he blackmailed me.”

  He paused. The lids drooping suddenly over eyes grown tired.

  When he spoke again it was with a conscious effort.

  “I did once buy stolen jewels, Mr Mannering. I did not know at the time that they were stolen. I learned afterwards. But by then I loved them too much to part with them. I bought them through Kingham, twenty years ago. When he told me the truth, I ought to have disclosed it, clearing myself of all suspicion. I did not. That was the mistake, the crucial moment, when I lost, through my own indecision and my love for the beauty of the stones, my peace of mind. You, as a collector, will understand that.”

  Mannering nodded.

  “Since then I have brought other gems of doubtful origin,” said Dell, abruptly.

  “And continued to find excuses for yourself,” murmured Mannering.

  Dell smiled. “You almost make me think that you also have fallen a victim to this insidious type of crime!”

  He looked hard into Mannering’s eyes – but there was something different in his expression. It could only mean that

  Dell believed Mannering had dealt in stolen stones – it might also mean that Dell knew of the Baron.

  There was danger in this room, danger which sprang out of their conversation and showed in the bright eyes of the old man.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cold Fire

  Mannering felt a sense of deep disquiet.

  “I would not confide in you like this,” Montagu Dell went on, “unless I were sure that you are trustworthy, Mr Mannering. From time to time, then, I have, under pressure, bought stolen jewels from Kingham. His form of blackmail was not to extort money, but to make me buy what he had for sale. His price was always reasonable, and he seemed perfectly satisfied with this arrangement.”

  Dell paused, and then went on:

  “Until six months ago, everything worked smoothly. No one suspected the truth. No one knew—and no one knows!—what stones I have in my collection. Then Kingham became greedy. Perhaps he thought the time was ripe to make a kill. He demanded absurd prices for some small, though rare, rubies. I had known for some time that I would one day have to call a halt. I called it then. We quarrelled. It had been my practice to visit his shop frequently, on perfectly legitimate business. Much of the furniture, many of the objets d’art in this house came from Kingham. That enabled us to meet often enough to transact less legal matters. From the time that we quarrelled I ceased to deal with him. He made threats by telephone and by letter, and I ignored them. My position was fairly strong. Kingham might say that I had bought certain articles from him, but I could deny it. The only proof would be if the jewels were found in my possession.”

  “I see,” said Mannering.

  “I thought you would – and so, of course, did Kingham. He tried to find out where I kept the collection, but failed. It is my belief that he thought he could discover it from the papers which one of my sons had with him, and that is why he broke into Charles’s room at the hotel.”

  Mannering said, gently: “How did you know that he broke into Charles’s room?”

  Dell laughed.

  “Jeff told me on the telephone this morning.”

  In tones of complete incredulity, Mannering cried: “Jeff told you by telephone?”

  There was a tense pause, then Dell said: “But why not?”

  “Surely he understands, surely you understand that everything he does, everything he says, is known to the police?” cried Mannering.

  Dell cried out: “That is impossible!”

  “It’s almost certain,” said Mannering harshly. “Probably even the lines to Dacres are tapped.” He was dismayed but there was nothing he could do, at least he would be prepared if Bristow or Kay faced him with the true story of his encounter with Kingham.

  He shrugged. “Well, let’s forget about it for the moment. Jeff and I were talking about Kingham’s motive. He told us that he was after the pendant, so he knew about that.”

  “Naturally. I told him about it soon after the theft,” Dell said. “Also, he introduced me to Diver, the man whom you called Edgy Low. I have little doubt that Diver told him why I wanted him to burgle the Royal.

  “That’s more than possible. Kingham referred Jeff and me to this number,” Mannering said, “and seemed confident enough that you would support his story.”

  “Doubtless he thought that I would do so in order to save him from being interrogated by the police,” said Dell, “and he was right.”

  “And you think he was looking for papers, or the combination code of the safe,” said Mannering. “Why not the pendant?”

  “Now, come! Tha
t was obviously his excuse.”

  “Possible,” said Mannering, unconvinced. He turned and looked out of the window. Jeff’s carelessness worried him. What plausible explanation could he give to Bristow? He heard Dell get up.

  He glanced at the old man, who was making his way towards a chiffonier behind his desk. It was a handsome piece, intricately carved, its colour a fine, mellow brown. The old man stood in front of it, his hands outstretched. Mannering watched him intently.

  Dell pressed the ends of the chiffonier, which, moving back, revealed a long, shallow drawer, or covered tray. Dell lifted this out with some difficulty and placed it on the desk, then drew a key from his pocket, unlocked it, and raised the lid.

  The desk was suddenly ablaze with light!

  On that tray, glittering like cold fire, were precious stones of every shape and size, of a magnificence that drove all thought of other things out of Mannering’s mind. He had a passionate love of jewels for their own sake, and now was lost utterly and completely in the face of such beauty.

  He did not know how long he stood there. When at last he raised his head, he saw that Dell was looking at him with a curious smile.

  “I am very proud of my collection, Mr Mannering.”

  “So you should be,” said Mannering, speaking with difficulty.

  “All these are legitimately mine,” went on Dell. “Do you notice anything strange among them?”

  Mannering barely heard his words, conscious only of a burning envy, a deep desire to own these stones, to know they were his, that no one could take them away from him. Here was danger, the more urgent because he had never been able to discipline this deep and passionate love, for their almost unearthly beauty. It was something almost beyond his control.

  He gazed down expressionlessly, conscious, after a time, of Dell’s prolonged stare, knowing that the old man realised something of his thoughts.

  Then he saw an odd thing.

  It was a diamond pendant.

  It was larger than most of the others, the one, smallish central stone surrounded by diamond chippings of little value. To such a man as Dell it must have been worthless.