Last Laugh for the Baron

by John Creasey

  “You’re damned right, you can. And don’t think it wasn’t easy. I thought you might catch on when you caught me at your flat – I’d just fixed the tape-recorder – but you came back too soon. That was a pretty good act I put on,” said Aristide proudly. “And you were too damned blind to see through it.”

  “Not blind,” Mannering said heavily. “Just reluctant to think I was being cheated by a man I trusted. Tell me – why did your brother kill Annabel Kitt? It was your brother, wasn’t it?”

  Aristide nodded. “She learned too much about us,” he said grimly. “Once she came and started direct negotiations with you, she—”

  “And how long do you think you can keep up this particular scheme?” interrupted Mannering, struggling to stifle the blind fury he felt rising within him. His only hope lay in keeping his temper, he told himself, and he could not keep his temper so long as he thought of Annabel.

  “For as long as it takes to make us all very rich,” replied Aristide.

  “I see. Don’t you think you might have overlooked—”

  “Don’t talk to me like that!” rasped Aristide. “You’ve looked down your nose at me far too often. You’ve got fifteen minutes left. At five o’clock, Bernard Yenn will be here, and Bristow. As soon as they come the police will raid the place, and do you know what they’ll find? All over Quinns they’ll find stolen gems. Pieces I planted very cleverly and skilfully. Pieces that will prove you bought the jewels stolen from all five of the parents. Once the police get in here, Mannering, they’ll have a field day. They’ll go off with you and Bristow in the same Black Maria. Oh yes, I’ve incriminated him as well. You haven’t a chance, not a chance in hell—unless—” He left the threat hanging.

  Mannering leaned back in his chair, his manner calm and relaxed. No one could guess at the rage which now surged inside him: at the almost irresistible impulse he felt to spring up and put his hands round Aristide’s thin, smooth neck.

  Belle Danizon looked almost disappointed.

  “You don’t seem at all shocked, Mr. Mannering.”

  “Don’t I, Mrs. Smith?” Mannering smiled. “And how can I escape this fate in—” he glanced at his watch—”twelve and a half minutes, at most?”

  “That’s easy,” Aristide said. “You have an ex-thief as a manager, and leopards never really change their spots. The deal would appear to have been between Yenn and Larraby. We’ve tape recordings – edited again – which would go a long way to proving that, and Bernard’s ‘disciples’ will give evidence that they heard Bernard plotting it all with Larraby.” He paused, and for the first time seemed to lose a little of his confidence, as if he could not understand the expression on Mannering’s face. “Your reputation will be un-smirched. Bristow will make the charge and arrest the precious pair – Yenn deserves what he’ll get, and Larraby’s an old man and he’ll soon die in jail – so you needn’t have them on your conscience.”

  “Oh dear,” interpolated Belle. “Has Mr. Mannering got one of those old-fashioned things?”

  Aristide went on as if he had not heard her.

  “What could be more perfect?” he demanded. “The police will get a lot of favourable publicity, and so will you.”

  He leaned forward, and so did Belle, as if she were trying to will Mannering to agree.

  He managed to make himself ask: “What happens if I refuse? What do you get out of it then?”

  “I’d have to start all over again,” sneered Aristide. “All of us, poor benighted victims of Bernard’s hypnotism would be given a stern lecture by the judge, and then given psychiatric help at the public expense to rid us of any lingering effects of Bernard’s machine-made hypnosis. No one could ever prove we hadn’t been hypnotised, Mannering. Even if we lose, we win in the long run. But we won’t lose,” he declared harshly. “You’ll do what we tell you and so will Bristow. Don’t try to bluff it out.”

  “No,” Mannering said, as if very weary. “I won’t try to bluff it out. You’ve done a beautiful job of this, Aristide, and there’s only one more thing you have to do.”

  “What’s that?” demanded Aristide, while Mannering could hear Belle, breathing almost hissingly through parted lips.

  “Prove what you say,” said Mannering.

  “Prove what, exactly?”

  “That some of the stolen jewels have been hidden here at Quinns.”

  “You doubt that?” Aristide cried, his eyes blazing. “If that’s all the proof you want, come on. There are thirty-one different pieces of jewellery, six from each collection, with a bonus from Belle’s father! Come on, we haven’t much time!” He leaned forward to grab at Mannering’s arm, but Mannering evaded him and stood up.

  Whatever happened, he would forever blame himself. He had been suspicious of Aristide since this affair had begun, but he had not taken enough precautions. Deep down, he knew, he had not been able to believe that the young man would betray him.

  “Mr. Mannering,” Belle said in a tense voice, “don’t try to be clever, will you? I would hate to have to shoot you.”

  He saw the automatic pistol which she took from her handbag and pointed at him.

  They went out, into the shop, and Mannering saw Larraby at one side, and wondered how the old man had managed to get in without being heard. Had he overheard what Aristide had in store for him?

  Aristide did not appear to notice Larraby. He squeezed between an Elizabethan chiffonier and a Stuart settle, both oak, both beautifully carved, turned in front of the settle and lifted the seat.

  “Remember this one?” he was saying with suppressed excitement. “You showed me the secret drawer, you showed me every hiding place in Quinns! It’s a wonder you didn’t hear me laughing as you went into such detail! How wonderful the craftsmanship was, what beauty had been hidden. You once told me about some love letters you found from some old woman who had never married. Beautiful, you called them – and you didn’t even find a market.”

  He was breathing hard, now. So was Belle, but her pistol did not waver. But Mannering’s rage grew so that it nearly boiled over.

  It was five minutes to five, and there was little time left – short of a miracle, the police would charge him with having the stolen jewels in his possession within fifteen or twenty minutes. What he would have done had Belle not been standing so near with the gun, Mannering did not know. His whole body was taut and cold, and there was an icy clutch at his heart.

  There was a click inside the settle, and a panel inside the carved seat slid open. Aristide snatched at it, then groped; then gasped; then straightened up and glared at Mannering with eyes which shone with madness.

  “They’re not here!” he cried. “You’ve taken them!”

  But Mannering had not had the slightest suspicion that anything had been hidden there.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mannering saw Belle move, saw her consternation, saw the way she turned to Aristide, momentarily forgetting her gun and the man she was threatening. He moved forward and snatched the gun away. It was unbelievably easy. She did not seem to realise what had happened at first, she was so mesmerised by the stark horror in her husband’s eyes.

  “No,” she gasped. “They must be there!”

  Aristide’s lips were parted, and his whole body seemed to shake. The glare in his eyes was murderous, but although he took a step forward it was not the gun in Mannering’s hand which stopped him from attacking, it was the physical paralysis which shock had brought. He began to speak but the words would not come, only an incoherent mouthing, which might have been: “You swine, you swine, you’ve taken them!”

  Lurching drunkenly round, he staggered towards a Georgian rosewood chest, and pulling open the top drawer, he groped inside; the scraping of his fingers on the wood could be heard like a mouse, scratching. Inside the drawer was a secret panel; at last it clicked open, and Aristide groped once agai
n. After a while, he stopped. His body still quivered as he leaned against the chest, and when he turned round all hope had left him.

  “Gone!” he croaked. “Gone!”

  “Darling,” Belle said in a choking voice; it was the first time Mannering had felt any warmth in her. “Oh darling, don’t worry, don’t worry.” She reached and put her arms about him, but he seemed unaware of her, only of the awful failure of his plans. “You—took—them—!” he croaked. “Gone!” Then Larraby came to Mannering’s side, speaking softly so that the others could not hear.

  “I put the jewels in his car, sir: It is parked just outside.”

  “You put them there?” Mannering felt almost dazed.

  “I know I should have told you, sir, but you had so much on your mind, and I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. I did notice that Smith was spending a lot of time polishing certain pieces of furniture, and he had never before shown such devotion to duty. So whenever he had finished with one, I checked – and noted carefully what was there. I kept a close record of the times and occasions that Smith went to each piece, and felt quite sure that there would be no difficulty in establishing the truth, and to make doubly sure I twice took photographs, unsuspected by him, of him placing articles in the hiding-places.”

  Mannering was almost unable to speak.

  “Josh, if I had known—”

  “I know, sir, I should have told you. And yet—” Larraby’s voice was so gentle in the shadowy room. “You might well have gone straight to the heart of the matter and I felt there was much more to be discovered.” He looked sadly at Aristide, perhaps with a touch of contempt. “Shall we take these young people down to join the others? I think there is just time.”

  Taking Mannering’s agreement for granted, he went to Aristide Smith and Belle, took the girl’s arm and said in the same gentle voice: “Come along, now. Come along.”

  They made no attempt to resist although they seemed oblivious of Mannering’s closeness with the gun. Larraby pressed the control for the floor hatch and stood over the couple as they went down.

  The hatch was sliding back again, cutting them off from sight, when a bell rang at the back door of Quinns, clear and sharp.

  After a pause, Larraby said: “That will be Mr. Bristow and Bernard Yenn, sir.”

  “Yes,” Mannering said. “Yes. We’d better let them in.”

  His heart swelled with gratitude to Larraby, but he had not really absorbed the full implications of it all yet, and still felt deep concern for Bristow, who was ending his career in pain and distress – even if there now seemed less fear of shame.

  He opened the door and there was Bristow, not humbled or dismayed, but with a glint in his eyes and firmness in his manner, and his right hand tight about Bernard Yenn’s left arm.

  20

  ARRESTS

  “Ah, Mannering.” Bristow was the man he had been ten, twenty years ago, brisk, assertive. The glint in his eyes even made him look far younger. “You know this man, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Let me go,” wheezed Bernard Yenn. “My God if you don’t, I’ll ruin you.”

  “Keep quiet.” Bristow’s hold was such that he was able to propel Yenn into the little hall. “It is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be written down and used as evidence.” He looked icily at Yenn as he said to Mannering: “I have charged him with uttering threats and offering bribes to a police officer – to wit, me – in an attempt to cause a miscarriage of justice.” Mannering could almost see Bristow’s mind working; could understand how, at the last moment, Bristow had turned on his enemy and fought back. Now, he seemed to add: “Whatever happens I’ve done all I can.”

  Yenn, looking like a bigger edition of Aristide Smith, tried to control his quivering lips.

  “I’ve told you, I’ve a tape-recording proving you—”

  “That’s enough,” Bristow interrupted. And he gave a short bark of a laugh. “I’ve warned you that anything you say may be used as evidence.”

  “Bristow, you bloody fool!” screamed Yenn. “You’ll end your career in jail, you—”

  “Somehow I don’t think so,” Bristow said. He gave that bark of a laugh again. “John, I think I owe that change of heart half to you, and half to my wife. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be believed in.”

  “Bristow—” began Yenn weakly. “There—there are some of my—my assistants here. Here. They’re locked up somewhere in Quinns, they were brought here against their will and incarcerated. This—this man is responsible for that. If you arrest anybody you ought to arrest him.”

  Bristow looked levelly at Mannering, although there was a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Is that true?” he asked.

  “There’s truth in it,” Mannering admitted. “One of them is Aristide Smith, an employee, whom I have reason to believe is using Quinns to his own advantage – using me as a cover for his own crimes.”

  “Nonsense,” bleated Bernard Yenn. “Utter nonsense. Lies!”

  As he spoke, the door of Quinns was opened wider and two plainclothes policemen came in, including the tall, lean one who had been above the carpet shop the previous night. Behind them were several uniformed policemen and other plainclothes men. Obviously they had been outside for some time; they must have heard most of what had been said.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” this man said to Bristow.

  “Hallo, Crabb,” Bristow said almost perfunctorily. “Mr. Mannering, I don’t know whether you know Chief Inspector Crabb.”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” murmured Mannering.

  “Good afternoon, sir.” Crabb nodded.

  “What brought you?” Bristow asked, as if their arrival was a surprise.

  “We had information to the effect that there were some stolen jewels here at Quinns, sir,” said Crabb. “I— er—I have a search warrant, sir.”

  “Then use it,” said Bristow, indifferently.

  “Yes, go ahead,” approved Mannering. “You won’t find any stolen jewels but you will find some borrowed bodies, as it were, in my strong-room.”

  “Borrowed bodies, sir?” Crabb’s voice rose.

  “One of my assistants and some friends of his, involved in an ingenious scheme to use me at Quinns as a receiver of stolen goods,” Mannering said. He shrugged. “Queer ideas people get. When you’re ready to see them I’ll take you down.”

  “How did they get in your strong-room?” demanded Crabb, unbelievingly.

  “I couldn’t think of a safer place to keep them until everything had resolved itself,” said Mannering. “I suspect that they may be able to tell you where to find the driver of the car which killed that young woman in Hart Row yesterday. And I know that they conspired to involve Quinns in illicit dealing.”

  “Will you charge them?” asked Bristow, intently.

  “I’ll be delighted to! And you might find some interesting evidence when you’ve searched them.” Mannering smiled across at Crabb. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Crabb said, and turned to Bristow. “Are you coming down, sir?”

  “No. I’ve been in that strong-room often enough. Is there a car outside? I’d like to take Yenn in. I charged him with—”

  “I heard you, sir,” said Crabb. “There’s a car whenever you want it.”

  Bristow nodded, glanced at Mannering with a gleam of triumph in his eyes, then took a cowering Bernard Yenn out. In a few moments Mannering heard the roar of a car engine.

  Larraby was on the telephone in the office, and Mannering was there in time to hear him say:

  “Yes, Mrs. Mannering—I am quite sure he will be home soon. I thought you would like to know.” He smiled gravely as he replaced the receiver and looked at Crabb. “Good afternoon, Inspector.”

  “So you two know each ot
her,” Mannering remarked.

  “We have met, sir.”

  “Good. We’re going to let our friends out from the strong-room,” Mannering said. “I don’t think we’ll have much trouble with them.” He pressed the controls of the sliding mechanism and the hatch opened. Crabb peered in, and saw the first wall-door slide open. He and two other plainclothes men stood at the top of the steps, and after a long pause the prisoners began to come out.

  The young men, so spruce when they had gone in, were now unshaven and their clothes badly rumpled. The girls looked pale and heavy-eyed. There was an air of incredulity among them all as they looked at the police.

  The last to come out were Aristide Smith and Belle. Aristide had composed himself a little, and although he still looked in a state of shock, he said to Crabb: “Who are you?”

  “A police officer, sir.”

  “Well, it’s time you arrested him.” Aristide glowered at Mannering. “He kept me and my friends locked up—”

  He broke off, as there was some kind of disturbance outside. A moment later a uniformed police officer came in, carrying a canvas bag which bulged as if it were half-filled with potatoes. In his other hand was a smaller, wash-leather bag.

  “We’ve found a lot of the stolen jewels,” he stated simply. “They were in Aristide Smith’s car, tucked in the boot. They even include some of the jewellery stolen from his father’s collection.”

  Aristide sprang forward.

  “It’s lies—all lies! He put them there—” he pointed at Mannering. “He—”

  “I think we’ll sort this out at the Yard,” said Crabb. “We’d better call for a van.”

  Ten minutes later, a Black Maria arrived and one by one the prisoners climbed into it. Some of the plainclothes men made a perfunctory search of Quinns, but all of them seemed anxious to leave; as anxious to reassure Mannering that they had found nothing.

  It was ten minutes to six when the door closed on them, and Mannering and Larraby were alone. They went upstairs to Larraby’s flat; Larraby poured out two large whiskies while Mannering watched him almost unbelievingly.