by John Creasey
‘So what’s your explanation?’ Mannering said.
‘That Dawson got up to funny business when Kennard was away, and Kennard discovered it and got nasty.’ Bristow smoothed down his greying hair, turned and faced Mannering. ‘You were at Kennard’s house last night.’
Mannering didn’t answer.
Bristow drew in a deep breath and went on: ‘Listen, John. I know as much about you as you know yourself, and sometimes I think I know more. You’ll probably get away with last night’s job, but if you don’t you’ll be in deadly danger. Dawson rang me up, just before you arrived. He said he thought you were the burglar and therefore Kennard’s killer. He also told me that he is telephoning the Home Secretary, whom he knows personally, to make the same report. At any moment now the phone will ring and my boss will tell me that I have to check on your movements last night, that I mustn’t leave a stone unturned to prove that it was you – or not you. What’s more,’ Bristow added, and his tired eyes seemed to burn, ‘he’ll say that if I’m not capable of doing it he’ll turn the job over to the Special Branch. These are dangerous days, and Dawson’s a V.I.P. Kennard was, too. There was panic in High Circles when the news of his murder came through, because he’s been doing a job for the government which is highly confidential.’
Bristow moved restlessly about the room.
‘If the Assistant Commissioner or anyone else among the highups knew that I’d told you this, I’d be drummed out of the Force. It’s as big as that. Now – I do believe that you were at Kennard’s house. I don’t believe that you went there simply because you were following up the Powell murder. There’s more to it, and I want to know what it is. And when I know, I can decide whether to let you carry on with the job or whether to stop you. Don’t make any mistake, John. I’ll have to do what I’m told, or risk being in serious trouble.’
He barked: ‘Well?’
Mannering said slowly: ‘I can’t tell you another thing about motive, Bill. All I know is that Powell believed that Kennard had swindled his sister out of some land in South Africa. Gold was discovered on the land. Robby White took it up with Kennard, who brushed off the protest. Robby took a firmer line and threatened to tell the world. He was attacked in Cape Town and again when he reached London Airport, before he could see Powell.’
Bristow stubbed out his cigarette.
‘I may know, but I can’t prove that Dawson runs a gang of thugs. I think he’s as bad as they come, but he’s wormed his way into the good graces of the men who matter, and it would be a waste of time saying anything until I can prove it. There’s my problem. If you found anything at Kennard’s place last night which might help me to prove it, I want to know. I don’t care whether you admit you were there or not. You can do everything anonymously – but I want a case against Dawson and I want it quick. Because I’m scared of what could happen with a man like that using influence with the Government. He has something to sell and they want it badly, I think, but I don’t know what it is. Now do you understand me?’
Mannering nodded.
‘Then get moving, but don’t ask for my help against Dawson. And don’t be surprised if the job’s taken out of my hands and put into the hands of the Special Branch.’
Mannering left the office and walked briskly along the wide corridors of the Yard to the main hall. Higgs was just outside, the car parked on the Embankment. Mannering got in and grunted: ‘Home.’ He sat back and stared, without seeing, at the lights reflected on the river.
Soon Higgs swung the car off the Embankment towards Green Street. The car pulled up outside the house, and Higgs reached back to open the door.
Three shots rang out in swift succession. Higgs gave a choking gasp and fell forward.
Mannering straightened up, and blood fell on his hands. He saw the shape of a car as it swung away. The dim light splashed over Higgs and the bullet holes in his forehead and blood welling up from them sluggishly. Mannering tightened his lips. Higgs had saved him from the bullets – but for Higgs, he would be dead.
The street door of the house burst open and Lorna came running. ‘John!’
‘Grace of God,’ mumbled Mannering, and pulled himself together. ‘Don’t come any closer, sweet. Higgs got in the way. Things are not exactly what they seem,’ said Mannering. ‘No one’s about, no one saw anything. Go upstairs, and lay out a clean suit for me. I’ll be back soon.’
He climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. The dashboard clock pointed to twenty-five minutes to eleven.
He put on gloves, drove to a narrow side street, wiped the doors and handles to remove his own prints, left the car and walked back to Green Street. He glanced at himself in the bathroom mirror. There was blood on his face, shirt, collar and coat; and splashes on his trousers. He washed, his mind flitting from the thought of Higg’s wife and children to Dawson standing at the top of the stairs raving at him. Lorna stood in the doorway.
‘What are you going to do with those?’ She pointed at the bloodstained clothes.
‘Get rid of them as soon as I can.’
‘Bristow—’
He told her what Bristow had said. When the story was finished, he was dressed, the stained clothes made up into a parcel.
The telephone bell rang.
It was Chittering to say he was on the way to see them.
‘This is one job we can’t tell Chitty about,’ said Mannering. ‘But he might take the clothes away for us. Now I want a word with Mr Luke Dawson.’
Chapter 18
Dead Hand
A manservant answered Mannering’s call. He asked for Dawson in the voice of the burglar.
Dawson spoke briskly.
‘Who is that?’
‘I still want to see Daphne walk in here at midnight,’ said Mannering. ‘And you’ll, have to use better gunmen or teach yours how to shoot.’ He hung up. ‘Not one of the nicer jobs,’ he said, forcing a smile.
‘What about—Higgs?’ Lorna asked slowly. ‘Is there any way we can soften the blow?’
‘No,’ said Mannering. ‘But we can help afterwards. Higgs knew there was trouble and was ready to have a crack, but—’ He broke off. Words weren’t any use; they hurt more than they helped. ‘What did Chitty say?’
‘He was very vague.’
‘I’m not sure that I can bear Chitty in one of his facetious moods, but he’s the man I need tonight. Taking any odds that Daphne will turn up?’
‘No.’
Mannering made no comment, but said suddenly: ‘Robby’s late.’ He realised that Robby was much later than he ought to have been, if he had only gone out to dinner, with Garielle.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and on the landing, quick and brisk; the newcomer was Chittering, almost for certain. Yet Mannering approached the front door with caution.
‘Bad things, nerves,’ said Chittering, shaking his head mockingly. ‘Not to be encouraged among the bold and the daring, like the great John M.’ He dropped across to a chair.
Mannering said: ‘Have a drink. That might make you come to the point.’
He poured out a stiff whisky, but it seemed to sober instead of brighten Chittering.
‘I’ve had a story stopped, before it even reached me,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’d turned in a lot of stuff on this job, and now the Great White Chief tells me bluntly that it mustn’t be used.’ Chittering pushed his fingers through his unruly hair. ‘I hied me round to a Fleet Street pub to learn all I could. It was quite something. All the leading papers have been warned off the great John M. in this affair. It would appear that you’re playing with dynamite.’
This move could be Bristow’s, but it wasn’t likely.
‘Can you find out who is at the back of it?’ asked Mannering.
Chittering glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to twelve.
‘I might catch Woolly in, he’ll know, if anyone does. Can I use the blower?’
‘Help yourself.’
Chittering dialled a number, asked his questio
n succinctly, listened for a moment and then whistled. ‘Thanks.’
He rang off, and turned to look at the Mannerings with one eyebrow raised above the other. ‘Dawson,’ he announced.
Mannering said slowly: ‘Kennard’s niece has disappeared, and I think Dawson knows where she is. I told him that unless she arrived here by midnight I would release the story to the Press. Can Dawson really get away with this?’
‘He is doing so.’
The girl wouldn’t turn up; Mannering was sure of that now, and yet the seconds dragged and he looked from his watch to the door At one minute to twelve Lorna said abruptly: ‘She won’t come.’
‘Listen!’ Chittering hissed.
Footsteps sounded outside, soft and light but hurried. There was a sharp ring at the bell.
Mannering opened the door.
Garielle hurried in.
She looked flushed and lovely and very young as she looked around at all three of them.
‘Is Robby here? I have a message for him and it’s urgent.’
‘Can’t you give it to me?’ asked Mannering.
Garielle hesitated.
‘Yes, you’d better know. I hadn’t been home long before the telephone rang and a man told me to tell Robby that if you kept worrying about Daphne Kennard, Robby would suffer for it.’
‘Why Robby?’ Chittering asked.
Garielle flared up at him.
‘Don’t stand there asking silly questions!’
‘Not so silly,’ Chittering dissented mildly. ‘Why pick on Robby?’
Garielle’s lips began to quiver and anger sparked in her eyes.
‘Mr Mannering, don’t you know where Robby is?’
‘Robby’s all right,’ said Mannering. ‘He knows he has to be on the lookout and he’s good at taking care of himself.’
But he was worrying as much about Robby as about Daphne Kennard; more in a way. Robby ought to be back, for it was past midnight. But Robby didn’t know what had been set for midnight; there was no special reason why he should be here. The death of Higgs had heightened tension and the sense of fear and alarm.
‘What’s this about Daphne Kennard?’ demanded Garielle. ‘Is she—?’
A gay whistling cut across her words and it drew nearer and louder, as if someone who was at peace with the world and slightly lit up was running up the stairs. Footsteps sounded lightly on the top flight. Garielle flew towards the door before Mannering could stop her.
‘Open up, all is safe,’ boomed Robby. As he strode in, eyes shining with a gaiety which was a refreshing change from the tension which gripped the four others in the room, he said to Chittering: ‘Well, well! Chitt of all people! How are you?’ He looked across at Mannering. ‘I pulled a fast one on you, John! Went to see friend Dawson. Incidentally, I was to tell you to lay off Daphne or he’d have your blood.’
‘That’s what he telephoned me about, but he said that you would suffer,’ cried Garielle.
‘Did he, by Jove,’ said Robby. ‘Why so unenthusiastic, John?’
‘You’re under-estimating Dawson,’ Mannering turned to Chittering. ‘Will you find out whether Dawson has a place in the country or another pied-à-terre in London? Incidentally, I’d be very relieved if you’d hide a parcel of old clothes for me.’ He turned to the bedroom as he spoke.
He heard nothing; he had no thought of trouble coming from inside the flat until he saw the handle of the kitchen door turn.
He said loudly: ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
Actually he turned and waved to the others for silence. He moved slowly forward, his left hand dropping to his pocket and the butt of a gun.
The kitchen door began to open.
Chapter 19
Harrison Again
The others watched Mannering tensely. The kitchen door opened perhaps an inch, then stopped.
Mannering drew the gun from his pocket.
Then there was a crash from inside the kitchen, a shout, and the report of a shot.
Mannering flung open the door. Two men were grappling near the window. One, short and dark, was attempting to climb out; the other, taller and fairer, was holding him back.
A gun lay on the floor, near them.
The fair-haired man was Ralph Harrison.
Mannering leapt forward and dragged the escaping man to the ground, where he lay stunned and unmoving.
‘Who is this chap?’ demanded Robby.
‘The conscious one is Mr Ralph Harrison,’ said Mannering. ‘Obviously he found a way in at the back.’
‘I certainly did,’ said Harrison. ‘I caught a glimpse of this beggar as I was coming round. He was one of the two who attacked me earlier. I saw him climbing up the wall, so I followed. When he realised I was behind him he pulled the gun. I threw a kettle,’ he added, with an apologetic glance at Lorna. ‘Hope I haven’t damaged it.’
‘Not at all,’ said Lorna faintly.
‘I was coming to see you about Daphne,’ Harrison went on. He frowned. ‘She hasn’t turned up or telephoned me. I can’t help feeling that she’s run into some kind of trouble. And this man might be able to tell us. Shall I deal with him?’
‘Mind if I start?’ asked Mannering.
He went across to the prostrate man, who was beginning to show signs of consciousness, pulled him up by the collar of his coat and dumped him into a chair.
Mannering said slowly: ‘I can turn you over to the police. Or I could let my gun go off by accident, and that would be justifiable homicide. Don’t make any mistake about that. Now, who sent you here, and why did you come?’
The man stared as if fascinated at Mannering’s gun. Then in a high, frightened voice began to talk. His name, it appeared, was Dickson; he worked – as Liggett had – for a man he knew as Reed.
He had come with orders to kill, but swore that he had intended to do a deal with Mannering.
Mannering seemed less affected by Dickson’s story than any of the others. Even Harrison seemed shaken.
‘Why did you attack Harrison earlier in the evening?’
‘Reed told me to beat him up.’
‘And you shot at me outside, in the car,’ Mannering said abruptly.
‘I didn’t! The man who did that said he’d got you, he reported to Reed while I was there. Reed got a hell of a shock when he discovered you weren’t dead. Got that message while he was in the café.’
‘Where did he get it from?’
‘He was telephoned.’
‘At the café?’
‘We always meet there.’
‘You must take me along one day,’ said Mannering drily. ‘What are the names of the other people who work for Reed?’
‘I don’t know them all,’ Dickson said, moistening his lips again.
Mannering said: ‘Give me the names of the places where you meet Reed, and the names of all the other men in the gang whom you know. And if you tell the truth, I’ll see what I can do for you.’
Dickson gulped.
‘Gimme fifty quid and a chance, that’s all I ask, Mr Mannering.’
‘We’ll come to terms after you’ve talked.’
Dickson said: ‘Okay, okay.’ He was broken and looked it.
Chittering took out an old envelope and began to scribble down the names and addresses.
‘That’s about the lot,’ Dickson muttered at last.
Mannering said: ‘Robby, take him up to Lorna’s studio, tie him hand and foot, and leave him there until we can check on all this.’
‘Delighted,’ said Robby.
The front-door bell rang. Robby pushed Dickson towards the loft ladder which led to Lorna’s studio. Mannering waved to him to hurry, waiting until they had disappeared through the ceiling hatch.
When at last he opened the door it was to reveal Bristow, accompanied by two men, their expressions grim and implacable.
Chapter 20
Reprieve
Entering silently, Bristow looked straight at Mannering.
‘Well, Mannering?’
/>
‘Well, what?’
‘You hired the taxi-driver Higgs to do a job for you tonight.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You know what happened to him.’
‘What happened?’
‘You know as well as I do that he was shot through the head. Probably the shots were meant for you. You drove the dead body away from the house and stranded the car a mile away.’ Bristow paused, and then went on stonily: ‘I’m taking both you and your wife to the station. You’d better bring enough clothes for a night.’
The silence was broken by the sound of Robby clattering down the ladder.
He said cheerily: ‘I’ve inspected every canvas of Lorna’s with a professional eye and they really are first rate!’
Bristow, who had glanced at the ladder several times, seemed to lose interest in it. He questioned them all in turn, Garielle, Robby, Chittering and Harrison.
Harrison came last.
‘How long have you been here, Mr Harrison?’
‘Better part of an hour, I suppose.’
‘What brought you here?’
‘I’m worried about a friend of mine, a Miss Kennard, and I thought that Mr Mannering might be able to help me.’
‘What made you think he could?’
‘Well, he’s that kind of man,’ Harrison said. ‘It’s a personal matter, anyway.’
‘I shall want each of you to sign a statement in the morning. Mrs Mannering, I must ask you to come along with me to the Yard, with your husband.’
Both cars were outside. The two Yard men went to one, while Bristow motioned Mannering and Lorna to the other.
Bristow let in the clutch and started off slowly, allowing the first car to get well ahead.
He said suddenly: ‘John, are you prepared to take a chance? A really big chance?’
‘What kind of chance?’ Mannering inquired softly.
Bristow said: ‘You know what we agreed tonight, but I can’t do what I promised. I think that Dawson has managed to blacken your name so much in the eyes of the V.I.Ps. that they’re ready to believe you’re the murderer. The Higgs business is the excuse for taking you to the Yard, not the reason. They did get him in mistake for you, didn’t they?’