Held At Bay

by John Creasey

But it was strange that he should also be at the hotel where Jules Granette was staying.

  Mannering tried to convince himself that the idea in his mind was too fantastic. If Ted Lenville was in love with Anita, it was reasonable to assume that he would offer to do anything if he could persuade Anita to marry him. He did not know Lenville well, but had heard of his reputation as a daredevil; and he knew also that Lenville was a record-holder at Brands Hatch.

  A young daredevil then, with money to burn, might well see this as a glorious spree, not having the sense to realise the inevitable disaster if he failed, or to count the odds against him. On the other hand Lenville was interested in precious stones. Was it possible that he and Granette were known to each other? He frowned, wondering how he could get rid of de Castilla for a while.

  “Juan, damn it, I’m practically out of cigarettes. Will you slip to Piccadilly – it won’t take you five minutes – and get me a hundred Virginia 3’s? Bring a cab back, and we can get to the airport right away.”

  “A pleasure!” de Castilla jumped up before Mannering could hand him a coin for the cigarettes, and oblivious of a full packet of fifty lying on Mannering’s suitcase. The door closed as Mannering lifted the receiver and dialled a Holborn number.

  After some delay he was talking to a Mr. Toby Plender, a solicitor in Chancery Lane. Plender had been at Cambridge with Mannering, and at the same school before that, and Plender had once tried to stop Mannering from making a heavy money loss. Plender had never borne malice because his advice had not been followed. His dry voice came over the wires.

  “Hello, John, I’d been thinking you were dead these days, we never see anything of you. What do you want? Money?”

  “No, thanks,” said Mannering, “I like my money clean. Let me see if I can make a solicitor break his vows of silence. Don’t you handle young Lenville’s affairs?”

  Plender’s voice took on a more distant note.

  “Yes. What there is left of them. He’s thrown most of his money away, and what little he didn’t throw, ran. I don’t think that’s breaking a confidence, a dozen people know. Why?”

  That little pulse was beating in Mannering’s forehead. Lenville was not a rich young fool with money to burn.

  “He’s interested in a girl friend of mine,” Mannering said.

  “If she’s the type to hold him she would do him the world of good,” Plender said. “He’s an attractive beggar, but he’s mixed with a bad crowd. Like you did a few years back! But he hasn’t your luck.”

  “You never know,” said Mannering with a chuckle. “Thanks, Toby. The information is for me alone, of course. I’ll let the young miss work out her own fate.”

  “When are you coming to dinner?” asked Plender.

  “When I come back from Paris,” said Mannering. “Give my love to Mary.”

  He put the telephone down, and stood aside, his lips puckered. The notion that Granette and Lenville were connected was no longer absurd. He was a young fool but a likeable one, mixing with bad company. Mannering found it hard to believe there could be worse company than Granette’s. Mannering wished there was a way of finding whether Granette had been on Lenville’s list of friends, but there was no time to spare, for the quicker he saw Anita the better it would be.

  Juan was back by the time Mannering had finished packing. They had an hour to reach the airport, which gave them ample time. By five o’clock Mannering would be in Paris. Other things which he could not have imagined were happening while he was shaking hands with de Castilla, and stuffing cotton-wool into his ears before climbing into the cabin: he was always sensitive to the roar of the engines.

  A neatly dressed man waiting by the aerodrome saw him approach, and watched him climb into the plane. A few seconds later he was at a telephone kiosk, calling Chief Inspector William Bristow.

  “It’s Walker here, sir. I’ve just seen Mannering board a privately chartered plane. I understand he is going to Paris, and his luggage is addressed to the Hotel Bristol.”

  At the other end of the wire Bristow’s eyes gleamed. He was still feeling badly about his two interviews with Mannering. He thanked Walker, replaced the receiver, and took a sheet of paper. He spent some time wording the message, for he wanted to say a great deal without committing himself. It would have been easier to an English town, he had to be very careful with a message to the Sûrété Nationale.

  Happily, thought Bristow, Georges Robierre, of the Sûrété Nationale was a good friend who would treat the information in confidence. Bristow finished at last, sat back and read it, then pressed a bell for a messenger.

  The telegram read:

  “Chief Inspector’s Office,

  Scotland Yard, London, W.1.

  Message to Inspector Georges Robierre, Sûrété Nationale, Paris, France.

  Information received that jewel thief known as the Baron recently operating in London has left England for Paris. Should necessity arise I have reason to believe Mr. John Mannering, who left London today for Paris, and has booked at the Hotel Bristol, might be in possession of certain information regarding the Baron’s movements.

  William A. Bristow, Chief Inspector.”

  Half an hour later, while Mannering was in the plane as it crossed French coastal waters, Inspecteur Georges Robierre received the message, uncoded it, read it several times and alternatively smiled and scowled.

  He was a mercurial little man with a tremendous store of logic and understanding. He knew Bristow well, and often had reason to thank the Chief Inspector for information that led to arrest.

  “So,” he muttered, “M’sieu Mannering, hein? Now I wonder if Beel opines Mannering to be the Baron? Mannering, Mannering, I ‘ave hear the name. Nom de bon Dieu, I ‘ave hear the name so often! The gambler, the gentleman who cleans up the table at Monte Carlo not so many months ago. John Mannering, of course! Beel, it is absurd!”

  Robierre stood up, took the telegram and re-read it, pacing the room and scratching the back of his neck. But his eyes were gleaming.

  “Parbleu! It is so careful, but Beel is sure, hein, sure of eet. So, then, am I!” He stuffed the telegram in his pocket and stalked out of his office, calling for an agent. There was certainly no reason at all why John Mannering should not be followed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Anita Prepares

  Anyone who could not understand the burning pride of Spain would have found it difficult to understand Anita de Castilla’s motive when she talked of getting the Crown of Castile. She was convinced that someone was deliberately trying to get the five jewels, and believed that if others could do it, she could. In a moment that she had at first regretted, she confided as much to Mr. Edward Lenville.

  She had not known Lenville for long, but he had proved amusing enough, while he had the rugged good looks that suited an Englishman and would have been an affront in a Spaniard. His fair hair, his half-nervous, awkward smile when he was with her, and his attitude of holding her while dancing as though he was afraid that she would break, alternately irritated and amused her. Had she been thinking less of the five jewels she would have thought more of Lenville. There were times when she felt that he was very weak; others when he seemed quite stony-willed.

  That might have explained the fact that when – in a rage after learning of the Baron’s robbery at Salmonson’s house, and the stealing of a jewel that answered all the descriptions of the Desire Diamond – she talked of doing the same to Panneraude unless he would sell the stone, Lenville answered quickly, almost casually: “I’ll get it for you, sweetheart.”

  Anita had stared at him, and then laughed.

  “My poor Ted, how nice of you! But what a fool you are, it’s impossible. It was just a ridiculous idea.”

  Lenville had pushed a hand through his hair,

  “I’m not so sure it’s impossible. I’ve often been to Panneraude’s house, and I know his strong room as well as I used to know my father’s.” Lenville had spoken with more effort than Anita realised. She had seen
nothing of the uncertainty in his eyes, the eyes of a man who was more than a little ashamed of himself. “I think I could manage it if—if you really want it,” he ended lamely.

  Anita’s gaze had searched every inch of his face before she answered.

  “I—believe—you—would! Ted, we will go to Paris, we will fly tomorrow morning! I will talk to Panneraude, and if he will not sell—pah! He is obstinate, he deserves it, and it is my jewel, you understand that? I am not stealing, not like the Baron, and he—the dog! I could kill him, he has two of the jewels, perhaps more! Ted, you are serious?”

  “I’ve never been more so,” Lenville had said, groping his way through the flood of words. “Don’t breathe a word, though, and we’ll get away in the morning.”

  “You promise?”

  “Absolutely! I’ll have to go off now, though, to make one or two preparations. Is it a bet?”

  Lenville had seen her move suddenly, and felt her arms about him, the hot pressure of her lips, the seductive warmth of her body. Then Anita had opened the door of the apartment and pushed him out.

  By the time he had reached the bottom of the lift Lenville had been very pale, a man who was labouring under a heavy burden.

  He had been thinking of the Kelworthy syndicate.

  The swine had forced him into a corner, one he could not escape without their help. Every day seemed to push him further into trouble. He had shuddered when he thought of the prospect if he tried to defy them. He would be in prison for years, his name would be disgraced. Now that he had sobered up from a year’s dissolution, he was conscious of the value and honour of his family’s name.

  In dispassionate moments Lenville admitted to himself that he had been a fool and a rogue, that he had committed crimes enough to deserve a long sentence, and that but for Kelworthy’s interference, he would probably have been behind bars now. So far he owed his freedom to Kelworthy. But the man had pushed him into other crimes since, always using the threat of disclosure if he tried to back out.

  When he had been told to make the acquaintance of Anita de Castilla it had not occurred to him that he would fall desperately in love with her. Not a man who gave himself up to brooding easily, he had brooded more in the past three weeks than in the rest of his life put together. He was desperately afraid of what would happen if Anita ever discovered the truth, but that had to be risked.

  One thing seemed certain: he might as well wish for the moon as for Anita de Castilla. Kelworthy had him in too tight a grip, and Lenville knew he had not the strength or the courage to face the alternatives. But now—

  Kelworthy had told him to persuade Anita to talk of the five jewels, to find whether she suspected the motive in the Baron’s robberies. And if possible he was to persuade her to try and interview Panneraude himself, and get the diamond. Kelworthy would never let him try to steal it, of course. Kelworthy—

  On the day when the Baron was robbing Mr. William Salmonson, Lenville had reached the Hampstead house. He was shown into the room where Kelworthy, Olling and Granette had gathered on the previous night. Kelworthy was alone.

  The crook was sitting back on the settee, and his voice was harsh and peremptory as he peered upwards. One bony knee was over the other, and his jacket was baggy about his body.

  “Well, Lenville? What’s happened?”

  Lenville drew a deep breath, was tempted to take a chance, to throw caution to the winds, to defy Kelworthy and threaten to tell the police. But under Kelworthy’s gaze the younger man’s determination oozed away. His pale cheeks threw his glittering grey eyes into feverish relief.

  “She’ll try it,” he said jerkily. “Flying tomorrow.”

  Kelworthy sat there as though he had not heard the words. Then he stood up slowly, and Lenville saw, like a thing in a dream, that his coat was hanging almost to his knees. Those yellow teeth were showing in a smile as he patted Lenville’s shoulder.

  “Excellent, my boy, excellent indeed. I shall give you a high recommendation, you have twisted that little girl round your finger nicely.”

  Kelworthy paused, peering down at the youngster. He suspected that Lenville was feeling more keenly about this affair than the others, and he believed that the de Castilla girl was the explanation. But he was satisfied with the look of fear in the youngster’s eyes.

  “All right, don’t crow about it. What do I do next?”

  “Just be careful,” said Kelworthy as though he was talking to a child. “And remember that life could be a lot more unpleasant for you, Teddy; much more unpleasant indeed.”

  Lenville flinched.

  “Remember I should hate the girl to come to any harm, and if you – or anyone, my dear Teddy – were foolish enough to try to trick me, I should probably have to put her to a great deal of inconvenience. Yes, a great deal,” added Kelworthy. Then suddenly his gentleness disappeared, for he knew from the way Lenville blanched that the threat had gone home. “Now, plans. Plans, my boy! I think, perhaps, that brother of hers might interfere, she takes him into her confidence a lot.”

  “She won’t over this.”

  “Let me think for myself, thank you. We will charter a special plane, it is really safer, and no one can travel with you. Besides, she will think it a very fine gesture, my dear boy. You will stay at the Rivol, making her stay at the Bristol, we want no complications. Granette will give you instructions when you are in Paris. He, too, is at the Rivol. Now—”

  Lenville seemed to go over the whole miserable business the next day, as he sat in the lounge of the Bristol, with Anita opposite him. She was in a furious temper about M’sieu Panneraude, and Lenville felt more gloomy than ever. He wanted desperately to help her, yet he was deceiving her with every word.

  “The pig! To talk to me like that, is he a god?”

  “He’ll suffer for it,” Lenville said quickly. “I know Panneraude’s a bit of a devil, and—”

  “A devil! He is just a big, gross, fat pig!” cried Anita. “It will serve him right when tonight you—”

  “Careful!” warned Lenville. “You must be careful!”

  Suddenly she smiled, and her hand rested on his.

  “My dear Ted, I am so sorry, I am so forgetful. You cannot know how much this is to mean to me. But—will it be too dangerous?”

  “I don’t see why I can’t get in as easily as anyone,” said Lenville. “I’ve told you I know Panneraude’s house inside out.”

  Anita de Castilla would have hated to think it, but she was naïve enough not to realise that Lenville was talking too glibly about the burglary. He said that he would do it, and she looked on it as an accomplished fact. Her desire for the Castilla jewels was quite blinding. Juan was right when he said that she was mad about them, filled with a fanatical conviction that with the loss of the de Castilla Crown the family’s heritage and importance was lost also. The crown was an emblem.

  Lenville sensed something of this mood as he sat watching, her breathtaking loveliness seeming more vivid than ever. He wished he knew what devilish trick Kelworthy was up to.

  He stopped thinking of Kelworthy, and stared at Anita. She was sitting stiffly in her chair, her eyes wide open and with an expression that looked like fear; he could see her breast rising and falling quickly beneath her white, high-necked blouse. Lenville turned round quickly, as the deep voice of John Mannering sounded.

  “Hallo, Anita, fancy finding you here! Hallo, Lenville!”

  Lenville stood up, flushing. He had not expected to meet anyone they knew, and Mannering’s arrival was an acute disappointment. Obviously Anita knew him well: so did Lenville, by reputation, and Mannering was not the type of man in whom he wanted Anita to confide.

  Anita covered her confusion with a smile as she jumped up.

  “John, how you always turn up at the right moment. Ted and I, we were wondering what to do this evening. You of all people will know Paris. You will tell us?”

  “I’ll certainly try,” said Mannering. “Are you both staying here? Or is Juan—?”
/>
  “No, I have come alone, and met Ted by accident,” lied Anita. The glance she flashed at Lenville told him that she did not propose to take Mannering into her confidence. Mannering was sitting down and beckoning a waiter. “And so—but, Ted, that friend you have to meet, at five o’clock is it not? Leave Mr. Mannering to amuse me, and you will be back—when?”

  “Within the hour,” said Lenville. He was anxious to report to Granette, although he doubted whether there was any need to worry. Anita obviously wanted to spin some yarn to Mannering, and it was a wise move. He nodded to Mannering, and Anita hurried with him towards the door, speaking quickly and in undertones.

  “He must not know a word, you understand? He is a friend of Juan and my father. He might protest, he might say it is too dangerous.”

  “I won’t talk, Anita, and I know you won’t.”

  “Sapristi! I am the sphinx!” exclaimed Anita, and she pressed his arm.

  Mannering was smoking. Anita could not fail to see how comforting he seemed, strong, handsome, capable. He would be more likely to rob Panneraude, that pig, than Ted. But he would not have the daring of the young. To Anita, at twenty-one, thirty-eight was a vast age.

  She was half-afraid that Mannering was an emissary from Juan, but he said nothing beyond arranging to meet her in the bar at seven-thirty for cocktails before dinner. That suited her admirably. She would not have been so pleased had she seen him enter the foyer of the Hotel Rivol, five minutes after Ted Lenville had gone in, ask the hall porter for Lenville’s room number, and go up to it. Lenville’s room was next to Jules Granette’s; the name card system in the hotel had told him that.

  He could hear voices in Granette’s room, so he tried Lenville’s. The door was not locked, and he opened and closed it silently. There was a communicating door, and now he could hear Granette’s suave voice very clearly.

  “You have done well, my dear Lenville; try not to ruin it. Nothing will happen to the girl. She has done all she could with Panneraude, and failed.”

  “But how do I know you’re telling the truth?” demanded Lenville.