by John Creasey
Mannering said nothing.
Kelworthy dropped back in his chair, Lenville perched himself on the corner of a table, and Olling’s hand seemed steadier about his gun.
“You don’t feel like talking, Mannering? I can understand it, it must be a great disappointment. But unfortunately you are a reckless fool, you won’t be likely to say no to temptation. You’ll try again, Mannering, and I can’t afford to risk that. You understand?”
Mannering looked for all the world like a man who was terrified.
“What—what are you driving at, you cunning swine?”
“Be careful with that tongue, Mannering. I can make death quick, or slow and painful. You realise, don’t you, that I can’t take chances? Granette is coming back by ship, and you might arrange to meet him at the port. It would be unfortunate if you managed to get the Flame Ruby, and we had to start over again. I have never liked murder although Granette has never had such scruples. But you had a good run for your money.”
Mannering took a half-step forward.
“Kelworthy! You can’t—”
“Stay where you are! I can and I’m going to. It will be very easy.”
He broke off, for Lenville’s lips were twisted, and his eyes were filled with horror.
“Kelworthy! You can’t do it!”
“Can’t I?” The scraggy man swung round. “You witless fool, you’ve done most things for me but you’re too choosy, far too choosy. Perhaps you think the police will forget? Well, they don’t! When Mannering’s dead, you’re an accomplice to murder. For ever afterwards if you try to squeal, if you get fond of a little bitch like Anita de Castilla, you’ll remember it isn’t wise to defy me.”
Mannering heard every word, and yet they hardly seemed to matter. Lenville was standing dead still, his face the colour of chalk, his eyes very bright and feverish. Olling seemed to have gathered confidence in the past ten minutes, and there was an unpleasant grin on his lips. Kelworthy slipped an automatic from his pocket quickly. His gun pointed at Lenville, Olling’s at Mannering, and it seemed there was no chance of getting out alive.
Simply because he had thought it possible Anita would be here.
Mannering moistened his lips.
“If abduction’s dangerous, Kelworthy, murder is a lot more so.”
“Abduction of Anita de Castilla would have been very awkward, Mannering, because I had to keep her alive. The five jewels won’t be worth much to the de Castillas without the girl. But murder is different. A body can be hidden.”
Mannering’s lips tightened and Lenville saw a surprising change in him. Fear seemed to disappear and with it the nervousness. He could see the glint in Mannering’s eyes, hear the mocking insolence of his words.
“You poor fool,” said Mannering, and Kelworthy’s head jerked upwards, his eyes stared at Mannering owlish and unwinking. “Do you think I’m as easy as that? If you kill me, where are you going to get my three jewels?”
The silence seemed deadly, and Kelworthy’s lips worked, wet and ugly.
“Why—why you—they’re here!” He jerked the packet forward, but Mannering laughed again.
“Take a look, Kelworthy, take a look!”
Kelworthy tore open the packet, Olling came forward, and a moment later Kelworthy swore viciously. Mannering knew that that moment was more dangerous than ever.
“The Delawney sapphires! You stole them from me, you—”
“I took them from you,” said Mannering, “and I’ve brought them back. I’ve played you and stalled you and tricked you, now I’ve broken you.”
Kelworthy’s hand dropped, the fury in Mannering’s words seemed to stagger him. As he stared Mannering moved, taking his life in his hands, knowing that he had worked for just that moment and there would not be another chance. He went forward as Olling swore and heard the soft hiss! of a silenced automatic as a bullet pecked into the wall just behind him. Then his clenched fist met Kelworthy’s jaw.
Kelworthy’s chin seemed to crack, and he was lifted off his feet, flying backwards against a chair and sprawling to the ground. But as the Baron swung round to Olling he saw the murder in the short man’s eyes, and the automatic was no more than two yards from his face. Olling’s finger was on the trigger and Mannering felt the dark fore-knowledge of death as he went forward.
Something loomed between him and Olling in that split second.
Something knocked at Olling’s arm, forcing his hand down, and as the flame came Mannering knew the bullet had hit the carpet. In a haze he saw Lenville, striking at Olling with his left hand, and grabbing at the gun.
Lenville had saved Mannering from death, or at least a serious injury. But it wasn’t over yet. Olling lifted his foot and lashed out viciously at Lenville, cracking into the youngster’s knee. Lenville gasped and collapsed, and Olling and Mannering started together for the gun on the floor.
Mannering touched it first, but Olling kicked it out of his reach. Olling was like a man possessed. He kicked again at Mannering’s head, and Mannering’s senses swam.
Then very sharply on the door came a double knock, and Bristow’s voice was raised.
“Open the door! Open, in the name of the law!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bristow Makes An Arrest
Mannering had been waiting for the visit. He had deliberately waved to Tring and thrown that cigarette box, with a scribbled word for Tring to take police to Kelworthy’s house. He had been sure that Tring would pick up the box.
But Olling had had no warning. The words sent fear through his body, made him stand rigid with his mouth agape, as he stared towards the door. Mannering’s mind cleared, and he gripped Olling’s left wrist while the other man was still motionless with the shock of surprise. He twisted it upwards and round. Olling gasped and Mannering had him in a half-nelson that could not be broken. Lenville was staring at the door and then at the unconscious Kelworthy, but Mannering was smiling.
“Steady, Lenville.” He spoke softly, while the knocking came again and Bristow’s voice was raised. “Leave all the talking to me. Put a gun in Kelworthy’s pocket and open the door.”
Lenville stopped and stared, bewildered and uncertain. “But—the police—”
“Don’t waste time!”
Lenville gave up the idea of flight and obeyed. The knocking was thunderous, and as Lenville turned the key and pulled the door open, Bristow and Tanker Tring almost fell into the room. Bristow actually stumbled, and Mannering stretched out a steadying hand. Bristow looked up to see laughing hazel eyes on his.
“Hallo, Bill. You got here, then?”
Bristow stared at Mannering’s grip on Olling, and Mannering released the short man’s arm. Two plainclothes men stepped forward, and Olling was helpless and scared out of his wits. Kelworthy on the floor, groaned and his eyes flickered.
“What’s this?” asked Bristow heavily, looking at the four men and the gun near Olling’s feet.
“You’ve no imagination, Bill,” murmured Mannering. “It’s been a rough-and-tumble, and I’m glad you arrived. It might have been murder otherwise. I never did like men with guns.”
Bristow stepped farther into the room, and then he saw the envelope and three stones near Kelworthy’s outstretched hands. He stopped for a moment. In his mind there ran the thought that at last he had Mannering. These jewels were stolen, he was prepared to swear it.
“Watch them, Tring!”
Mannering’s deep chuckle came to his ears as Bristow picked up the sapphires. “Recognise ’em, Bill?”
“I do!” snapped Bristow. “And you’re caught this time. The Delawney sapphires—”
“What a mind you’ve got!” murmured Mannering admiringly. “But it’s too tortuous, Bill. You find stolen goods in the hands of Jacob Kelworthy and tell me I’m caught red-handed. It wouldn’t even do for a kindergarten, and the defending counsel would suggest you were pensioned off. I didn’t bring the stones here, Bill. Kelworthy tried to sell them to me.”
L
enville caught his breath. Bristow stood squarely on his two feet, his voice thick with disbelief.
“Mannering, it won’t work.”
“The truth stands for ever, Bill,” said Mannering. “I came here tonight at Kelworthy’s invitation, to look at some sapphires. Kelworthy hadn’t mentioned which they were, but he knew I collected. I recognised the Delawneys and threatened to fetch the police. The idea didn’t go down well, Kelworthy and his friend Olling – doubtless you’ve heard of the pair – pulled guns. That started the fracas, so here’s a job for you. I’m charging Kelworthy and Olling with trying to defraud me by selling stolen gems. Please yourself how you word it. And if you’re going to ask who Lenville is, he’s another prospective buyer who came with me. Fortunately,” added Mannering, looking at Lenville, “because if he hadn’t I might have been badly hurt.” Mannering was smiling very softly. “I promised you an arrest, Bill, and now I fancy Kelworthy is going to wake up. I wonder what he’ll say to the charge?”
Kelworthy was sitting up dazedly. Lenville was doing well, relying on Mannering to get him through, but prepared to help all ways he could. What had Toby Plender said? “If she’s the type to hold him, she would do him the world of good.” The solicitor was probably right.
Kelworthy’s eyes cleared suddenly, for he recognised Bristow and Tring. Mannering saw fear in his face and he knew his moment had come. He cut across Bristow’s opening words very swiftly: “So you’ve lost, Kelworthy, and you’re for it now. You made a big mistake in trying to sell me stolen gems, and a bigger one pulling a gun. I—”
“That’s enough, Mannering!” Bristow was on the qui vive for a trick, and he gripped Mannering’s arm. Mannering was smiling, but that little pulse in his temple was beating fast.
Had he said enough? Would Kelworthy realise what he was getting at?
Kelworthy was wide awake now, and his eyes were narrowed towards Mannering. He seemed to ignore Bristow, Olling and the others, and when he spoke his voice was as high-pitched as ever.
“I see, Mannering. Well, Bristow, I want my solicitor immediately. Hacking, of Levell, King and Hacking, Water Lane. Olling, keep that damned mouth of yours shut.”
Kelworthy got awkwardly to his feet. Bristow swallowed hard, charged him solemnly with being in the possession of stolen goods and repeated the charge to Olling. Neither man said a word about it, and Mannering’s smile was beatific.
“Anything else you want me for, Bill?” he asked.
Bristow took him to one side.
“You’re playing with fire,” he growled.
“Again?” murmured Mannering. “I seem to like fire.”
“Kelworthy knows enough to put you in jail!” snapped Bristow. “And he’ll talk!”
“You’re wrong,” said Mannering, “because Kelworthy only guesses, like a policeman friend of mine. And you found the Delawney sapphires here. When Kelworthy’s talked with his solicitor, he’ll take the easy way out and admit he had them. He will clear me and Lenville by admitting we came innocently to buy.”
Bristow’s eyes were smouldering.
“But that gun’s been fired!”
“Bill, I think that gun might have gone off by accident. Between you and me, it’ll depend a lot on what Mr. Hacking says tomorrow. But I see you understand.”
Bristow reflected bitterly on his way home that he did understand. The Delawney sapphires were a plant of Mannering’s. For some reason Mannering had deliberately put Kelworthy in the Old Bailey dock, and Mannering’s evidence would condemn him. The Baron’s evidence!
On the following afternoon Jacob Kelworthy talked with Mr. Hacking, and the solicitor assured him he had just visited John Mannering. Provided Kelworthy and Olling concerned themselves only with the stolen goods charge – and, Mannering had pointed out, to Mr. Hacking’s considerable confusion, the Kelworthy syndicate had originally stolen the sapphires so that it was a just accusation – Mannering would prefer no charge of attempted murder. Neither Bristow nor the whole police force could make him. On the other hand, if Kelworthy told the truth, that Mannering had brought the jewels with him, Mannering would explain and the police would gladly take his evidence against Kelworthy on the more serious charge.
“Don’t be a fool!” snapped Jacob Kelworthy. “He’s got us where he wants us. We’ll take the rap for receiving, with luck we won’t get more than a year. Tell Olling.”
“Olling asked me to tell you it was his feeling, too,” said the unhappy Mr. Hacking. “But there is another thing.”
“Well, out with it!”
“The—er—the Sea of Fire, some emerald or other, Mannering wants it.”
Kelworthy was dead silent for a moment, and his features twisted viciously. He was just seeing how thoroughly the Baron had beaten him.
But if he had shot Mannering, and the police had arrived as they had—
“You know where it is,” snapped Kelworthy. “Send it.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Hacking. “You will plead not guilty, of course.”
“Get us a good counsel,” said Kelworthy. “And word must be sent to Granette at once.”
“I sent a coded radiogram to Granette as soon as I heard what had happened,” said Hacking, who had peculiar habits for a solicitor. “He will look after himself – and he’ll go for Mannering.”
“That’s just what I’m hoping,” said Jacob Kelworthy softly. “That’s just what I’m hoping. With Mannering dead, I would gladly serve three years and enjoy it. And Granette will be very angry about the Sea of Fire, won’t he, Hacking?”
John Mannering and Edward Lenville, in Mannering’s Clarges Street flat, looked down at the four stones spread out on the desk. After two days Lenville had hardly recovered from his surprise at knowing Mannering was the Baron, but Mannering knew that Lenville would not talk. Lenville’s gratitude had become a little wearying, but the Baron had countered and silenced it by pointing out that his jump at Olling had saved his life.
With the threat of Kelworthy gone, and his whole future altered, Lenville now faced uncomfortable facts. John Mannering was the Baron, and in front of Mannering were four of the five Jewels of Castilla – the gems that seemed to be part of Anita de Castilla’s life.
“And you’re wondering how I can face Anita and still have these?” Mannering said. “It’s simple, Ted. I’m getting them for Anita.”
“Good God!” gasped Lenville.
“Don Manuel de Castilla had them stolen and he’s offered a hundred thousand to get them back. Had Kelworthy got them they would have cost him twice as much, but we needn’t go into that. Without the Baron, although I say it myself, Kelworthy would have had the stones. It’s not so difficult to see now?”
“No,” said Lenville, and Mannering laughed.
“That’s good. And because the Baron is bursting with money these days and is getting quite quixotic, I’m thinking of selling these four to de Castilla, and giving Anita the Flame Ruby.”
“Giving it!” exclaimed Lenville. He stopped and stared. “But Granette’s still got it, man!”
“These will be looked after until I’ve collected it.” Mannering picked up one stone after another and looked at them intently. The Isabella Diamond, and the Diamond of Desire, had come only an hour before from Leverson, for the Baron had wanted all the stones together. M’sieu Grionde, of Paris had sent the Crown of Castile over by air, on the previous evening, while by devious routes the Sea of Fire, green and lambent and worthy of its name, had come from Mr. Hacking to the Baron.
Mannering slipped the stones into a case, ready to send back to Leverson.
“You look after Anita,” he said. “There’s no need to tell her the truth, and remember you helped to get her diamonds for her. I’ve an idea that Anita, once she gets the Castilla jewels back, will be ready to think over other things. I’m told you’ve an income of three or four thousand from capital you can’t touch.”
“How the devil do you get this information?” asked Lenville awkwardly.
“Little birds,” said Mannering cheerfully. He stood up, gripping Lenville’s shoulder. “Make yourself scarce, Ted, I’ve a lot to do. Granette reaches Cherbourg on the Orientes tomorrow. You know your job?”
“I’ll be there,” promised Lenville.
After he had left the flat, Mannering packed enough clothes for another short holiday. This time he made greater preparations than before.
At dusk that night a tall, hazel-eyed man clad in a dark, long mackintosh left Folkestone station, looked about him to make sure he was not followed, and beamed. But it was not the flashing smile of John Mannering; not even Lorna would have recognised him.
His teeth, covered with that thin rubber, looked discoloured and ugly, his cheeks, thanks to the pads, looked much fatter, and greasepaint had worked wonders with the lines about his eyes and mouth. His hair was grey at the sides, and he looked fatter round the waist than Mannering by at least three inches. Moreover, he walked with a stoop, thus taking inches off his height.
But it was the Baron who walked briskly towards the night boat to Boulogne, the Baron who showed a passport at the passport cabin under the name of Mr. James L. Miller, the Baron who stepped off at Boulogne and had a blue-jacketed porter take his luggage quickly to the customs, magically clearing them before anyone else from the crowded boat and getting a corner seat in the Paris train.
And it was the Baron, or Mr. Miller, who left the train at Etaples, confounded the black soot that had collected on the hand rail at the carriage exit, shook his head vigorously when a fat porter came for his baggage – a simple suitcase – and walked quickly along the low platform of the station. Outside a racy-looking Renault was waiting, and in it a man who came from M’sieu Grionde, of Paris. Leverson had arranged it expertly.
Mannering transferred a roll of tools from the Frenchman’s case to his own, and took over the Renault after paying the driver well. He was driving through the night along the unfamiliar French roads, for the Orientes was due at Cherbourg before midday and Mannering proposed to sail on it for Southampton.