by John Creasey
‘How do you get into the tunnel?’ Mannering asked.
‘There’s an entrance from the dining-room.’
‘Dining-room?’
‘Yes – the fireplace moves out, like the cabinet in the study. You go down a few steps and then a door opens into the tunnel.’
‘What’s in the tunnel?’ asked Mannering.
‘Nothing much – a few packing cases and boxes and some string and corrugated paper.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘What else would you expect?’
‘No windows, for instance,’ he improvised, but he was thinking that she would have been oblivious of everything except the treasures, had she known of them. The fireplace in the dining-room was on the same wall as the corner cupboard in the anteroom but at least forty feet away. So there were two entrances to the tunnel, one for easy passage to and from the dining-room, one through the house of stolen treasures. It was reasonable, and the obvious thing to do. It was equally obvious to have a way from this floor into the tunnel – down a few steps beyond the end cross wall, for instance.
‘What are you thinking?’ Lily demanded more urgently.
‘Quiet a minute,’ he urged.
There were no noises from below, now, but Lily was sure that the tunnel was the one with packing cases and other packing materials. It was easy to guess what the noises were. The stolen treasures were being packed away, and would be removed from here. Packing and removing them would take hours – and a big van, even a pantechnicon might be needed.
There could be no major removal until morning, that was almost certain.
‘Tell me,’ Lily said, sharply. ‘I’ll explode in a minute!’
‘Explode is exactly right,’ he said. ‘The problem is – where?’
‘Explode—’ She broke off with a gasp. ‘The dynamite!’
‘Where is it?’
‘In—in my bag.’ She clutched her shoulder-bag tightly. ‘But we’d blow ourselves up!’
‘If we blow a hole near the tunnel Buff and his men will be waiting for us,’ said Mannering. ‘So – it has to be here.’ He looked towards the spot where the corner cupboard turned this into a prison. ‘Let’s get up, and let me have the dynamite.’
‘I’m not going to let you blow us up!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Mannering said. ‘I don’t want to die any more than you do.’
‘Oh,’ she said doubtfully, ‘I suppose not.’ She stood up quickly, then opened her bag and placed two sticks of dynamite in his hand, the red cases bright and new. They stood facing each other for a moment, and she asked, ‘Who are you?’
‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘There is another chamber along there.’ He pointed. ‘And there is a sliding partition in the wall which I think will still operate.’ He groped near the wall and then pressed, and slowly the partition wall began to slide away.
‘There it is!’ cried Lily.
‘Yes. Now if we blow a hole in that wall’—he pointed back to the cabinet—’while we’re lying on our faces in that chamber’—he pointed towards the second chamber filled with objets d’art of such great value—’we won’t get hurt. And there will be a good chance of getting at the mechanism of the corner cabinet. But the blast would smash half the contents of—’
‘We can’t worry about those now!’ Her voice began to rise. ‘It would be madness.’
‘It will take ten minutes to shift them so that they should miss most of the blast,’ Mannering said. ‘And I’ll need twenty to make a hole in the wall to put the dynamite in.’
After a pause, Lily said, ‘I’ll move the things, then.’
‘Yes – down on to the bottom beneath the door,’ urged Mannering.
He prised off the top of one stick of dynamite. Lily watched, and was still standing and staring when he started to chip away the wall. It was of cement, not plaster, and his strongest blade had little effect. He kept scraping and probing – and hearing Lily putting the objets on the bottom shelves. She was behaving remarkably well, but he still feared she might switch into a violent mood without warning.
Suddenly, he came upon sand and soil, and soon made a hole several inches deep. A pile of powdered cement and sand was on the floor by his feet, and there was a powdering over his hands and sleeves.
Lily appeared by his side, and asked sharply, ‘Can’t you hurry up?’
‘No,’ Mannering said, patiently. ‘But by the time you’ve finished I’ll be ready.’
He heard Lily breathing heavily. Suddenly she exclaimed, ‘I’ve done it! Are you ready?’ She came hurrying. ‘You said you would be ready.’
‘Let me have the rest of the dynamite.’ He took the stick from her and began to push the powder inside the hole he had made, packing it tighter. Soon, he judged it full enough, he stuffed a corner of a handkerchief into the hole, leaving the rest of it hanging in a lightly twisted tail. It could fail, but there was a good chance that the explosion would break enough of the concrete away for him to get at the switch which controlled the corner cabinet.
‘We’ll soon find out if it will work,’ he said. ‘You go back and lie face downwards, about a foot from the wall.’
‘You’ll—you’ll come, won’t you?’ It was a plea.
‘As soon as I’ve lit the fuse,’ he promised.
‘Is—is there much danger?’
‘There’s some, but not very much.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to die any more than I do.’ She gave a hysterical little laugh. ‘If anyone had told me I could have lived through today I would have called them daft.’
‘You’re wasting time,’ Mannering reminded her.
She went away from him, and he bent down over the improvised fuse. There was absolutely no way of being sure what the effect of the blast might be, but there was nothing to do but take the risk. He glanced round. Lily was doing just what he told her. He struck a match, and held it to the tail of the handkerchief. It caught alight, the flame running more quickly than he had expected. He turned and scrambled back, forcing Lily to the ground, shielding her as far as possible.
The explosion came almost on the instant. There was a fierce crackle of sound, then a roar that was more like a thunder clap, a blast of air which rocked his body, then a clattering of things fell off the shelves and cement fell from the wall. He smelt the acrid stench of the explosive and when he opened his eyes they stung badly, and he could hardly see for smoke and dust. He rolled to one side, coughing, and Lily also began to cough. She sat up slowly, tears streaming down her face, as Mannering struggled to his feet.
Had he bared the switch?
It had been only a fifty-fifty chance. He groped his way towards the cabinet wall, could not see clearly but saw that a lot of the cement was cracked and pieces were chipped out.
Then he heard Buff call, ‘That’s as far as you go.’
Buff was at the other wall, by Lily’s side, covering him with a revolver. With his left hand, he thrust Lily’s arm up behind her, so that she could not move.
Chapter Nineteen
The Removal Men
The sickness of disappointment was like nausea. From near triumph there was almost inevitable disaster. Mannering could not be sure even that he would live another minute, the hate in Buff’s eyes was so unmistakable. Was it an hour ago or two hours since he had attacked the man? It didn’t matter. The graze on his forehead had swollen and become bluish and ugly. His coat was torn, and there was a scratch on his cheek near the corner of his mouth – as if he, too, had been scratched with a pointed finger-nail.
He said, ‘Who the hell are you? You’re not Marriott. You—’ He broke off, his voice rising in astonishment. ‘My God, you’re Mannering!’
‘That’s right,’ said Mannering quietly. ‘You made your biggest mistake when you tried to kill my wife.’
Buff gave a snort of laughter.
‘So you’re the great Mannering. If that ain’t funny! I’ll say this for you, you’ve come a lot farther tha
n I ever thought you would.’
The sense of imminent disaster seemed to be lifting slightly, but Mannering wasn’t fooled; that gun was unwavering in Buff’s hand.
‘Was the guy who saw Judy your assistant?’ Buff demanded.
‘Yes,’ answered Mannering.
‘You certainly made progress,’ Buff admitted. He laughed again. ‘You want to live?’
Mannering’s heart leapt in sudden hope, sure that the question was meant seriously; it might not be a chance he could take but it gave him time, eased the tension still more; he even relaxed physically and leaned back against the shelves.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I want to live.’
‘Buff, let me go,’ Lily begged suddenly. ‘I didn’t mean—’ Her words broke into an ear-splitting scream. ‘You’ll break my arm!’
‘Give me time and I’ll break every bone in your body.’ He eased his grip and pushed her, sending her sprawling to the floor, and her right hand swept along the shelf where she had stacked the objets d’art for safety. For the first time since the explosion, Mannering thought of them.
‘So you want to live,’ Buff said to Mannering.
‘You can put it that way.’
‘You’ve half a chance.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘It won’t take long. You’ve got quite a reputation at Quinns. You could be a front for me.’
‘Front?’ echoed Mannering.
‘I’ve got a lot of art treasures for sale,’ Buff said. ‘I could keep you in business for life.’
‘The stolen ones?’ asked Mannering, and then feared he had made a mistake, for Buff’s expression changed, his body seemed to stiffen.
‘Have you seen them?’ he demanded.
It was pointless to lie, so Mannering admitted, ‘I’ve seen them.’
‘If Vandemeyer showed you—’ began Buff savagely.
‘No one showed me,’ Mannering said flatly.
‘You couldn’t have found—’
‘Supposing you stop fooling yourself,’ said Mannering, his voice steady enough to hide his jumpy nerves. ‘I found them on my own. What are you suggesting?’
‘Who showed them to you?’ rasped Buff. ‘Did she?’ He glared at Lily.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she gasped. ‘I swear I don’t know.’
‘That had better be true.’ Buff looked very ugly. ‘I don’t believe Mannering could have got into this place by himself and I don’t know anyone but you who would help him.’
‘So you don’t, don’t you?’ said Mannering, in the voice he had used in his guise of Marriott. ‘See how much you don’t know, Buff.’
‘My God!’ gasped Buff. ‘You’re Marriott too.’ He caught his breath. ‘But—but you don’t look—’ His voice trailed off in blank amazement. It was a moment when Mannering could have taken a chance and gone for him, but he did not think the chance was good enough. Buff recovered quickly, and raised the gun a fraction. ‘How long do you think it would take you to sell those things?’ he demanded.
Mannering considered, and then said, ‘Five years at least.’
‘Yes,’ said Buff. ‘That’s about right, if you’d said much less I would have known you were lying. How would you do it?’
‘I would choose the buyers singly, and with care,’ Mannering answered.
‘Buyers who would know they couldn’t tell the world what they had?’
‘Buyers who would know they were stolen,’ Mannering replied evenly.
‘So Quinns buys and sells hot goods.’
‘I know who would be prepared to buy and could afford to. I don’t buy and sell stolen goods at Quinns. I never have.’
‘Say you never will and I’ll put a bullet through you,’ rasped Buff.
‘I would to save my life,’ said Mannering simply.
‘And the first chance you got, you’d turn me in,’ Buff sneered. ‘There’s just one thing would make you do what I told you. The same thing that worked with Vandemeyer.’ Mannering felt a chill run through his whole body as he saw the implication, but he showed no sign. ‘You got your wife out of the way quick as light, didn’t you. You want to know what would bring her back quicker than she went?’ Mannering felt as if his blood were freezing but he still showed no sign. ‘If she thought you were in trouble – and by God, you’re in trouble!’
Mannering said flatly, ‘You’re wasting your time, Buff. She might risk her life but she wouldn’t save hers or mine by turning Quinns into a crooked business.’
‘She wouldn’t?’ Buff laughed on a shrill note. ‘You don’t know much about your wife, do you? When you’ve done what I want you to do at Quinns you can stop worrying about your better half. I—’
He broke off, at a sound from behind him. A man was approaching, and Mannering saw first his head and shoulders, then his body, as he came up the stairs. He was wearing a white carpenter’s apron and a piece of green baize over the front.
‘Can you spare a minute?’ he asked.
‘Who needs me?’ Buff didn’t look round but kept Mannering covered.
‘We can’t get that big case out of the tunnel without breaking a corner off the wall.’
‘We got it in.’
‘That was before the wall was plastered.’
‘Okay,’ said Buff. ‘I’ll come and see.’ He motioned to Mannering and said to the man, ‘Pick up Lily and don’t be careful with her. Mannering, you go ahead and don’t try any of your favourite tricks.’ He squeezed to one side to allow Mannering to pass and followed close behind. At the top of the steps Mannering saw four or five men stacking boxes and small crates against the tunnel wall.
These were removal men, and they were packing the treasures from the lower chamber before taking them away. The tunnel was well lighted, and at the far end a big box stood with hardly an inch to spare on either side.
‘You don’t have to ask me what to do with that,’ Buff said. ‘Unpack it and use two smaller boxes.’ He let the man who was carrying Lily squeeze past, she hung like a sack over his shoulder, and Mannering saw her right leg flex as she was almost level with Buff, and knew exactly what she was going to do. Buff, preoccupied with the box problem, didn’t realise the danger until it was too late.
She kicked him with her pointed shoe and caught him on the mouth.
He let out a scream of agony, swayed and dropped his revolver. Mannering was after it before it reached the ground, snatched it up, and rasped, ‘Let her go!’
The removal man, off balance because Lily had kicked out with such strength, staggered. Before he had recovered, Lily slid off his shoulder and gave him so violent a push that he toppled down the stairs. The other men along the passage swung round, staring towards the steps. Buff was on his knees, his face in his hands.
‘Keep still, all of you!’ Mannering called. ‘I’ll shoot the first man who moves.’
There was a moment of absolute stillness, until two men at the far end of the tunnel dropped what they were holding and ran towards the steps that led into the house across the Square. Mannering knew that he could not stop them. But if he fired he might scare the others.
Then Vandemeyer appeared at the far steps, and he also carried a gun.
‘That’s enough,’ he said in a clear, carrying voice. ‘It’s all over. I’ve found my wife.’
That was the moment when Bristow and Lionel Spencer saw a man who was working on the cabinet in the corner of the study, put out his left hand and give the thumbs up signal. He stood back and pulled at the cabinet, which began to move away from the wall. Beyond was an opening and a short flight of steps, dim light and floating clouds of dust.
A voice sounded clearly from a long way off.
‘I’ve found my wife.’
‘My wife—wife—wife—’ echoed and re-echoed.
Bristow hardly heard it. He was looking at the jewels scattered over the floor, on the shelves, in the alcoves, some of them mixed up with pieces of cement and wood – a carpet of dirt and rubb
le mixed with gems which glowed and shone in a hundred different hues.
‘Mr Mannering!’ called Lionel in a tone of deep relief. ‘Mr Mannering, thank God you’re safe.’
Mannering heard him less clearly than he heard Vandemeyer.
He was a foot or two away from the crouching Buff, who hadn’t moved since he had fallen. There was an uncanny silence for several seconds, before Mannering called out, ‘What did you say, Vandemeyer?’
‘I’ve found my wife. They had kept her prisoner, I—Good God, it’s Mannering!’
‘That’s right,’ said Mannering. ‘Have you also found Gillespie?’
‘I’ve found his body,’ Vandemeyer said. ‘They starved him to death. He—Mannering!’ he screamed. ‘Look out, Buff—’
Buff was springing to his feet. There was a wild look in his eyes, but he had no weapon, there was nothing he could do but leap at Mannering. And as he did so, Vandemeyer shot him from behind. The bullet struck him in the head and he pitched forward with only a grunt of sound.
Lionel Spencer and several policemen were rushing from one direction. Vandemeyer approached slowly from the other, and the ‘removal men’ were herded together in the middle. Bristow gripped Mannering’s shoulder, then bent down to examine Buff – although there was little need. Yard officers went along and handcuffed the men who did not give even a token resistance. Lily was leaning against the wall, shivering from reaction. Vandemeyer reached Mannering, and said quietly. ‘I don’t know how you became involved, Mannering, but thank God you did. The first thing I must do is get a doctor – I think my wife is all right, but I must be sure.’
‘Where is she?’ Mannering asked gruffly.
‘In a room in a house across the Square. She is in a drugged sleep, but they seem to have treated her well.’ He closed his eyes and stood motionless for a moment. ‘It’s been … unbearable. They kidnapped her, and then forced me to do what they wanted so as to save her life. They forced me to keep a vast hoard of stolen jewels here, they forced me to buy and sell piece after piece. And I had to, Mannering, I had to, if I wanted to save my wife’s life.’