Attack and Defence

by John Creasey

  If he went and told Bristow everything –

  He said: ‘Darling!’

  She answered at once: ‘Can’t you sleep, either?’

  ‘I’ve had a brainwave.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Lorna said.

  ‘Supposing I tell Bristow everything, from the time I met Lady Larmont?’

  Lorna sat up. ‘Are you serious?’ She put on the bedside lamp. ‘Will you really do it?’

  ‘Into the jaws of death,’ said Mannering. ‘I think it’s the answer.’ Sitting up, they stared at each other for what seemed an age. He could see no flaw in the idea, all he needed was a reasonable story of how he had met Lady Larmont. A simple story – that he had called on Bryce, returned to the car, and found her waiting for him.

  He lifted the telephone and dialled Bristow’s home number. He wasn’t surprised to hear the sleepy voice of his wife.

  ‘Why, no, he’s been called out,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Mannering, but I don’t know where he is. Can I give him a message?’

  ‘I’ll find him,’ Mannering said, and as an afterthought, added: ‘Just tell him that I rang up at—’ he looked at the bedside clock – ‘three-thirty-five, with a story to tell him about the Larmonts, will you?’

  ‘I’ll make a note of it,’ promised Mrs. Bristow. ‘Goodnight.’

  Mannering replaced the receiver, and said: ‘The boats are well and truly burned, my sweet. I hope we don’t regret it.’

  The front door bell rang.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fortune

  Mannering put on his dressing-gown, slipped a gun into his pocket, and was at the door by the time the bell rang again. He didn’t think that Bristow could have got here so soon, and in any case he was not likely to be as insistent as this.

  He opened the door cautiously, his right hand about the gun. Anne Stafford almost fell inside. Her hair looked as if it had been in a hurricane, and her hands were blue with cold.

  She was clutching a suitcase. Mannering took, it from her, surprised by its weight.

  ‘Come for the night?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, no! Please shut the door. He may have followed me.’

  Mannering said sharply: ‘Courtney?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mannering switched off the light then stood listening for any sound of approach from the stairs. There was nowhere to hide up here, but a man could be in a doorway on the landings below.

  He went down steadily, inspected the doorways and found each empty. He went to the next landing, and repeated the search; no one was there.

  No one was in the hall, either.

  He reached the street door, which was usually locked at night – but he must have forgotten to turn the key. Had he? The door must have been unlocked or the girl couldn’t have entered, unless …

  Could Anne be lying? Was this part of an act?

  He stepped into the street and stood looking up and down, but saw no one. Satisfied, he bolted the door and went upstairs.

  How had the girl got here at this hour, with that heavy suit-case? What had happened to make her so desperate? He remembered assuring Chittering that there was no need to worry about her integrity; had he been justified, or had he taken it for granted too easily?

  There wasn’t any time for a word with Lorna, and he didn’t see that there was any need – the girl would tell Lorna exactly the same story as she would tell him.

  ‘Was anyone there?’ Anne asked.

  She must have known there wasn’t. Had she lost her nerve completely? There was something in this affair which almost scared him, he was prepared for it to go off at another tangent at any moment.

  ‘I didn’t see anyone,’ he said lightly. ‘What’s it all about, Anne?’

  ‘It was Courtney,’ she said. ‘He came to my house about an hour ago. He brought—that. He said I was to keep it and say nothing to anyone about it. He said I needn’t worry about the money tomorrow, I needn’t worry about anything, he had come into a fortune. When I asked questions, he changed his tune. He said that if I didn’t keep the case at the house, he’d kill me. And—I think he meant it.’

  She shivered.

  ‘Well, well,’ said Mannering. ‘Shall we see what’s in it?’

  ‘It’s locked.’

  ‘I think we can deal with that,’ said Mannering.

  It didn’t need an expert to force the locks. First one then the other clicked back. He lifted the case on to a chair, and opened it. He didn’t know what he expected; certainly not to find it full of jewel cases.

  There were fifty, at least. He took one out, and raised the lid.

  Diamonds winked and glittered up at him.

  He opened another: it contained emeralds.

  Anne whispered: ‘They must be—stolen.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mannering, ‘and I think I know where they were stolen from.’ There was a pause. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘I telephoned for a taxi. I just couldn’t think of anything else to do. If you’d seen Courtney, you’d understand. He’s frightened me before, but I’ve never been so frightened as I was tonight.’

  She shivered.

  ‘He just dumped these, and told you to look after them?’

  ‘Yes. Yes!’ she repeated.

  If Courtney had stolen a fortune, would he take the chance of bringing it to Anne? It wasn’t as unlikely as it might seem at first sight. Courtney would think that Anne was still willing to do everything he told her, that he still had that hold over her. Was there any other explanation?

  ‘Mr. Mannering,’ Anne said huskily, ‘why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ said Mannering. ‘Did Courtney say where he got these?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said that he’d come into a fortune, that it was a chance in a thousand and he’d taken it. I can’t tell you anything else. When he threatened to kill me, I thought he was going to do it then. Look!’ She pulled the sleeve of her coat back. There were angry red bruises on her forearm. ‘He nearly broke my wrist,’ she went on, ‘Oh, I know it sounds crazy, but I do assure you I’m not really a neurotic little fool.’

  ‘You did exactly the right thing,’ Mannering assured her. ‘Now sit down and relax, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  He went into the kitchen where Lorna was making tea. The warmed pot was in her hand, and the kettle was singing. She looked good, with a dear, familiar loveliness. She wasn’t likely to live through many nights more anxious than this.

  He kissed the back of her neck. ‘We have been presented with the great collection of jewels owned by Sir Lester Larmont, my sweet. Now what do you think of that?’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bristow Wonders

  Superintendent Bristow, looking as alert and unruffled as if he had not been called out of bed in the middle of the night, walked round the strong-room in the basement of the house in Grayling Square. It was five o’clock in the morning, Larmont was with him, nursing a bandaged wrist and shoulder.

  So far he had given very little information. His butler had seen a man leaving by the back entrance, had gone down to the basement and found the strong-room door open and the safes empty; he’d rushed up to the street and shouted for the police.

  A constable had been attacked by a man who had just walked from the house.

  Bristow had reached the spot half-an-hour later.

  He saw at once the strong-room and the safes had been opened by keys, either originals or duplicates. There was electric control, too, which had been switched off. The thief had walked in, used the keys, and hurried away; it could all have been done in half an hour.

  The butler had been wakened by three ‘loud reports’.

  According to his story, Sir Lester was away for the night, and Lady Larmont had told him and the other servants that they need not stay up. As far as they knew, she hadn’t returned.

  All this, Bristow had discovered within te
n minutes of entering the house. Then others arrived from the Yard and from the Division. He left men looking for clues in the strong-room, and went upstairs – and the butler reported seeing a light under the door of Lady Larmont’s sitting-room.

  So someone had been there, during the disturbance.

  Bristow had gone in –

  Larmont had been sitting in an easy chair, nursing his wounds; and his dead wife had been on the floor, a few yards away from him.

  Larmont had difficulty in talking, almost as if his power of speech was affected, but after a while he had told his story. He had come here and found a man threatening his wife, fired at the man, and hit his wife. He recited that in a flat, quivering voice, as if horror were shaking him.

  The burglar had shot him in turn, and fled.

  Larmont had staggered to the chair, dropped into it, and – he said – could not remember anything else. His mind had gone blank. All he could think about was his wife falling with the hole in her forehead. He was vague about the description of the man, said that as far as he remembered, it had all happened in a few seconds.

  Bristow had taken him downstairs.

  At first, he did not seem to realize what had happened there, and then suddenly he had pitched forward in a dead faint. A police-surgeon, called to examine the body of Lady Larmont, said that it was a simple case of shock, and that he ought to be allowed to rest. He had rested for an hour or more, then shown some signs of recovery, and insisted on going down to see the strong-room again.

  Bristow watched him.

  He walked from safe to safe, looking inside, pathetically hopeful, as if there was still a chance that the thief might have overlooked one case, or one tiny jewel. He seemed to have aged even while Bristow had been there, as if the double shock were more than he could stand.

  The butler took him to his room, and a detective officer went with them.

  Bristow returned to Lady Larmont’s sitting-room, where the routine of investigation was in full swing. This had to be done, even though they had a ‘confession’ and the confession rang so true. The rest just didn’t add up. One man had left by the back and the other by the front.

  What had the second man been doing?

  Had Larmont’s wife returned, discovered what was happening, and been taken to her room and kept there until the job below was finished?

  Bristow went back to the Yard, leaving a reliable man with Larmont. When he reached his office, he found a report of an incident at Ealing. The names Morris and Chittering caught his eye. He read on with tense interest. He still did not connect the Larmont affair with the one at Ealing until he saw the name of Bryce in the report.

  Bryce – Larmont – Mannering!

  He said aloud: ‘He’s behind it!’

  The attack on the policeman at Grayling Square, the getaway in the Austin, all tied up with the way ‘the Baron’ had worked in the past.

  Bristow said: ‘If he’s mixed up in this, I’ll never trust him again.’

  He jumped up, and hurried out of the office. As he reached the front hall, a sergeant on duty called out: ‘Mr. Bristow! Telephone, sir.’

  Bristow picked up the receiver, and said curtly: ‘Bristow.’

  ‘And this,’ said Mannering, ‘is Mannering.’

  Bristow said with great deliberation: ‘I am on my way to see you.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Mannering. ‘I’ve a present for you. Oh, and you will be a wise man to put out a call for Mr. William Courtney, of—’

  He gave Courtney’s address.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Bristow.

  ‘He stole the Larmont jewels tonight, as far as I can make out’

  ‘Just you wait in for me!’ cried Bristow.

  He hurried to his car, reaching Green Street just after half-past five.

  Mannering drew him into the flat.

  ‘A bargain is a bargain and I think you’ll find this one worth your trouble.’ He led the way to the study, and as he opened the door, asked. ‘Did you get my message?’

  ‘What message?’

  ‘I telephoned you about half-past three. Your wife promised to tell you as soon as you got back. Or haven’t you been home yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It will catch up.’ said Mannering.

  Several of the cases from the Larmont collection were on his desk, and suddenly he opened one; it was as if light and fire had leapt into the room. Bristow caught his breath. Mannering smiled, opened another, and withdrew a necklace like a cascade of diamonds.

  ‘Not bad, is it?’ The stones shimmered through his fingers. ‘I haven’t examined them all, but I fancy you’ll find everything taken from Larmont’s place. Have you been there yet?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bristow.

  According to Larmont, a man had been at the house with his wife – and if Bristow’s reasoning were right, that man had been Mannering.

  Bristow tried not to think.

  ‘What does Larmont say?’ asked Mannering.

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  Bristow said slowly; ‘I hope you aren’t trying to fool me, because the situation has grown too serious for that.’

  Mannering told the story as he had planned with Lorna, making up only the part about meeting Lady Iris by appointment. He left nothing else out, and realized that this was the first time since they had known each other that he had told a story so forthright.

  He finished mildly enough: ‘And after I’d left the house all I could think of was getting away. When I’d had time to think over it, and talk it over with Lorna—’ he shrugged. ‘That’s why I telephoned your flat.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘About half-past three.’

  ‘What time did the girl get here?’

  ‘Soon afterwards,’ said Mannering.

  ‘Is she still here?’

  ‘In the sitting-room, with Lorna. The only thing puzzling me is that Courtney chose tonight to make his raid, and got away with that lot. It’s almost as if someone opened the doors for him.’

  Bristow said: ‘Prepared to go into the witness box and testify against Larmont?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Admitting that you were disguised?’

  ‘Why not? I was trying to get to the bottom of my own problem, and didn’t want Lady Larmont to recognize me. That is all straight and above board.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Bristow. ‘I’m beginning to believe in miracles.’ He chuckled, unexpectedly. ‘What happened at Ealing tonight?’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  New Leaf

  Mannering lit a cigarette, outwardly at ease, inwardly anxious.

  If he told the truth, he would virtually be in Bristow’s power.

  The years of liking between them had always been marred by that feeling of distrust – Mannering’s for any policeman, Bristow’s for anyone who had been a thief. Was this really the turning point? Mannering tried to see the situation as Bristow would. When he knew what Mannering had been doing, would the policeman or the man come out uppermost?

  ‘Make up your mind,’ Bristow said.

  ‘I hope you’re playing fair,’ said Mannering. ‘This is all off the record.’

  ‘Why do you think I’ve come by myself, if I’m trying to get a statement to use against you?’ asked Bristow. ‘I’m not carrying a pocket dictaphone.’

  Mannering forced a laugh. ‘Well, here goes—’

  He talked freely, leaving nothing out.

  Bristow sat back in the armchair, drawing deeply on his cigarette. His face was blank, it was impossible to judge his thoughts. Mannering didn’t try.

  Bristow, watching Mannering closely, needed little convincing that he was hearing the truth at last. Many and many a time he had crossed swords with the Baron, trying to trick him into making an admission; and always he had failed. He knew this was partly because his heart was not entirely in it. He had sympathy for Mannering, both because he liked him, and because he thought he could g
ain results in the field of crime where, for various reasons, the police could not.

  Take this case.

  Ordinary police methods had got him nowhere. Mannering’s methods had slashed through routine and red tape and uncovered most of the truth – perhaps all of it. Any man who had the nerve to do what Mannering had done deserved to get away with it. Practically everyone at the Yard would scream blue murder if they even suspected what was in his mind, but –

  Would there be much difficulty in getting evidence against Bryce, Morris and Courtney? There was no proof yet as to who had killed Reginald Allen, but that was almost incidental, to the new situation. Mannering had come up against a cunning plot, the full ramifications of which were not yet known, and broken it in a few days.

  What should he, Bristow, do? As a man he had no doubt, but as a policeman – that was different.

  Mannering finished his story.

  He wished he knew what Bristow was thinking, wished he wasn’t so poker-faced. His own feelings were mixed. He had severed all links with the Baron of the past, had come right out. He could only hope desperately that he would not live to regret it.

  He said: ‘Now what, Bill?’

  Bristow said: ‘Thank you, John. You won’t regret any of it. Now, about Morris and Bryce—’

  Lorna came in, half an hour afterwards, with a tea-tray,

  ‘I can run to breakfast, if you’re ready for it.’

  ‘No thanks, Lorna!’ Bristow was bright and brisk. ‘I must get back to the Yard, I’m afraid. How much have you to do with all this?’

  ‘All this what?’

  ‘This turning of the leaf?’

  She said primly: ‘You do take sugar, don’t you?’

  Bristow sat back and roared with laughter.

  It was half-past six when the door closed on him. Mannering’s eyes danced as he stretched out his arms.

  ‘I think it’s worked.’

  ‘You told him?’

  ‘Yes, I told him. Believe in miracles?’

  Lorna didn’t speak, but Mannering watched the tears that glistened in her eyes, realized, perhaps more vividly than he had yet done, how desperate she had felt about the struggle which had gone on between him and the police. Quite suddenly, he pulled her close and kissed her.