A Rope For the Baron

by John Creasey

  He was locked in.

  Two or three men were running across the hall now. There was no time to pick the lock.

  He crossed to the window, slipped back the catch and tried to push the window up. It wouldn’t budge. He drew back, tight-lipped, breathing hard. There was no further sound, yet the echo of that cry seemed to ring in his ears: he had to get out.

  The windows were electrically controlled; that was the only explanation of the jamming. He drew back, picked up the chair beside the table, and banged it against the glass.

  Ordinary glass would have broken, but this resisted the blow. He struck again, more heavily; the toughened glass gave out a hollow, booming note, but did not break. It wasn’t surprising; anyone would take such precautions in the jewel-room, but—he must get out. That cry – the quick flurry of footsteps – the alarm. Stella, perhaps – or her sister – had rushed out of the house and was trying to get away; and Harrison meant to stop him from interfering.

  He examined the window closely, seeing the rubber-covered flex which carried the current. The frame was of painted metal, not of wood.

  A knife would cut through ordinary electric cable, but if the wire were alive he would get a nasty shock. And of course the current was on. What was the voltage? Probably low, because they manufactured their own current.

  Would he be wiser to pretend that he hadn’t been disturbed?

  Then he saw the girl.

  She was tearing across the orchard, her dark hair streaming behind her, her flimsy white dress—dress?—pressed tightly against her figure. A man appeared, fifty yards behind her; Harrison, with one of the gardeners following him.

  That settled it; he would get out somehow.

  He opened his knife, pushed it between the electric cable and the wall, and tugged. The cable sagged. A staple which fastened it to the wall came out, giving plenty of loose cable to grip. He dropped the knife and tugged savagely.

  There was a tiny blue flash as it broke.

  He thrust the window up.

  The girl and the men were out of sight as Mannering jumped over the stone wall and plunged across the garden towards the orchard. As he reached it, Harrison and the gardener, with the girl held between them, came walking towards the house. The girl was trying to pull herself free, and her breath was coming in great gasps. She was smaller than Stella, a tiny, dark creature; the dress was a nightdress, she was bare-footed and wild-eyed.

  Harrison missed a step when he saw Mannering approaching.

  ‘What the devil’s happening here?’ Mannering snapped.

  ‘Let me go,’ cried the girl. ‘Make them let me go!’ She looked at him beseechingly, her eyes two shining pools of fear. ‘Oh, make them let me go!’

  ‘You’re hurting the girl,’ Mannering said. ‘Let her go.’

  ‘Now listen, Mannering,’ rasped Harrison in an ugly voice, ‘while you’re here, you mind your own ruddy business. The girl’s ill—delirious. She’s got to be taken back to her room.’

  ‘Oh, make them let me go,” gasped Kathleen. ‘I can’t stay here! I can’t stay here!’

  Mannering said softly, angrily: ‘Let her go.’

  ‘Clear out,’ growled Harrison, and tightened his grip on Kathleen’s bare arm. His fingers bit deeply into her thin, pale flesh. The gardener was holding her firmly, but more gently.

  ‘Now, Miss,’ he said in a soft voice, ‘don’t make it difficult for us, Miss, please. And sir!’

  Mannering came forward.

  Harrison tried to push him away, but Mannering dodged his fist, gripped his wrist, and twisted savagely. Pain made Harrison relax his grip and Kathleen tried to pull herself away from the gardener. Before she could get free, Mannering put his arm round her shoulders, holding her tight. She was quaking and icy cold.

  ‘Oh, make them let me go!’ she pleaded.

  Harrison, a yard away, stood with his fist clenched, his lips drawn back over his teeth.

  Mannering ignored him and said to the gardener: ‘Take your hand away, she’ll be all right,’ and as the man reluctantly obeyed, he lifted her bodily. ‘We must get you back in the warm. You’ll have to get better and get dressed before you leave, you know.’

  ‘They won’t let me leave!’

  ‘They will, in good time,’ said Mannering soothingly. Two or three other men approached, and one of them carried a rifle. They followed as Mannering hurried with the girl towards the house. She was pitifully light – skin and bones. The white skin had a transparent look.

  She was ill; and she was trembling with cold as well as from fear.

  She made no attempt to get free from him.

  He crossed the drive, passed beneath the cedar, and carried her indoors as Bellamy appeared, swinging his chair out of the room where they had breakfasted.

  ‘Mannering!’

  ‘I’ll talk to you about this later,’ Mannering rasped. ‘Where is her room?’ he held Bellamy’s gaze, and caught sight of Stella and Mrs Dent out of the corner of his eyes. ‘Someone lead the way.’

  The housekeeper spoke.

  ‘This way, sir, please.’ She glanced at Bellamy, and presumably he gave consent, for she walked towards the long passage. Mannering followed and Stella brought up the rear.

  The housekeeper turned from the first doorway into a small bedroom, with modern furniture, clean and tidy, making an unexpectedly good impression. A single bed was turned down, and Mannering carried the shivering girl to it. Stella and the housekeeper pulled the clothes over Kathleen, who looked at Mannering and ignored even her sister. Her eyes were enormous and unnaturally bright; feverish.

  ‘You—will—help me, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I will.’

  ‘You’ll be all right, Kathie.’ There was a sob in Stella’s voice. ‘You’ll be all right, but you mustn’t run off again, you’ll—you’ll make yourself worse.’

  ‘Would you mind getting a hot-water bottle?’ asked Mrs. Dent in her composed, authoritative manner, ‘and ask Holmes to prepare a hot drink?’

  She did not speak to Mannering, but the words were tantamount to a dismissal. There was no point in his staying, but he tried to reassure Kathleen by pressing his hands on her shoulders firmly and saying; ‘You’ll be all right.’ Then he followed Stella out of the room.

  From the door, he looked round. Mrs. Dent was bending over the sick girl, now hidden from him.

  A fierce, uncontrollable rage gripped him as he walked slowly towards the hall – and dismay was with it. This would create the crisis he was so anxious to delay. Worse than that, he had told both girls that he could help.

  Could he?

  Holmes entered the passage, looked at him searchingly, hopefully. Mannering nodded, and the butler passed. Stella began to speak hurriedly, telling the butler what Mrs. Dent wanted, as Mannering went slowly into the hall.

  ‘Mr. Mannering!’ Bellamy called from the small room.

  Mannering went in, taking out his cigarette-case, to find Bellamy sitting by the fire. Harrison was standing by the window, his hands deep in his pockets, his face pale and his eyes angry.

  ‘Mr. Mannering,’ said Bellamy in his mellow voice, ‘we owe you a very sincere apology, but—’

  No point in mincing words now.

  ‘You owe me much more than that. You owe me an explanation.’

  ‘My dear sir, believe me when I say—’

  ‘I’m in no mood to believe anything you say,’ said Mannering. ‘Has that girl been seen by a doctor?’

  ‘Why, of course she has,’ said Bellamy smoothly, ‘she is receiving treatment under medical guidance. She—’

  ‘Then I think the doctor should be called at once, and then I think you should begin to explain to me. Harrison was behaving like a vicious brute. His handling of that girl was damnable, and if I see him touching her or anyone else like that again, I’ll smash his face in. What the devil do you think you’re doing here? Are your gardeners armed to stop thieves, or to prevent that girl from leaving? And what’s the m
atter with your niece? She’s so terrified of something here that she’s absolutely cowed.’

  Bellamy raised a hand. ‘Please—’

  ‘You’ll hear me out. What would have happened to that girl if I hadn’t forced my way out of the jewel-room? Why was I locked in? Why did you bring me here? Come on, out with it – why?’

  Harrison took a step forward, menacingly, itching to strike him. But Bellamy remained calm.

  ‘Jim, we aren’t being very hospitable, let’s have a drink. Sit down, Mannering.’ He paused, but Mannering remained standing. ‘I can understand you feeling a little put out, and the incident of the locked door is annoying. The door is always kept locked, you see, and one of the servants, noticing the key was in the lock, turned it without knowing you were there, and I do apologise.’

  So he wanted to defer the crisis, too.

  ‘Or Harrison turned the key to keep me away from the girl,’ countered Mannering abruptly.

  ‘I can see that it looks like that; it’s a most unfortunate coincidence, but I assure you that you’re quite wrong. Ah.’ Bellamy stretched out a hand for a whisky and soda, and offered it to Mannering. ‘I asked you to come here because I very much wanted to meet you, it isn’t often I have the pleasure of comparing notes with a connoisseur, and I am really regretful that I have had so much else on my mind since you arrived. I’ll be frank, Mr. Mannering. Both my nieces are a great anxiety.’

  ‘Both?’ Better not to let them know that he knew who Kathleen was.

  ‘They are sisters, and some time ago they underwent a considerable nervous strain and shock. They have been ordered to rest; they aren’t—quite normal, Mr. Mannering. You can see that yourself. It’s only a temporary phase, I trust and believe. The younger girl, the one who ran away just now, is confined to her room on doctor’s orders, but she is restive and resentful. And both have one particular illusion; they have passed it on to each other, I guess. They think—’ He paused, and sipped the drink Harrison had given him. ‘They think they saw a man fall to his death from a window of the house. And, as a result, they have developed—what d’you call it, Jim?—a persecution complex. They are always restive when I have a guest. It’s a sad business, you’ll be the first to agree.’

  ‘It won’t improve if Harrison—’

  Harrison licked his lips.

  ‘She clawed me across the face; I wasn’t in a very sweet temper, but I wouldn’t have hurt the girl. If she hadn’t been such a termagant, there wouldn’t have been any fuss.’

  Slowly, Mannering allowed himself to be mollified, Bellamy exerted himself to be reassuring, Harrison gradually thawed. The atmosphere was much clearer when they went into the dining-room for luncheon, but a new question arose in Mannering’s mind.

  Why was Bellamy determined to be friendly? Not until they were having coffee did he remember the screw of paper in his waistcoat pocket.

  The great clock downstairs was striking two when Mannering went into his room. Bellamy was soon to show him over some of the other rooms – including the Great Hall, which Mannering had not yet seen and where, according to both men, there were some remarkable art treasures.

  Mannering closed the door, turned the key, and glanced round the room. Yes, there were plenty of places from which a spy might watch. He went to the window, turned his back on the room, and took out the paper.

  It was a thin tissue, and as he smoothed it out he saw that someone had written with a hard pencil; the words would be difficult to read. The writing was small and even.

  He read slowly:

  The young ladies are in great danger. So are you. B. will ask you to value his jewels. Don’t tell him you know some are stolen. If you can get away, send help at once. I am not allowed to leave the house. Be especially careful of H. I will try to help.

  Mannering read it twice, with an odd mingling of satisfaction and disappointment, then burned it.

  If Bellamy had brought him here to value his jewels, it would explain his conciliatory manner. But Holmes and the girls were all frightened of Bellamy; what help could they give?

  He had to handle this himself.

  Escape …

  For the first time, Mannering was able to appreciate the architecture. The rooms on the ground and first floors were off passages which surrounded the entrance hall, and a huge arched door lead to the Great Hall; it was locked and padlocked. Bellamy wheeled his chair forward and unlocked it. Harrison was not with them, but Holmes was at hand.

  ‘Lights, please, Holmes,’ said Bellamy.

  Lights blazed from three chandeliers which hung from the high, carved ceiling. As Bellamy wheeled himself forward, Mannering shot Holmes an understanding glance.

  Holmes smiled and turned away.

  ‘Now, Mannering!’ called Bellamy, rubbing his hands together, ‘come and feast your eyes on these!’

  Great tapestries of beautiful design, some of battle-scenes, one remarkably reminiscent of a Bayeux tapestry, draped the panelled walls. There were no windows, and the ceiling seemed lost in a gloom broken only near and beneath the chandeliers. Bellamy began to talk freely, giving the history and the origin of each piece there – relics from old battlefields, swords of beaten gold, rare pieces from many epochs, a galaxy of antiques and fine art – with a studied carelessness as to century or value. Chased Norman goblets stood next to lustrous Ming vases and vessels taken from the tombs of Egyptian kings; relics of Greek, Roman, and early British statuary were ranged side by side on a massive carved sideboard. And Bellamy talked as if he knew and loved each piece; gradually all sense of danger faded and Mannering was lost in silent admiration for everything he saw.

  ‘Yes, I am proud of that collection,’ Bellamy said, ‘it is a lifetime’s work, Mannering. And I guess I’m just as proud of my jewels, although I know less about them. I wonder if you would care to value them for me? Or maybe tell me which are rare and which aren’t worthy of the room they take up. Will you?’

  ‘If you like,’ said Mannering slowly.

  Holmes appeared in the doorway. ‘Did you ring, sir?’

  ‘We’ll have some tea,’ said Bellamy, and took out the key of the Great Hall to lock the door again.

  Mannering worked until late among the jewels, confirming his earlier opinion about which were stolen pieces. It was late when Bellamy came in, professed to be shocked that Mannering was still working, insisted that he should have a nightcap and then go to bed.

  The moment for escape drew near.

  Mannering read into the early hours. Silence descended upon the great house except for the creaking noises of the night, strange rustlings and murmurings, unaccountable but trying to the nerves. Between one and two o’clock would be the best time to leave, and the window at the end of his passage would be the best to use. His own would be watched.

  At half-past one he threw back the bedclothes and began to dress.

  By two o’clock he stood at a window overlooking the front of the house. It would be easy to open.

  The tingling of excitement made his pulse beat fast. Sheets and blankets tied together to make a rope, a quick descent, a rush for the garage, and then freedom. Once he escaped, the girls would be out of imminent danger. Bellamy would not dare to harm them knowing the police might come; and he would realise that.

  The moor beckoned Mannering as he opened the window.

  Then events moved swiftly. A car swung round the side of the house, its headlights blazing, and the low beat of the engine purred through the night, away from Hallen House. He stood still listening – until footsteps sounded in the hall and then, less clearly, up the stairs.

  He slipped back into his room and got into bed, fully clad.

  No sooner had he pulled the clothes over him than the door was opened, stealthily.

  Chapter Eight

  Escape

  ‘Mr. Mannering!’

  A man spoke hoarsely, his words only just carrying to Mannering’s ears. A stocky figure showed against the faint light in the passage.

/>   ‘Mr. Mannering!’

  It was Holmes, who tiptoed towards the bed. His breathing was laboured; when he kicked against a chair, he gasped and stood stock-still.

  ‘All right, Holmes,’ said Mannering softly. ‘What is it?’

  Holmes stared towards the door before he came forward and answered. Little sounds filled the house – sounds of men walking about, of doors opening and closing. The hum of the car engine had faded.

  ‘They’ve—they’ve been taken away.’

  ‘Who have?’ He didn’t really need to ask.

  ‘Miss—Miss Stella and her sister. Oh, God, what are we going to do? I didn’t know anything about it until last thing, then I heard Mrs. Dent say she’d made sure they would sleep all night, she—she drugged them, sir. I couldn’t rest. I didn’t get undressed. I tried to come to see you before, but I couldn’t get past the guards till now. Now the young ladies have gone, we may never see them again!’

  Mannering got out of bed, and gripped the butler’s arm.

  ‘Do you know where they’ve been taken?’

  ‘I—I haven’t the slightest idea, sir.’

  ‘Who’s gone with them?’

  ‘Harrison. But—you’re dressed!’

  ‘What are my chances of getting to the garage?’

  ‘You can’t get in there, sir.’ Holmes began to tremble. ‘There are two men on guard, I think they’re afraid you might—you might try. They’ll shoot you, sir. They won’t hesitate; they’re devils!’

  ‘Yes, I know, but we’ve got to get help, Holmes. Where is the nearest telephone?’

  ‘You’ll never get away from the garage!’

  ‘I must try,’ said Mannering. ‘Now pull yourself together, we’ll have some of the men up here if you don’t. Where’s the nearest telephone?’

  At—at a house a few miles along the Corwellin Road, sir, the—the opposite way to which you came. It’s a small house, near the road. You—you can’t miss it, it’s just past the bridge. But—’

  ‘I’ll get there. Tie two sheets together for me, and make a good job of it.’

  As Holmes pulled off the bedclothes, Mannering went to the wardrobe and opened the tool-case. He took out half a dozen tools – a screwdriver, file, the knife, and skeleton key, a small hammer, and a diamond glass-cutter; he might need any one, or all of them. He stuffed them into his pocket, added a coil of stout cord, tapped the gun in his pocket, then rejoined Holmes. He didn’t want to think, only to act.