by John Creasey
‘I’m just telling you.’
‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’
‘Oh, you’re not a fool, that’s why I’m talking to you. Lark, I came up here to buy those emeralds. I didn’t know that Bellamy had a collection of sparklers which had been stolen from places all over the world. I didn’t realise he wanted me to value his stuff, perhaps force something else from me, and then—’ He drew his finger across his throat, and Lark winced. ‘But Rundle—’
‘Rundle!’
‘Rundle escaped and waylaid me, to try and stop me going to Hallen House. So did Stella Bellamy. I wouldn’t listen. You’d better not make the same mistake, Lark. You’d better keep away from Bellamy and keep me away from him, too – especially just now. Because I sent a warning to the police.’
Lark said: ‘It’s a lie!’
‘It isn’t a lie; it—’
The gun moved and was trained on Mannering’s chest.
‘No one could get a message out of that house to the police. No one did, see? You sent a telegram to your wife – I know, I telephoned it for Bellamy. Don’t lie to me, Mr. Bloody Mannering. And don’t think you can get away with it—’
‘Remember the telegram?’ demanded Mannering, and when Lark did not answer, he went on swiftly: ‘Remember the last few words? “Let Gordon know, will see him as soon as possible”.’ He put the emphasis on ‘Gordon’ but Lark didn’t comprehend. ‘You know the Yard. You know Bristow and Inspector Gordon—’
Lark’s breath hissed.
‘I hadn’t’ any appointment; I don’t know another Gordon. My wife would know what I meant – go to the police. I didn’t name Bristow in case Bellamy knew the name; Gordon was safe. And Lark – that telegram was delivered this afternoon. The Yard will get in touch with the local police. Before noon tomorrow they’ll visit Bellamy. If I were you, I’d be a long way from here by midday tomorrow. You’ve said yourself that Bellamy’s mean. D’you think he’ll keep quiet about you? You’ve supplied a lot of his stuff, he’ll swear he didn’t know it was stolen. What you say to me doesn’t matter a tinker’s curse, but what he tells the police – well, just ask yourself.’
Lark licked his lips.
‘Bellamy’s too smart to let the dicks get him.’
‘This time he won’t be able to help it,’ said Mannering. ‘If you turn me over to him, the police will search until they find me. They’ll prod and probe everywhere, and Bellamy won’t have any warning – unless you warn him, and you’ll be a fool if you do. Use your head – clear out of here.’
There was a long silence – in the room and outside.
Lark rubbed his thumb against the Luger, absently, and did not shift his gaze. He was worried; his quick, clear mind was grappling with a new and unpleasant situation. He would make his own decision, not let someone else make it for him.
Mannering shifted his position, to ease the pain in his knee. Time was passing too quickly. Bellamy must know that Lark was staying here and might come to the house, to find out if the motor-cycle had been heard. The house might be watched and – he sat up abruptly – Bellamy might even know that he was here!
Lark squashed his cigarette out in a saucer decorated with pictures of Queen Victoria. He had reached some sort of decision. The throbbing in Mannering’s knee seemed to ease as his tension increased.
‘I asked you a question,’ Lark said. ‘How long have you been in the game?’
‘I’m not in “the game”.’
‘Why’d you carry those tools about?’
‘I find them useful.’
Lark repeated his one-handed trick with the cigarettes and lighter, but this time did not throw Mannering a cigarette. He blew smoke over Mannering’s head.
‘You can’t fool me, I know. Better let Jackie ‘ave a look at that knee. I’m going to take your advice, mister, but I’m going to take you with me. You and me are going to be as close as brothers for a little while. I still reckon we can do business, and if Bellamy stops buying—’
Lark turned, and bellowed to Jackie, who lumbered in, proving that he had been waiting for the summons.
Lorna Mannering let herself into the Chelsea flat, pulled off her wide-brimmed, black straw hat, and poked her fingers into hair as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing. She looked tired and disappointed; it was partly because John wasn’t here to greet her. Whenever he was away for a few days, it left her subdued, lonely; in moments of quick introspection, she knew that it was partly because of the strain of waiting, in the old days, for word of his safety; she lived more in their troubled past than John.
He should be home.
But if he were, he would have called out the moment he heard her key in the lock.
She dropped her hat on to a table and went into the living-room, the largest in the flat, every corner and every piece of furniture with its association with John. She’d sent their maid off for the night, so as to be alone with him, and—
She saw the telegram, propped up on the mantelpiece. She drew back, knowing it meant he was delayed, then tore it open.
Gordon?
Who was Gordon?
Why on earth did he talk about an appointment he hadn’t made? The next day they had planned to spend together.
Gordon? Gordon, Gordon, Gordon—
No, she knew no one of the name. But John hadn’t dragged it into the telegram without a reason. He was trying to tell her something. What?
Disquiet grew like a shadow in her mind.
Gordon?
She found herself looking at the telegram again as she sat in front of her dressing-table mirror. When she glanced up, she looked at her reflection – knew that if John were here, he’d laugh gently and his hands would rest lightly on her shoulders and steal down, and the frown which drew her thick, black eyebrows together would clear, lights would spring into her grey eyes, now dull and slate-grey with anxiety. He’d make some absurd remark about the loveliness of her white skin, or trace the line of her short, rather broad nose and her full lips. Every word would delight her; every touch would be welcome.
But he wasn’t here.
Gordon, Gordon—
Gordon!
There was a detective at Scodand Yard of that name, he worked with Bristow!
Superintendent Bristow, in shirt-sleeves and slippers, put down the Evening News and picked up the telephone. He could hear his wife in the kitchen, getting supper.
‘Bristow here … who?’
‘Lorna Mannering. Bill
Bristow listened; and knew she was really worried, and probably had cause to be. He didn’t envy the lot of John Mannering’s wife. But she was composed and brief – not a woman to waste words.
And that’s all?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I wouldn’t jump to conclusions,’ Bristow said. ‘But I can see why you’re worried, and I’ll have a word with the Cornshire police at once. You’ll be at the flat all the evening, won’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And tomorrow?’
‘You’ll get me some news by tomorrow, won’t you?’
‘You’ll probably have some yourself,’ said Bristow. ‘Goodbye – and don’t worry.’
But he knew that if he were in her shoes, he would worry a great deal. If Mannering were driven to appeal covertly to the police for help, things weren’t so good.
Soon he was speaking to Superintendent Dando, of the Cornshire C.I.D., and Dando asked questions. No, Bristow couldn’t think of any grounds for a call at Hallen House that night, except to inquire for Mannering. He didn’t know that there was anything desperately urgent about this, and if it were difficult to get to Hallen House tonight, early morning would have to do, but—was there any reason to suspect that the man Bellamy was a crook?
No, Dando told him, none at all.
True, a man had been killed by falling out of a window at the house only a few weeks ago. Servants had given satisfactory evidence; the inquest verdict of accidental death had been unquestioned, certainly no one had suspec
ted violence. What? Oh, the dead man was the previous owner of Hallen House, although he had only owned it for a few weeks – he had inherited it from his uncle and sold it to Bellamy. The circumstances were not suspicious in themselves, but if Mannering had stumbled upon a mystery, the thing would be worth investigating. He would send men to the house early next morning.
What about this John Mannering? Was he reliable? Jewel collectors were notoriously amoral, in Dando’s opinion; seemed to imagine they were a law unto themselves.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Bristow thoughtlessly, ‘Mannering’s all right.’
He looked up from the telephone to see his wife, who knew about the Baron, grinning at him.
A request from Scotland Yard was not a thing which Super-intendent Dando took lightly, so he was at his Corwellin office at half-past eight next morning. Partly because it was a glorious day, he decided to drive to Hallen House himself, and to take a sergeant.
The sergeant was getting a car out of the garage and Dando was looking through the morning’s post, when the telephone bell rang.
Five minutes later, he replaced the receiver, stared at a picture of his twin daughters which stood on his littered desk, then drew a writing-pad in front of him. He wrote swiftly:
Telegram to Superintendent Bristow, New Scotland Yard: ‘Bellamy of Hallen House has just reported a robbery. Dando.’
Bellamy sat on the porch of the house, sunning himself, smoking a pipe and watching the little trail of dust on the road which led from Corwellin, the nearest town. A car was churning up a cloud of dust on the dry, sandy track between the puddles. Two gardeners were working at the front of the house, but no rifles were in sight. Now and again Bellamy smiled to himself, and once he chuckled; a gardener glanced at him with a nervous grin.
Harrison came on to the porch, shading his eyes with his hand against the brilliant sunlight.
‘They coming?’ he demanded abruptly.
‘They’ll be here in ten minutes.’
‘If you ask me, it’s suicide!’ Harrison’s eyes were red-rimmed and glassy from lack of sleep. His movements were quick and nervous; his hand was unsteady when he took the cigarette from his lips. ‘It’s—’
‘But I am not asking you,’ murmured Bellamy.
‘If you’d taken my advice—’
‘I’ve already told you what I think about your advice. Jim, go indoors, lie down; try to get some sleep. You’re in no condition to talk to the police. I tell you that I can handle the situation very easily. Mannering won’t bob up – and if he did, he couldn’t show the receipt for £3,000, you stole that from him. We had to get our blow in first. The only alternative we had was to leave here. That would have meant a hue-and-cry. I’m not prepared to go into hiding, or to go abroad yet.’
‘I’d rather be in Buenos Aires than in an English jail!’
‘I would much rather stay here,’ said Bellamy. ‘Now go up to your room, Jim. I shan’t send for you unless it’s urgent. I hope it won’t be. If I do have to—’ his voice grew steely. ‘You better control your nerves.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ muttered Harrison, and flung himself off.
The approaching car, now near the gates, was a shiny Austin, with two men in it. The driver looked young, and Bellamy turned his attention to the passenger, a dark-haired man whose broad shoulders made the blond driver look slender.
When the car stopped outside the front door, the passenger jumped out. Although he was a heavy, thick-set man, he moved quickly and lightly. His shoulders were not only broad, but rounded – a bull of a man. He had a broad, sallow face and a bushy black moustache, and looked a typical Cornshire native.
This would be Dando, decided Bellamy. He wore a suit of homespun, brown tweed and the knees of his trousers were baggy. Beside him, the driver looked an elegant, young fop, fair-haired – probably a ‘foreigner.’
‘Good morning,’ greeted Bellamy in his most mellow voice. ‘Are you Superintendent Dando?’
‘That’s right, sir. Mr. Bellamy?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry I can’t get out of my chair,’ said Bellamy, smoothing the black rug over his knees. ‘I’m rather incapacitated, Superintendent. And your companion—’
‘Detective-Sergeant Whittaker.’
Bellamy nodded genially.
‘Good of you to make it snappy – and to come in person. Thanks. But come in, won’t you – just follow me.’ He startled the detectives by the speed with which he swivelled his chair round and sped across the hall.
The sunlight made that cavernous chamber bright, and picked out the colours of the oil paintings on the walls.
Bellamy disappeared through an open door, and Dando and Whittaker followed, Whittaker appearing to take much more note of the house than his senior. When they entered the room, Bellamy was pressing a bell-push.
‘Now come and sit down, and I’ll tell you everything I can, Mr. Dando. I’m insured, of course; the loss isn’t serious financially, but—’ His expression altered, his brows knit together. ‘I am very attached to my collection, humble though it is, and the emeralds were very fine specimens.’
Dando sat down; Whittaker remained standing.
‘Was anything else taken?’ asked Dando.
‘Several smaller gems, but they’re not really part of my little collection – just makeweights I had been forced to buy in order to get stones I really coveted. I find the obvious solution almost unbelievable, but—what other explanation can there be?’
‘You’re going a little too fast for me, sir.’ Dando gave an apologetic smile. ‘Will you start from the beginning.’
He had a bovine expression and rather sleepy, blue eyes, and was not a man to fill anyone with alarm. And he looked an easy man to bluff. The sergeant, who was standing with a notebook and pencil in his hand, looked a fathead.
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Bellamy. ‘From the beginning is the right place to start, Mr. Dando.’
He had seen Mannering’s advertisement for the Lake Emeralds in Apollo. Perhaps the Superintendent was familiar with the magazine which circulated among dealers and connoisseurs of fine art and jewellery. Being interested, Bellamy had telephoned Quinn’s and spoken to Mannering, making it clear that he would not sell the emeralds but might consider an exchange for other rare gems. Mannering had surprised Bellamy by saying he would come to see them at Hallen House. He, Bellamy, had been quite prepared to go to London, but Mannering had said he had other business in the south-west, and Bellamy had raised no objection. Yet it had surprised him, of course, in the light of after events – but he was anticipating the story again.
He broke off, as the door opened.
The housekeeper came in with a coffee-tray and biscuits. Her pale, grey eyes seemed riveted on Bellamy, until he nodded dismissal. Mrs. Dent closed the door softly behind her, and Bellamy leaned forward to pour out the coffee.
Mannering had arrived in the middle of a storm, nothing had deterred him from coming, although, in such weather, most people would have stayed in Corwellin overnight – didn’t the Superintendent agree? He had shown great interest in the collection, as well as in the emeralds, but had not been prepared to exchange, he wanted to buy. Obstinate fellow! Bellamy had been firm, and:
‘I couldn’t understand the man. I got the impression that he was worried about something – it made him abrupt and bad-tempered – why, he even threatened! Obviously he wanted the emeralds badly.’
Dando made understanding noises.
Bellamy admitted that he had been uneasy, especially when, next day, on the pretext of indisposition, Mannering had not returned to London but had invited himself for another night. Bellamy had thought that he was going to try to persuade him to part with the emeralds, but Mannering appeared to have accepted his congé. He had been sullen, uneasy and irritable.
‘But we didn’t dream what was in his mind,’ Bellamy declared in a shocked voice. ‘I was up and around first next morning, I sleep badly, and I came out of my bedroom and found the jewel-room
door had been broken open. I—I can’t tell you the shock it gave me. I thought the door was burglar-proof! Well, I wheeled myself into the room. The window was still shuttered, I just can’t believe anyone could break in that way – but the door had been opened. And the lock was specially fitted a month or two ago. Only a really expert thief could have broken it open. But there it was – open. The emeralds and these other things were gone.’
‘Curious he should leave some stuff behind,’ remarked Dando.
‘I thought that, Mr. Dando, but my housekeeper explained it. She heard sounds during the night, and came downstairs. She noticed nothing amiss, but presumably the thief was disturbed and thought he’d better get away while he could.’
Dando nodded.
Bellamy raised a pointed finger.
‘I soon made another discovery. My butler had also run away.’
Dando blinked, and looked more bovine than ever.
‘Then either of them could have taken the jewels.’
‘I haven’t told you yet that Holmes, the butler, and Mannering seemed on very good terms,’ Bellamy said smoothly. ‘Looking back, it sticks right out that they were conspiring together. Find one, and you’ll find the other! They had to force a way out, you know. I take great precautions, as jewels represent only a trifling proportion of my valuables. The doors can only be opened with a key. They escaped by a window near Mannering’s bedroom. Holmes I can understand, but Mannering, a man of such position! It’s incomprehensible, except that—’
He broke off.
‘Go on, please,’ said Dando.
‘Well, I guess all the time he was here, he gave me the impression that some danger, some threat, was hanging over his head. He was so desperate to get those emeralds. Of course, you’ll say I’m prejudging the man, there may be another explanation, yet—’ Bellamy broke off, and shrugged. ‘Now the investigation is in your capable hands, Superintendent!’
‘Thank you,’ said Dando heavily. ‘I’d like to see the jewel-room.’
‘Of course. Finished your coffee? Then follow me.’ Bellamy wheeled himself vigorously out of the room. A cursory glance was enough to convince both detectives that a brilliant cracksman had forced the lock of the door. Dando knew of no one in the southwest capable of it; it was the work of a London specialist. He did not spend much time examining the lock, but followed Bellamy into the room.