by John Creasey
Five of the cabinets were filled with china, porcelain, and rare glass; only one contained jewels, a fraction of the collection which Mannering had seen. The jewel-cabinet had three doors; one had been forced, and a few trinkets were strewn about the shelves; the other partitions were undisturbed, diamonds winked and rubies glowed in the sunlit room.
‘You see, it’s a small collection, but there are some lovely pieces,’ murmured Bellamy. ‘What would you like to do first, Superintendent?’
‘Look round here,’ said Dando. ‘Sergeant, fetch my case from my car, will you?’
Soon they were brushing grey powder over the cabinet and the door, blowing it away, welcoming the sight of the fingerprints which showed up. There were several at the door, also, but none at the window, where the broken cable had been mended.
Dando felt an unwilling admiration for whoever had forced the lock. But he couldn’t waste much time; there was a lot to do; get finger-prints of all the servants and of Bellamy, for instance, without letting them know what he was doing, so that he could compare them with the sets. Then he must search Mannering’s room; and the butler’s. He must send an urgent message to Scotland Yard, too.
He did that first, and it was sent off by one of the gardeners, who drove to the nearest village; the gardener also had instructions to summon more men from Corwellin Police Station.
Dando also sent out a general call for John Mannering and Holmes.
Chapter Ten
Shock for Bristow
Bristow walked briskly along the passage of Scotland Yard, whistling cheerfully. He thrived on warm weather, and this morning’s burst of Indian Summer could stay as long as it liked, there would be no complaint from him. Moreover, he was enjoying a welcome lull in the crime wave. The long dark nights of winter were an ally of thieves, an enemy of the police, but this autumn the new outbreak was later than usual in starting.
As he passed the Assistant Commissioner’s door it opened and a sergeant came out. Bristow saw Colonel Anderson-Kerr who raised a hand.
‘Oh, come in a moment, Bristow, will you?’
Bristow went in and closed the door.
‘Good morning – grand, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘For those who like it,’ said Anderson-Kerr. He was a lean whippet of a man, but his dislike of London heat was a byword. ‘Sit down, and don’t look so disgustingly pleased with yourself.’
Bristow chuckled as he took a cigarette from a box the A.C. pushed towards him.
His neat, close-clipped moustache was stained yellow with nicotine. His iron-grey hair was parted in the middle, and brushed down very flat, his fresh complexion reflected glowing health, and his eyes were sparkling. This was one of the days when Bristow was good-looking. His even features were nothing much to boast about, but they had a pleasing effect. He looked kindly, and he was, although under strain when dealing with hardened criminals the kindliness disappeared and took good looks away.
‘What’s this about a message from Mannering?’ Anderson-Kerr tapped a file of reports on his desk.
‘I don’t know whether it really amounts to much, although Mannering wouldn’t send mysterious telegrams for the sake of it,’ said Bristow. ‘I haven’t heard from Corwellin yet.’
‘Why did Mannering go down there?’
Bristow told him what Lorna had already explained over the telephone, and added: ‘It is just possible the name “Gordon” was an error in transmission, and nothing at all may come of it. Mannering isn’t on the look-out for trouble.’
‘I hope not.’ Something in the tone of the A.C.’s voice startled Bristow. ‘I suppose there isn’t any doubt that Mannering was the Baron?’
‘Short of legal proof, no doubt at all,’ said Bristow. ‘Why?’
‘I didn’t know him – or you – in the Baron days, and I only know him as a clever dealer and a trustworthy expert to consult,’ said Anderson-Kerr. ‘And he’s made himself useful in other ways—’
‘If Mannering had been a policeman, he’d have been our star performer.’
‘So I’ve gathered. Ever feel uneasy about what he’s up to these days?’
There was silence; long and thoughtful. Then: ‘Just what are you driving at?’ asked Bristow.
Anderson-Kerr took a buff-coloured memo from his desk and handed it over; and Bristow’s eyes narrowed as he read. ‘Bellamy of Hallen House has just reported a robbery.’
Another silence, short and tense this time, before Bristow asked: ‘When did this arrive?’
‘Two hours ago. As you were at Marlborough Street, I held on to it. First a mysterious message from Mannering then this. I’m wondering if—’
The telephone bell rang.
‘For you,’ said Anderson-Kerr.
‘Hello?’ Bristow barked.
The brightness, already dimmed, faded completely and his good looks were scattered.
‘All right, that’ll do. Send confirmation to my office immediately, with a copy to the Assistant Commissioner.’
He banged down the receiver.
‘That’s another telegram from Corwellin. Dando wants to know if we can telegraph Mannering’s finger-prints.’
Anderson-Kerr did not speak.
Bristow’s voice was as hard as his expression.
‘According to Bellamy, Mannering got up in the middle of the night, broke into a locked room, and cleared off with some jewels – including the emeralds he went down to buy. The butler left with him. There’s no trace of forced entry into the house, only an open window. Knotted sheets hanging down. Motor-cycle stolen from the garage. Dando’s put out a call for Mannering throughout the Western Counties, and wants us to broadcast it.’
He pressed a new cigarette against a glowing stub.
‘Well?’ said Anderson-Kerr. ‘A leopard and his spots?’
Bristow said: ‘A leopard can’t change his spots any more than the Baron would leave finger-prints behind, or do a job when he is the only possible suspect. And he would never use an accomplice. According to that telegram, Dando thinks he worked with the butler. I don’t believe it. But—’
‘Worried?’ asked Anderson-Kerr.
‘Badly. Can’t understand why I wasn’t before. Always known one thing which might start the Baron off again.’
‘Is he hard up?’ Bristow laughed mirthlessly.
‘He’s very rich. But he’s got that past and if anyone else knows about it, he might be blackmailed. Why did he travel to that godforsaken place to get some trumpery emeralds?’
‘You may be right,’ said Anderson-Kerr.
‘I’d better get busy,’ said Bristow.
Half an hour later, the finger-prints had been telegraphed to Corwellin, and the general call was out for Mannering. If the call were picked up by the newspapers, it might be construed into a request for Mannering’s help. Bristow did all this efficiently but with a cold weight of oppression on his mind. Now and again the thought of Lorna Mannering intruded, and he expected a call from her.
It didn’t come.
Bristow did not leave his desk that lunch-time, but sent for sandwiches and coffee from the canteen. He might as well have had a square meal, however, for there was no further news until half-past two. This time a telegram was brought in, written on a memo form.
‘Prints on door and cabinet Mannering’s. Your help welcomed. Dando.’
Bristow telephoned the A.C.’s office, but there was no answer. Next, and very thoughtfully, he put in a call to Mannering’s flat. There was no answer from there, either. A curious glint appeared in Bristow’s eyes as he put in a call to Quinn’s.
A soft-voiced man answered him.
‘This is Quinn’s, sir. Can I help you?’
‘Is that Carmichael?’
‘Yes, sir. Is that Mr. Bristow?’
‘Yes. Do you know where Mrs. Mannering is?’
Carmichael didn’t reply at once.
‘Do you?’ snapped Bristow.
Carmichael murmured: ‘Well, sir, she did ask me t
o treat the matter as confidential, but I am a little worried by events. I understand that she had gone to Cornshire.’
So she’d heard from Mannering; or had news.
‘When did she leave?’ Bristow asked flatly.
‘By the ten o’clock train from Paddington.’
‘Alone?’
‘I think so, sir.’
‘Did she have a message from Mr. Mannering?’
‘I was not told of any such message,’ said Carmichael. ‘Mrs. Mannering telephoned from the station and informed me where she was going. I gathered—’ he broke off.
‘Go on,’ ordered Bristow sharply.
‘I gathered that she was worried by the telegram which she received yesterday, and wasn’t satisfied that the police were taking the matter seriously enough.’ There was gentle reproof in Carmichael’s voice. ‘She felt that she could not stay in London. Of course—’
‘That’ll do for now,’ said Bristow. ‘I’m coming to see you in half an hour.’
Hart Row, London, W.l, slumbered in the sluggish warmth of the afternoon. Traffic crawled along New Bond Street, which was at one end of the Row; pedestrians hurried or dawdled past the exclusive, expensive shops. New Bond Street was thronged, but Hart Row was deserted except for two or three people looking in a gown-shop window. The sun caught the fascia board of the antique shop, and the gilt old English lettering of the name stood out clearly. The narrow window was dressed in wine-red velvet, and a Genoese silver cabinet stood exactly in the middle. A single light glowed inside the shop, shining softly on priceless things.
Carmichael stood near the door. Tall, thin, white-haired, he looked as if he should be clad in robes and surplice, not in a cutaway morning-suit. His bushy, white eyebrows curled up to his high, pale forehead.
A green Morris stopped outside and Bristow jumped out, a sergeant following him.
Carmichael stepped forward.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Bristow. Shall we go into the office?’ Years of habit had made Carmichael weigh his words; he talked slowly and rather prosily.
‘Yes.’ Bristow was curt.
Soon Bristow sat at Mannering’s desk, the sergeant by the door, Carmichael in front of the detective.
Bristow studied the old man’s face as he announced abruptly: ‘Mr. Mannering is missing.’
‘Missing, sir?’
‘I want to know everything you can tell me about his trip to Cornshire – and about the Lake Emeralds. You knew that he had advertised for them in Apollo, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did you insert the advertisement?’
‘No.’
‘Does Mr. Mannering usually insert his own?’
‘He has been known to, sir.’
‘But usually he leaves it to you?’
‘Frequently.’
‘Do you know the customer for whom he wanted to buy these jewels?
Carmichael hesitated.
‘Carmichael, I’m in a hurry,’ said Bristow in an ominous voice.
‘I am thinking, sir,’ said Carmichael in a tone of gentle reproof. ‘I cannot recall the name of the client who wishes to obtain the Lake Emeralds, but Mr. Mannering had many friends who ask for his help to complete valuable collections of jewellery, and it is quite customary for such buyers to desire their interest to be kept secret. Mr. Mannering would respect a confidence in every way, and—’
‘How long has he been looking for the emeralds?’ Bristow switched the subject abruptly, and took Carmichael off his guard. ‘Well? How long?’
‘My first intimation of it was when I saw the advertisement,’ said Carmichael. ‘Yet had he wished to conceal his interest, he would have advertised under a box number.’
Bristow thought: ‘Yes, that’s a point,’ but did not relax his brusque manner. ‘Has Mr. Mannering been restless lately?’
‘Restless, sir?’
‘Worried. Nervous. Irritable.’
‘On the contrary, sir, I have never known him in better health or spirits. He has never been one to allow business to harass him and of late it has been most flourishing. No, sir, Mr. Mannering was not at all restless, I assure you.’
‘And Mrs. Mannering?’
‘On the few occasions that I have seen her, she has been her usual self, sir, if I may say so.’ Bristow switched again.
‘When you saw the advertisement, did you ask him what it was all about?’
‘Most certainly I did not. He mentioned it to me himself, asking me to tell him immediately if we had a—a bite, sir.’
‘I see. And the only bite came from Mr. Bellamy in Cornshire?’
‘To the best of my knowledge that is correct.’
‘Have you got any correspondence about it?’
‘Mr. Mannering took it with him,’ said Carmichael, ‘although there was not a great deal. Mr. Bellamy’s secretary telephoned about the matter in the first place, and there were several subsequent telephone calls. I have no idea what was said,’ added Carmichael.
Bristow said: ‘AH right, Carmichael. If you think of anything else, let me know.’
‘I will indeed, sir,’ said Carmichael. ‘Your visit has greatly disturbed me, because you are so obviously worried about Mr. Mannering. Are there any reasons for—’
‘He’s disappeared from Hallen House,’ said Bristow. ‘And understand this. I want to hear the moment you have any news about him.’
‘You will, I assure you,’ promised Carmichael.
Bristow went on to the Chelsea flat, and had an unsatisfactory interview with the maid. She only knew that during breakfast that morning her mistress had announced that she was going away for a few days. The maid was a new employee; Mrs. Mannering had not told her where she was going; but had given her instructions to refer any callers to Quinn’s.
Bristow moodily summed up what little he had learned. There might be some mystery about the man who wanted the Lake Emeralds; it was at least possible that someone was exerting pressure upon Mannering in order to get them. But Mannering would never have acted like a Borstal boy cracking his first crib.
As Bristow got out of his car at the Yard, a lanky, sallow-faced man approached and grinned at him.
‘What do you want?’ growled Bristow.
‘Lowdown on Mannering. How about it?’
‘I’ve nothing that you can’t get from the Back Room Inspector.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ said the reporter, ‘I don’t want handouts. Mannering have a brainstorm and run off with the jools?’
‘If you’re fool enough to think so, go ahead and print it,’ said Bristow.
It wouldn’t be printed, of course; the reporter’s suggestion showed how black the situation looked against Mannering. Bristow didn’t like it.
And it forced him, not for the first time, to probe deeply into his attitude towards Mannering. That was the one thing which continually pricked Bristow’s conscience. Mannering as the Baron had been his natural enemy; Mannering as a jewel expert and dealer was a consultant to the authorities – a situation which Bristow had once fought against and now accepted; and Mannering as a man, he liked.
Policemen had no right to let personal liking creep into their attitude towards thieves. But there was nothing wrong in liking – if necessary, helping – an old lag who was running straight; and Bristow was no cynic, for he knew many cases of crooks who had genuinely reformed. Mannering fell into that category – until something like this cropped up, and all the old, nagging doubts were revived: fear, almost, that something would drive Mannering back to the Baron.
This wasn’t a Baron job; it was far too clumsy.
But if Mannering came under suspicion, Bristow would have to go for him, couldn’t just rely on his feeling that the Baron was really a thing of the past. If this were a case of blackmail, that past might come out—
Bristow took a grip on himself.
Mannering must have a square deal, but that was all; no favouritism. But it could become a delicate matter, since Dando w
as involved, and the Press had started guessing.
First task; find Mannering.
Chapter Eleven
Dando Finds the Butler
Superintendent Dando was in his element. This case had all the appearances of a major mystery. The life of a provincial detective was seldom brightened by such excitement. Routine became monotonous; the ways of small crooks never left the common rut; one went along at a steady jog-trot and envied the pundits at Scotland Yard.
Dando reserved his opinion of Bellamy and Harrison, but studied both men closely. He did not like the housekeeper; her curiously blank eyes worried him. Two or three of the servants seemed a little nervous when he was about, but others were affable and normal.
Broken routine was not the only good thing, for Dando had a hobby; a love of old buildings. And here he was, in a house with some parts as old as any in Cornshire, at liberty to go where he pleased. Bellamy had been insistent about that.
It was the hobby which led him to inspect the fireplace of the jewel-room. The wall there was much older than the outside wall or those on the other two sides. The design was different; larger pieces of grey stone had been used; the plaster had been replaced in some crevices, but in others centuries-old plaster remained intact. He could imagine men of Norman days working here. There would have been a stone-flagged floor, then, not this polished parquet with the skin rugs. The stone floor would have been covered with rushes; a bit smelly of course. The fireplace had been built on Norman lines, although anyone with half an eye could see that it was of modern workmanship. His gaze travelled up the wall, and he caught his breath. Surely—surely there were some narrow slits in the original wall, slits which had been bricked in. He stood back to see them more clearly. Yes, there they were! Long, narrow apertures, used for firing arrows as well as for ventilation – by Jerusalem, this had been an outside wall!
The Great Hall – Bellamy had taken him inside – must have been the original building. Now in there he could feast his eyes for hours. Days!