A Rope For the Baron

by John Creasey

  ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed.

  The clerk came hurrying back.

  ‘Good evening, sir; I’m sorry you’ve been left unattended.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said the young man. His smile was attractive, his voice pleasant. ‘You have a Mrs. Mannering staying here, I believe.’

  Mannering raised his hand sharply.

  ‘Yes, sir, we have.’ Was there a quickening interest in the clerk’s voice?’

  ‘Is she in?’

  ‘I believe so, sir.’

  ‘Ask her if she can see me for a few minutes, will you?’

  ‘Very well, sir, I will send a page,’ said the clerk. ‘What name, please?’

  ‘My name is Galliard – Victor Galliard. And I’m most anxious to have a word with her, although she won’t know me.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  The clerk rang for a page.

  Victor Galliard stood waiting by the desk.

  Mannering seemed to hear Bellamy’s voice and see the invalid’s expression of livid hatred when he had talked of this man and his cousin.

  Lorna came down the stairs. Mannering felt his heart beating faster.

  She was so lovely; a vision in dark green, carrying herself with an easy grace and fine distinction. She smiled at Galliard, but Mannering saw the strain beneath the smile and knew that she was praying that this meant news of him.

  ‘I’m Mrs. Mannering,’ she said.

  Galliard thrust out his hand.

  ‘I must apologise for intruding, Mrs. Mannering, but—I should very much like a word with you. I wonder if there is somewhere quiet where we could go?’

  Lorna eyed him evenly.

  ‘Just what do you want to see me about?’

  ‘It’s confidential, but I assure you I—I won’t waste your time.’

  ‘I think one of the small lounges is free,’ said Lorna; how like her not to hesitate.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Galliard.

  As she turned and led the way along the passage, Lorna’s gaze swept Mannering and went past him. A tribute to the disguise. But Mannering hardly thought of that. What did Galliard want? The man whom Bellamy hated, the man whom Bellamy had said would ‘give no more trouble.’

  The clerk, brooding over his books, glanced round as Mannering stood up, then looked back at his desk. Mannering was torn between curiosity about the clerk and desire to know what Galliard had to say. He sauntered towards the passage, but paused on the far side of the stairs.

  Only the clerk remained in the entrance hall, and he spoke in a soft voice. He was giving a number.

  A pause.

  ‘Hallo? Is that the police station—’

  Another pause.

  ‘Yes, Mr. Whittaker, please.’

  A clock ticked, loudly.

  ‘Mr. Whittaker … the King’s Head Hotel here. A Mr. Galliard has just called to see Mrs. Mannering … I heard him say that his business was confidential… Yes, they have gone to one of the small lounges … I’m happy to be of service, sir.’

  A bell went ting!

  So the clerk was acting as stooge for the police, who would soon be here.

  Mannering walked along the wide passage, passing a large lounge where half a dozen people were sitting, and a spacious dining-room, where two waiters were laying tables, and, beyond that, three small lounges, labelled Writing Room, Smoking Room, and Coffee Room all with glass-panelled doors.

  Lorna and Galliard were in the middle room.

  Mannering did not appear to take any notice of them, but entered the coffee room. It was empty and there was a solid door, communicating with the smoking room. A thick carpet deadened the sound of his footsteps, and the door was closed. He could hear the murmur of Lorna’s voice, then Galliard’s, louder and more eager, but none of the words was distinguishable. He turned the handle of the communicating door softly, and the door opened an inch.

  ‘My story may help,’ Galliard was saying, ‘and I certainly hope it does, Mrs. Mannering. It must be worrying for you.’

  ‘I would hardly say that,’ said Lorna lightly.

  Galliard sounded startled. ‘Surely—’

  ‘There must be a simple explanation, very different from the present silly guesses.’

  Anyone who heard Lorna must have been convinced by the carefree voice – but Mannering knew how the shadow of the Baron pressed down upon her, like a great weight.

  Galliard said: ‘But you don’t know Bellamy, Mrs. Mannering.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Well enough to be sure that he’s a thorough-going rogue.’ Galliard was in deadly earnest. ‘It is a long story, Mrs. Mannering, but I think it might help your husband.’

  ‘Just what do you know of Bellamy?’

  Galliard gave a hard little laugh.

  ‘I’ve only met him twice. You see, my father owned Hallen House before Bellamy. My father and I didn’t get on too well, and I knew that the house would be left to my cousin, Charles. I—I’m compressing this rather, but want to make it clear.’

  Mannering could imagine Lorna’s quick nod, telling him to go on.

  ‘It was left to my cousin, and he sold the house almost immediately to Bellamy. He and Bellamy were friends – of short acquaintance, I believe. My cousin went to stay at the house and met with a fatal accident. Accident,’ repeated Galliard, in a harsher voice.

  ‘So you don’t believe it was an accident.’

  ‘I’m damned sure it wasn’t! And the whole atmosphere of the house had changed. I met—’ Galliard paused, then gave an explosive little laugh, rather like Harrison’s. ‘I met a niece of Bellamy’s. A charming girl. She—she was scared out of her wits. She tried to speak to me in confidence, but a shrew of a housekeeper prevented her. I came away from the house feeling that I had to do something to help her, or bust.’

  ‘Yes,’ encouraged Lorna.

  And then a queer thing happened. Look here, don’t misunderstand what I’m going to say. I’m not worried about the personal angle. Money, I mean. But my cousin had left everything to me in his will. And as he’d just sold the house and everything in it, the estate should have been pretty bit. It wasn’t – it amounted to just a few thousand pounds. The sum which Bellamy had paid him was purely nominal. I went to see Bellamy again. He—’

  Galliard broke off, and this time Lorna did not prompt him; the silence lengthened.

  Would the story be finished before the police arrived?

  ‘He told me rather crudely to mind my own business,’ Galliard continued at last. ‘Said that my cousin had owed him a large sum of money and he had accepted the house in settlement. There were papers, purporting to prove it. I wasn’t satisfied, and by then I was really worried about that girl. We—er—had a bit of a row.’

  ‘You and the girl?’ Lorna was deliberately obtuse.

  ‘No, Bellamy and I. I was shown the door pretty fast. Bellamy had bodyguards there – a proper gang of pluguglies. He didn’t threaten in so many words, but—well, I knew what he meant, that I’d run into trouble if ever I went back. But I couldn’t get that girl out of my mind. She looked – haunted. I’m—I’m quite serious, Mrs. Mannering, and this isn’t just a yarn.’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ said Lorna, who knew when to respect the earnestness of youth. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I wrote to the girl, but Bellamy answered my letter. He wasn’t polite.’

  ‘But surely, Mr. Galliard, if you told the police about this, they’d investigate your cousin’s death.’

  Galliard said grimly: ‘Bellamy spiked my guns. Damned hard to realise that it really happened. He spoke to me on the telephone; he wouldn’t commit himself by writing anything. It was from here, funnily enough – he was staying here for a day or two, there isn’t a telephone at Hallen House. He as good as told me that if I took any action the girl would suffer. And – he absolutely dominates that girl. She’s terrified of him. I couldn’t screw myself up to do anything because I thought he might take it out of her. It’s a we
ek since we had that showdown. It’s been preying on my mind every minute since. I went to Bristol, and turned the thing over in my mind, determined to do something. I stayed up at Clifton, near the Suspension Bridge. Strolling across it just after dark three nights ago, I was nearly thrown over.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘This is the sober truth. A man lit a cigarette as he drew near me, and I’m pretty sure it was one of Bellamy’s so-called gardeners. Next moment, he came at me. I managed to bump him pretty hard on the nose, but another thug came from behind me. I was nearly over that damned bridge when a car came along, and I managed to get free. I keep seeing that drop into the gorge, though.’

  ‘You must go to the police.’

  ‘Look here, if they’ll try to murder me, what will they do to the girl?’ asked Galliard. ‘I can’t think clearly, I’m so worried about it. I was on the point of going to the police when this business got in the papers. I saw you were out of London, and wondered if you’d come down here. I tried three hotels before I found you. The thing is – your husband has a pretty good reputation for this kind of thing, hasn’t he? Knowing Bellamy’s a rogue, I don’t need telling that things aren’t what they appear to be. You—you are here to meet your husband, aren’t you?

  Chapter Fourteen

  News from ‘Perce’

  ‘I feel sure you are,’ Galliard went on. And he ought to know what I can tell him. I might be able to help, I’ll gladly try. If I could only be sure that Stella’s all right, I’d tell the police the whole story. And your husband stayed at Hallen House, so he might have seen her, might have got something from Bellamy. I—I know I’m a bit confused,’ Galliard confessed naively, ‘but you see what I’m driving at? If your husband discovered something at Hallen House, caught Bellamy out, perhaps, he—he might know where the girl is.’

  Lorna still did not answer.

  ‘Mightn’t he?’ insisted Galliard.

  ‘I suppose he might,’ said Lorna at last. Her voice was colder, fainter. ‘Yes, I suppose he might.’

  ‘Look here, I haven’t scared you, have I?’

  A chair creaked.

  ‘Your husband got away from Hallen House, you know.’

  ‘But—did he?’

  Her dread sounded in her voice: if murder had been committed twice at Hallen House, why should Mannering have escaped with his life?

  Galliard spoke quietly.

  ‘Well, I wondered about that, Mrs. Mannering, but I think he did get away, you know. Otherwise – why should Bellamy worry about making it look as if he killed Holmes? Holmes was – well, rather friendly to me. We tried to have a word on the side once or twice, but never got the chance. I meant to try to see him outside, but he never left Hallen House – didn’t come to Corwellin, anyhow.’ He paused, but Lorna didn’t speak. ‘Bellamy must be worried, Mrs. Mannering, that’s why he’s tried to make your husband look guilty.’

  ‘You may be right,’ said Lorna quietly, and she had recovered. ‘You seem fond of this girl Stella, Mr. Galliard.’

  ‘Oh, no! I hardly know her. Nothing—I mean, I hardly know her,’ Galliard repeated. ‘The point is, she was terrified of Bellamy, and as he threatened to injure her – I’ve thought about little else. One minute I feel like rushing to the police, the next I’m scared stiff lest Bellamy make her pay for it. You see – I feel sure I’m followed wherever I go. I was certainly followed here. There’s a man outside, a little fellow, looks like a salesman. All gent’s natting suiting! I can’t shake him off. Perhaps the police will scare him away!’

  ‘But if you’re not going to the police—’

  ‘Now look here, I’m not quite a fool,’ said Galliard. ‘The police are almost certainly watching you, and they’ll wonder why I’ve come to see you. But I promise not to tell them anything you care to tell me.’ He paused hopefully but in vain. ‘Er—well, if you communicate with Mr. Mannering, will you tell him I’m ready to put all I’ve got into lending a hand?’

  ‘I’ve no more idea where he is than you have,’ said Lorna quietly.

  ‘You—but that can’t be true!’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Lorna.

  She sounded nearer to Mannering – and suddenly the door by which Mannering stood moved slightly. Had she noticed that it was open?

  Time to go.

  He went out into the passage, saw Lorna and Galliard look at him through the glass door, and stared blankly at them.

  In the next room were Whittaker and another man. Both were standing by the door, and Whittaker’s back was towards him.

  The police had also listened. He’d no idea how much they’d heard, and didn’t greatly care. The one sure thing that emerged from Galliard’s story was confirmation of Stella’s danger.

  No argument was possible now; he had to find the girl.

  And he needed a car; a fast car.

  At the reception desk, he booked a room in the name of Browning, took his key and went upstairs to leave the attaché case.

  He transferred his tools and flashlight to his pockets, then went to the hall and out into the street.

  It was not yet half-past six, and still broad daylight.

  A green Bentley stood outside the King’s Head, and behind it a small rakish-looking sports car. At the wheel of the second, reading a newspaper, sat a little man wearing a Homburg hat, and so smartly dressed that Galliard’s ‘gent’s natty suiting’ described him to a T.

  The Bentley was probably Galliard’s.

  Yes, he needed a car, to follow the man.

  He reached the end of the High Street, where a tiny Methodist church stood back from the road, its doors and windows freshly painted. A few white tomb-stones rose out of the trim grass of the churchyard, and beyond the church lay the first drab stretches of the moor. Straight ahead, the country was green and broken, rising to a range of low hills.

  The chase wouldn’t start just yet. Galliard would probably be questioned by the police, for Whittaker must have overheard enough to make him take Galliard to the station.

  Whittaker was coming out of the King’s Head. Was Galliard with him?

  Yes, and the other detective was following Galliard. Mannering saw Galliard in a new light now. A man who’d won the Victoria Cross would be no coward, but Bellamy had him scared, and he was probably in love with Stella.

  Whatever his thoughts, Galliard looked composed. He had a long, easy stride, his clothes hung well, and but for his broken nose, he would have been as handsome as a young Greek God.

  The man in the sports car looked at Galliard furtively, his head buried in his newspaper.

  Lorna didn’t come out.

  Lorna might be able to help Mannering to get a car.

  Near the hotel, Perce Grey came cycling along the road towards him. Perce was not at ease on the machine. For one thing, it was too small, and his bony knees were bent outwards, his toes turned inwards on the pedals. For another, he lurched from side to side, his thin shoulders drooping. His mouth was open and the breath whistled in and out as he passed Mannering. Whether he recognised the fair-haired ‘stranger’ Mannering did not know. Perce laboured on, and Mannering strolled past the King’s Head, no longer doubtful about his next move.

  When he turned round, Perce was getting off the little machine; he went into the Corwellin Arms. Mannering approached the pub casually and hesitated outside before going inside. He went into the bar, where Perce was leaning against the counter. A little old man with a big, bald head was drawing beer.

  Perce took his glass to a table in the window. He selected one by the bottle-glass panels, through which he could not be seen. Mannering ordered a beer, sauntered over, and murmured: ‘Nice day it’s been.’

  ‘Not ser bad,’ agreed Perce. He tapped a chair, and Mannering sat down.

  ‘Want me?’ asked Mannering.

  ‘Dunno that I do. They took Larkie. Dunno wot charge. Come in to find aht.’ Perce drank deeply, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Anyfing you want?’

  ‘
A car.’

  ‘What kind’ve a car?’

  ‘Anything fast. I need it in a hurry.’

  ‘See what I can do. Go to Andrews’ Garage in ‘arf a n’hour.’

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ said Mannering.

  ‘What do yer think I am?’ demanded Perce, ‘a ruddy streak a’lightnin’? See what I can do.’

  He got up, drained his glass, nodded to the bald-headed man and went out. Mannering waited for five minutes before following him. There was no sign of Perce or the bicycle.

  A large sign, hanging at right-angles from the wall of the garage opposite the little Methodist church was easy to read even from that distance: Andrews.

  Was there time to see Lorna?

  No, he mustn’t risk it yet.

  She came out of the hotel!

  She wore a long tweed coat and was pulling on a pair of gauntlet gloves. She hesitated, as if not sure which way to go, then turned and went away from Mannering. But she walked slowly, and stopped at a small dress-shop which had two models in the window. Mannering quickened his pace and, as he drew near, spoke quietly, in his natural voice.

  ‘The bar of The George.’

  She started and half-turned her head, recovered herself quickly and looked back into the window.

  Mannering strolled on, and entered the big hotel, going straight to the bar where a dozen people were drinking; a young girl was already very merry. Two or three men looked up when Lorna appeared, glanced round, and took a stool next to Mannering.

  One man grinned.

  A waiter came up.

  A gin and orange, please,’ said Lorna, and the man turned away for the drink. When he came back: ‘Allow me,’ said Mannering, in his assumed voice. He slipped silver across the counter. ‘Thanks,’ said the waiter. Lorna looked at Mannering with a restrained smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Pleasure,’ said Mannering, and grinned at her blandly. God, it was good to see her! Two men, who had noticed the exchange, whispered together. ‘Let’s get more comfortable seats,’ suggested Mannering. ‘Never could stand these stools.’