by John Creasey
This was uncanny; the single electric light, but no movement, no voice, no challenge.
He heard a creak – as if someone were tiptoeing towards him. He glanced round; no, the room was empty. Yet the creaking continued and …
The end of the sideboard was moving!
Someone was approaching from inside the walls, coming from the secret hiding-place that Stella was sure existed.
The gap by the sideboard was wide, now.
Harrison stepped into the room, in his shirt-sleeves, wiping his forehead. He did not close the secret door, but walked quickly towards the exit doors.
If he once reached them, he would know the lock had been forced.
Mannering stole out from his hiding-place, the thick carpet muffling his footsteps. Harrison was still unsuspecting, but dangerously close to the door. Mannering got within two yards of him, and he whispered: ‘Put your hands up!’
Harrison turned round, into a punch which rocked him back on his feet. Another, carrying all Mannering’s weight and all he owed this man for the ordeal in the cottage. A third – and Harrison crumpled up, with a little groaning sound.
Mannering rubbed his knuckles slowly and looked round the Great Hall; he saw a coffer in one corner – Bellamy had pointed out that it was a William and Mary relic. He dragged Harrison by the arms towards the coffer, which was not locked. He eased back the lid.
Grunting with the strain, he lifted Harrison into the box. It was not quite long enough for the man to lie full-length. He bent his knees, turned round and picked up a rug, rolled it and pushed it beneath Harrison’s neck. Then he stuffed the man’s own handkerchief into his mouth. He examined the coffer more closely.
There were cracks at the sides, which were unlined, and others in the lid; there would be plenty of air. He closed the lid and sat on the top to recover his breath. He would have to put something on the lid, or else tie Harrison’s hands and feet.
Better do that—
Ten minutes after Harrison had come into the Great Hall, he was bound hand and foot, and the lid of the coffer was closed. Mannering went towards the sideboard. He examined the mechanism closely.
It was electrically controlled and, the current being off, had opened without any difficulty. The light which had come on was worked off a dry cell, fastened to the wall. Harrison had pressed the usual switches, not knowing that the current was off.
Mannering worked at the lock with the screwdriver, took it off, and pushed it out of sight, beneath a chair.
Now he could not be locked in from behind.
He entered the sloping, circular passage, lit by the little oil lamps, and heard a sound of hammering mingled with a curious high-pitched wailing. There was something uncanny about that wail – its banshee note was like the cry of a tormented soul, a cry that would delight Bellamy.
He reached the open door leading to the vault. In the mellow light, he saw a man working at a bench – hammering a box or crate. It was Foss, his dark head bent over his work.
Mannering drew nearer.
Bellamy was in the wheelchair in front of a safe, and was taking out jewels. He glanced up now and again, at someone Mannering could not see. Mannering drew a shade nearer.
Lark, chained to the wall, was packing jewels into another case.
Mannering saw the wide steel band round his waist, and the chain which led to a stake in the wall. Lark had been badly knocked about, his face was still sore and bleeding. He worked slowly and sullenly, glancing malevolently at Bellamy from time to time.
Bellamy said suddenly: ‘Lark, if you don’t hurry, you’ll get another beating-up. Harrison won’t mind doing it, and he’ll soon be back. Maybe he would even like it! You ought to be grateful that nothing worse will happen to you. Something like—that.’
He nodded towards the corner.
The wailing, which had faded, suddenly grew louder. Mannering stared towards the corner with sharp alarm. Could Ashton be making that noise?
Lark said harshly: ‘Listen, Bellamy. If the police find me ‘ere, I’ll go down for a stretch. I’ve opened your ruddy tin-can; lemme go!’
‘But you helped Mannering,’ Bellamy said softly, ‘and you have to suffer for that. Seven years will hardly pay for it. You will stay where you are. And upstairs in my room, waiting for the police, is a detailed statement of your crimes – of the jewels which you sold me. And one or two letters which you were foolish enough to write to me, Lark, when you thought I could be—what is the word?—trusted.’
‘Why, you—’ Lark strained against the chains.
‘Get on with your job!’ snapped Bellamy.
Lark set to work again.
Now the only sound in the vaults came from the corner. The wailing grew worse. There was a scream and then a wild, hysterical sobbing.
Foss suddenly looked round.
‘I tell you I can’t stand that row!’ His voice was shrill.
‘I am afraid you will have to, son,’ said Bellamy. ‘I like it. I shall kill Ashton before we leave, but not yet—oh, not yet.’
‘Put a bullet in his guts and finish him off,’ growled Foss.
Bellamy said: ‘No, Foss, I won’t do that yet. Don’t you know how much I dislike Ashton?’
‘No, and I don’t want to. He’s getting on my nerves.’
‘He once got on my nerves,’ said Bellamy, without ceasing his work with the jewels. ‘We were partners, years ago – partners in a small jewellery business. He wasn’t “Ashton” then. We began to buy stolen gems, and were doing very nicely, when the police caught us. This was in Canada. I’m a Canadian – do you know that?’
Foss did not answer.
Mannering kept very still.
‘Foss, you must listen,’ said Bellamy. ‘Ashton blamed it all on to me. And got away with it. He swore he knew nothing of the fencing. He escaped scot free, while I went to a penitentiary for five years—five years! And I was a hale and hearty man then, but undisciplined. I’ve learned better since then. I resented the brutal treatment of the warders, and struck one. I was battered into unconsciousness by the others, Foss, and flung into an unlit solitary cell. I was in a stupor there for a long time, and when I came round, I couldn’t move my legs. I’ve never moved my legs since then. I was paralysed from a broken bone near the base of my spine. Paralysed … and Ashton—’
He stopped, and caught his breath.
The wailing grew louder.
‘And now Ashton knows what solitary confinement is like. I always meant to make him understand what he’d done to me, but I couldn’t find him. I met him by chance in the States last year. Wasn’t that a lucky break?’
Foss said: ‘You’ve had your revenge.’
‘Yes, I’ve had that. I’ve ruined him. I’ve reduced his nieces to mental wrecks. And yet, he was a fighter. He struck back. He sent word to Mannering.’
Mannering’s lips were set very tightly. He hadn’t realised it until he’d learned the name of Stella’s uncle, but he knew that this was true.
‘I don’t know how he managed it, but he sent word – and Mannering craftily advertised for the Lake Emeralds,’ said Bellamy, ‘but didn’t know I realised that Ashton had asked for help. That was where I outsmarted Mannering.’
‘Well, he got away,’ said Foss. ‘And I don’t give a damn. I can’t stand that noise.’
Mannering stepped into the room, covering both men with the Luger. ‘Nor can I,’ he said to Foss. ‘Go and unlock the door.’
Foss dropped his tools. Bellamy spun round in his chair. Lark pulled against his chains, and a case of jewels fell from his hands.
‘Man—Mannering!’ gasped Bellamy.
‘A friend of Mannering’s. Go and unlock that door.’ He jerked the gun.
Lark began to laugh – a wild, hysterical sound.
Foss backed towards the door in the corner. When he reached it he turned the key in the lock. Bellamy was sitting like a carved figure in the chair. His lips were turned back; all the hatred, the bitterness, the
viciousness of which he was capable, showed in his eyes. He kept his hands on the black rug, but the jewels fell to the floor, trickling down in a brilliant cascade.
Mannering said: ‘Stay where you are, Foss. Shut up, Lark.’
He went slowly towards Bellamy.
The man seemed dumbstruck.
But as Mannering drew nearer, Bellamy moved his hands, gripped the wheels of his chair and propelled himself forward with a burst of speed which caught Mannering off his guard. There was no stopping the chair. Bellamy flashed his hand to his pocket, flinging the rug aside. A gun showed in his hand.
Mannering jumped to one side.
Bellamy fired; missed. As the chair passed, Mannering put out his arm and struck Bellamy on the side of the head. Bellamy gasped and sagged back; the gun dropped and the chair came slowly to a standstill. Mannering turned to Foss.
‘Get inside with Ashton!’
Foss hesitated.
‘Get inside!’
Foss backed into the room.
‘You—you’ve made it,’ Lark gasped incredulously.
Mannering said sharply: ‘Where are the keys to that belt?’
With a quivering finger, Lark pointed to a ring of keys on a nearby bench. Mannering picked them up and handed them to the screwsman, while still watching the door.
‘Get upstairs, find that dossier Bellamy’s prepared, get an attaché case from the wardrobe in the room just beyond, and scram,’ said Mannering.
Lark’s fingers were unsteady as he unlocked the steel belt. ‘Be careful, the police aren’t far off,’ Mannering went on. ‘Keep off the Corwellin Road.’
‘O—okay,’ muttered Lark. The chain fell with a clinking noise. ‘Mister, I—’
‘Hurry!’
Lark hurried out of the vaults. Bellamy was opening his eyes.
Blood was trickling down the side of his face, he was dazed and helpless. Mannering went to his side, made sure he had no other weapon, and backed away.
Through the doorway of the cell, he caught a glimpse of Ashton, sitting on the bed and rocking to and fro in awful despair.
Foss crouched against the far wall; he had no fight in him.
Mannering rasped: ‘You’re going to talk. What are the tricks with the lights?’
Foss said quickly: ‘The petrol engine is doing the light tonight, the batteries, the burglar control, and—and there are one or two dry cell lights.’
‘Why are the lights switched off when you come here?’
‘To—to fox the men.’
‘What will the men upstairs do if there’s an alarm?’
‘I—’
‘Come on! What will they do?’
Foss said: ‘If—if there’s anyone coming, they’ll—they’ll telephone.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes, we—we’ve got a house-line.’
‘Go on.’
‘They’d be told to get out of the house, wait outside until—until they could see how things were shaping. If—if the police came and we were—were arrested, the men would rush the door, and get us away.’
‘All right – now listen. You’ll stay here with Ashton, and try to help him. When the police come, turn Queen’s Evidence.’
Foss gasped: ‘What—what are you going to do?’
‘Never mind me. Foss, do you know who killed Holmes?’
‘Y—yes.’
‘Who?’
‘Harrison. Bellamy told him to. Holmes suspected—’
‘Don’t forget your best line,’ Mannering said.
He went out, closed the door of the cell and turned the key in the lock. Ashton had been there for so long that another hour or two would do no harm. Help would soon be here – it mustn’t arrive until Mannering had escaped.
He went to Bellamy’s side. The man seemed in a stupor. The blow had stunned him. He was only half-conscious. He was shocked, numbed. Mannering looked at the jewels at his feet, saw the piles in the safe. He picked up a piece of wire and twisted it round the spokes of a wheel, to prevent the chair from moving.
He turned away.
A bell started to ring!
An old-fashioned candle-stick telephone stood on the bench, and he hurried towards it. The ringing sound was very loud, and Ashton began to wail again.
Mannering steeled himself, took off the receiver, and spoke in the deep, slightly nasal voice he remembered to be Bellamy’s.
‘Hallo?’
‘Boss, there are three cars coming from Corwellin. They just stopped near the policemen – the two who—’
‘I know who you mean. Well, son, call the others. Forget what I said before, put two on the drive and the rest near the garage. The two on the drive will tell you what’s happening. Maybe I can bluff them. I’ll be right up.’
‘Okay.’
Mannering hung up the receiver.
Ten minutes later, crouching in the shadows near the wall, he saw Dando and Bristow enter the house, followed by several other men. They’d come because Mannering had asked Chittering to send them – and they’d nearly come too soon. They would find the secret entrance to the vaults and the doors of the Great Hall wide open; and he had thrown back the lid of the coffer in which Harrison lay.
Lorna lifted the telephone. ‘Hallo.’
‘Hallo, my sweet. I can’t stop now; it’s all over but the shouting.’
‘John!’
‘Bye!’ cried Mannering.
The following morning rain was teeming from leaden skies, and Corwellin was drenched; the people were drenched; the prospect everywhere was dreary – yet Bristow, water streaming from the brim of his hat and from his raincoat, walked cheerfully into the police station and hurried up the stairs to Dando’s office. It was now nine o’clock. He hadn’t been in bed until after four, but he felt on top of the world.
Dando looked up with a scowl.
‘Hallo, why the gloom?’ inquired Bristow. ‘Foss hasn’t withdrawn his confession has he?’
‘No, he hasn’t done that,’ said Dando, ‘but I’ve been trying to get the people he named at the different pubs. They’ve all flown.’
‘Flown?’
‘Yes,’ said Dando, sourly. ‘They must have been warned. And although I can get a fair description of them, that won’t help much to trace them. Perce Grey’s gone – but that was an assumed name. That fair-haired man—’
‘Yes,’ said Bristow sharply.
‘He must have warned them.’
‘Possibly. He also warned us.’
‘I know,’ said Dando, ‘but all the same, he shouldn’t have—I say, d’you think he’s Mannering?’
‘Mannering?’ exclaimed Bristow. ‘Mannering’s dark. And this fellow did a nice job for us, didn’t he? He probably discovered the truth about Ashton, and turned against Bellamy. I’d be surprised if we ever catch that fellow. Will that worry you?’
‘I suppose not. Still—’
‘Let’s be thankful for what we’ve got,’ said Bristow warmly. ‘We caught the whole mob at the house, and the two Frenchmen on that ‘plane. We’ve uncovered a smuggling ring and a gang dealing in precious stones, priceless antiques, and what-have-you. It’s one of the biggest hauls we’ve had for years, and it all happened near Corwellin.’
Dando rubbed his chin.
‘Yes, that’s very well, but—’
‘We’ll soon learn that Mannering’s in London or Paris – I don’t doubt he cleared out and left the job to us,’ said Bristow. ‘It won’t surprise me if he did, anyhow. And we don’t need Mannering now. Unless you—’
‘He’s got to tell his story. His prints were on the door and the cabinet.’
‘But Mrs. Dent’s told you about that,’ Bristow pointed out. ‘He was allowed in the jewel-room, when the other stuff was there. I don’t doubt Mannering recognised a lot of it as stolen stuff, and sent me that telegram. Bellamy discovered what he’d done, and Mannering had to fly. It’ll all work out; Mannering will turn up soon, you’ll see. He felt that he couldn’t give himself u
p until he was cleared, as they were trying to frame him.’
‘Fond of Mannering, aren’t you?’ demanded Dando.
Bristow looked surprised.
Much more came to light in the next twenty-four hours. It was discovered, for instance, that Victor Galliard’s cousin had worked for Bellamy for years, and Bellamy had been blackmailing him; that explained the forced sale of the house at a ridiculously low price. Foss said the cousin had threatened disclosure; hence his murder.
Rundle, an ex-convict, also on Bellamy’s pay-roll, had discovered Ashton was imprisoned somewhere in the house, and from then on tried to get help. Holmes had worked with him. Harrison and Emma Dent had managed the English side of Bellamy’s business. He had been at the other end of the smuggling racket for years, sending the stuff to England.
The only thing the police learned about Lark was that Bellamy bought some jewellery from him; but there was no evidence against the little crook.
A month later, Lorna and John Mannering were in their Chelsea flat when there was a ring at the front door. The maid answered it, and soon the drawing-room door opened.
‘Mr. Lark has called, by appointment,’ announced the maid.
Mannering jumped up as Lark came perkily into the room.
‘Hallo, Larky! I’m glad you’ve been able to make it.’
‘I hope you are,’ said Lark meaningly. ‘I wondered how long you’d be in Paris, Mister! Pretty fine thing, going off like that. Some people have all the luck. If I’d gone to Paris and written a letter to the Press explaining what I’d done, I’d be extradited. That’s what they’d do to me.’
‘But you didn’t go to Paris and you’re as free as the air. What are you worrying about?’
Lark sniffed.
‘I lost a good connection with Bellamy,’ he remarked, casting a quick glance at Lorna. ‘I dunno how much the missus knows, but—’
Mannering laughed.
‘She knows as much as I do. That I sometimes have to use tools for opening locks and safes here and at Quinn’s. That’s all, Larky! You were wrong when you thought I was a screwsman.’
‘Oh, was I!’
‘You were. But all the same I owe you a great deal, and want to pay my debts. Remember the Lake Emeralds?’
Lark did not answer that superfluous question.