by John Creasey
Lady Usk’s eyes widened and her hands started suddenly to tremble.
‘You—you mean it couldn’t be opened? It—’
‘It would take a long time,’ said Mannering, ‘and with that modern safe it would be almost impossible.’
‘I—I thought—’ She stopped again, and then said abruptly: ‘I left the purse behind when I went out for a walk with Cecilie. I put it in a drawer and forgot it. I can’t help that, can I?’
Mannering was glad when Cecilie came in with a tray and the whisky. That the older woman was lying he was sure. She had been so startled when he had told her the safe was difficult to open. It was as if she had taken it for granted that a knowledge of the combination was not necessary. When she had learned that it was, she had lied about leaving the purse behind: he doubted whether she would leave it for five minutes while it contained both the combination of the safe and the message.
At the root of her contrariness and her abrupt changes of manner he had sensed fear. Fear of something unknown – and of the police.
Mannering left her with Cecilie, glad that the conversation was over, although the one apparent theory to fit the mystery was an unpleasant one.
Unpleasant, and at first sight unlikely, particularly if the peeress was as wealthy as her reputation claimed.
She could have substituted the fake necklace for the real ones, staged the burglary, and be intending to claim on the insurance company. The value of the Deverell necklace was at least thirty thousand pounds, and to most people would have provided a strong enough motive. But only a year before, Lady Usk had been written up in the daily press as one of the three women in England worth a million; thirty thousand pounds would not be a stake large enough to make her take risks.
Entering the study, Mannering saw that besides Vere, Diana and Morency, a fourth person, square and thickset stood near the desk. It gave him a shock, for he recognised Detective Sergeant Anderson, of Scotland Yard; a man who knew Mannering and was more than likely to remember the days of the Baron.
‘Hello, Anderson,’ Mannering said. ‘You’re on the spot when you’re most needed.’
‘Good evening, sir,’ said Anderson impassively. ‘I would like to have a look at the room, if I may.’
‘I don’t suppose Mr Vere will raise any objection to that,’ said Mannering, ‘but I’m afraid you won’t get much, Sergeant. You’ll find Lady Usk in a poor state for talking, too, but I can give you a little information. She locked her jewels away about an hour before she discovered the loss, and she tells me that she left a purse, with the combination, cypher inside, in her room this afternoon. For about an hour as far as she remembers.’
‘I see, sir.’ Anderson did not seem impressed, and Mannering suspected that the professional’s contempt for the amateur accounted for it. ‘Is Lady Usk ill?’
‘I think she should see a doctor,’ Mannering said, ‘but I fancy she’s suffering more from shock than anything else.’ Diana rang the bell, and gave an order to Ransome to show Sergeant Anderson to Lady Usk’s room, and then telephone for Dr Brill.
As the door closed behind them, Vere said bluntly: ‘Well, John. Have you been receiving confidences?’ Mannering shrugged. ‘More or less. Her story is that she left the purse, with the cypher, in her room. Anyone in the house could have got at it, and by it opened the safe in a few seconds. It isn’t going to be easy.’
Morency brushed his hair back from his forehead.
‘Did you say “her story is”?’
‘Yes.’ Mannering had wondered which of them would see that point first. Morency was quick.
‘Doesn’t that suggest,’ Morency suggested, ‘that she hasn’t entirely convinced you?’
‘She isn’t a convincing woman,’ Mannering said, ‘and at the moment is verging on hysteria. I’m not so interested in her as in your position, Martin.’ He paused before he went on. ‘The police will probably advise questioning everyone.’ He shrugged. ‘After that it isn’t likely that you’ll be able to stop the story from spreading outside. The fact that Morency is here will be bound to come out. How important is secrecy, Morency?’
The American looked hesitant; he was not an easy man to sum up, Mannering decided.
‘I’d like a quiet weekend,’ he said at last. ‘I’m leaving for home on Tuesday, and while I’m down here I’m seeing some people who would like the interviews kept secret. Government people.’ He smiled mechanically. ‘Everything considered, I think I should telephone London.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll have to ask all of you to go out while I phone,’ he said apologetically. ‘Do you mind, Diana?’
It was this request for them to leave him in complete privacy that interested Mannering. It proved that Morency’s weekend with his sister was far more than the family reunion Morency had at first implied.
Diana seemed to read Mannering’s thoughts.
‘Vicky doesn’t tell us everything,’ she said, ‘but we knew he would be meeting two or three people, John. They’ll be here as guests, of course, quite unofficially.’
‘Of course,’ repeated Mannering drily. ‘And Vicky isn’t the only one who keeps things to himself. But isn’t it time we gave the others some thought? Tommy’s been out of the card-room for nearly an hour, and that won’t make him popular.’
Diana looked anxious. ‘Will he be discreet, I wonder? He does talk a lot.’
‘There’s no need to worry about Armitage,’ said Vere. ‘He talks, it’s true, but it’s usually nonsense, and he knows when to keep his mouth shut. Go and smooth down any ruffled feathers, Di, and we’ll send Tommy in to do his piece.’
She was out again before they had opened the front door.
‘They’re all right,’ she said relieved. ‘They’re teaching Herbert a new form of poker.’
Mannering was glad that the bridge-players had not noticed Tommy’s prolonged absences. With the door closed it would have been impossible for them to hear the cries which had attracted him.
He frowned. For the door had been open, and Tommy Armitage had heard: why had not the others?
Mannering shrugged: he did not propose to complain about a lack of curiosity on the part of the bridge-players.
Vere had thrown open the front door. The shaded light sent a faint glow into the porch, but there was no sign of Armitage.
‘Oh, blast him,’ said Vere hotly. They crowded on to the porch more affected by the robbery than they wanted to admit. Vere’s voice rose impatiently.
‘Tommy, your watch is over, show a leg there!’
There was no reply.
‘Drat the man!’ exclaimed Vere. He shone a torch from right to left. But they saw nothing, and another call brought no response. Vere laughed, a little uneasily.
‘That’s a fine watchdog,’ he said. ‘D’you suppose someone came out and Tommy’s followed them?’
‘It could be,’ temporised Mannering. ‘We’ll stroll down the drive I think. Di, it’s too cold for you, you’d far better go in.’
She disappeared, and Mannering and Vere moved forward slowly, hardly visible to each other although the diffused light of the torch shone on stunted bushes, the gravel drive and, beds of autumn flowers.
‘Tommy!’ Vere raised his voice, and then said uneasily: ‘I wish he wouldn’t play the fool, John. D’you know, this business is beginning to play Old Harry with my nerves. The last thing we want is fuss and bother with Vic on the premises. Damn all politics.’ He had gone a step or two ahead of Mannering, and now dropped back. ‘D’you know, I don’t trust that Usk woman. D’you think she could have been up to some trick or other?’
‘I wouldn’t say so without good cause,’ Mannering said cautiously. ‘And we’re looking for Armitage, not reasons for or against Lady Usk. I—Vere!’ His voice sharpened. ‘Shine the torch to the right.’
Vere obeyed, and as he did so Mannering went towards a dark shape lying on the grass verge. Vere uttered a sharp oath and lumbered after him.
‘Good God! It’s—’
&nbs
p; He stopped, while Mannering looked tensely at the face of Tommy Armitage. The white light gave it a ghastly pallor, and emphasised the ugly wound on his head – a wound from which blood was still oozing.
The same thought sprang into both their minds, and Vere voiced it.
‘Is—is he dead?’
Mannering spoke quietly.
‘No, he’s breathing all right. Give me a hand, Martin. We’d better get him up to his room quickly.’ He was easing Armitage’s shoulders from the ground while Vere took the legs. Thus burdened they went slowly towards the house.
As they reached the porch, the bright beam of a torch, not covered with the tissue paper that black-out regulations demanded, flashed out on them. The light remained for a second, and then went out; but before it dimmed Mannering had lowered Armitage’s shoulders to the porch steps.
‘Sorry, Martin. Get Morency to help you.’
Then he started to run towards the spot where the light had shone, hearing muffled footsteps moving away from him as he ran.
Chapter Six
Tommy’s Story
Whoever was ahead ran easily and with confidence. Mannering was puzzled, for the man – or woman – ahead was running in darkness, taking a chance of cannoning into a tree or shrub. That suggested familiarity with the grounds of Vere House.
The drive was a quarter of a mile long.
Mannering’s breath was getting short as he neared the drive gates, and he hoped that the gates would be closed. His quarry would lose valuable seconds opening them, giving him time to catch up, the footsteps came more sharply. The runner had moved to the gravel drive.
Mannering kept to the verge.
Though the torch he was carrying threw light only for a few yards, he caught a glimpse of his quarry at last, seeing a man pulling at the heavy drive gates. Slipping out, a pale face was turned towards Mannering.
Recognition came in a flash.
The features were those of the man who had been talking to Logan, Lady Usk’s chauffeur-detective. Mannering had no doubt of it, but the importance of the identification would come later, meanwhile he had to stop the man if it were at all possible.
Would he stop to close the gate, or would he be afraid of losing time?
Mannering saw him pull at the gate, heard him swear as it moved sluggishly – and then the other bent down swiftly, picking something from the ground. Mannering saw his arms go back preparatory to throwing, and then a heavy stone hit him full in the stomach.
He gasped and doubled up. The torch went flying from his fingers, and the light went out. He stood in the utter darkness, the wind knocked out of him, and when at last he was able to straighten up he could hear no sound, and could see nothing.
It was several minutes before he found the torch, and when he picked it up he found that the bulb was broken. Angry at his failure to catch the man, disappointed, and feeling queasy in his stomach, he turned back towards the house. The problems raised by the complications seemed less urgent than his own discomfort.
Welcome light shone ahead of him at last, and he saw that he was no more than fifty yards from the porch as the door opened and closed. He called out: ‘Is that you, Martin?’
‘Yes.’ Vere hurried towards him, Morency close behind.
‘What on earth were you up to? I thought you’d gone crazy.’
‘I saw the torchlight and wanted to know who was using it,’ said Mannering. ‘Someone hit Tommy, you know. But he took to throwing stones, and I retired.’ He omitted to say that he had recognised his assailant. There was no conscious reason in his mind, but in the past he had often found it useful to keep information to himself until he could assess its full significance. That night facts were too nebulous, and the motive of the attacks too uncertain, for him to know just what the presence of Logan’s companion implied.
‘It’s certainly not so good,’ Morency said.
It was easy to understand why he sounded worried. As they opened the front door the dimmed headlights of a car turned into the drive.
The doctor, Mannering imagined, and Vere confirmed it.
He hustled the doctor upstairs, while Mannering and Morency went on to the drawing room. Diana came in soon afterwards.
‘Now what’s been happening?’ she asked, ‘You’re not hurt badly, John?’
‘Not as badly as I might have been,’ said Mannering, ‘Tommy came off fairly lightly too, Martin says.’
‘It’s an ugly cut,’ said Diana, ‘but I don’t think it’s deep. But how senseless it all seems! Why on earth should anyone want to hit Tommy Armitage over the head?’
‘He must have seen someone, and tried to stop them getting away, Di,’ Morency said. ‘Is he able to talk?’
‘Have you ever known him silent?’ Diana asked. ‘Oh, Vic, why did this have to happen when you came down?’
‘What was the result of the London call?’ asked Mannering curiously.
Morency shrugged.
‘They would like it covered up if it’s possible. They’re sending a man along from Scotland Yard to avoid calling in the local police.’
Mannering felt his heart turn over, but he showed no change of expression as he asked: ‘Did they say who?’
‘No,’ said Morency. ‘A man who specialises in jewel robbery, I guess. Who is it likely to be?’
‘It could be Bristow,’ said Mannering.
He wondered what the others would say if they knew of his past encounters with this particular chief inspector. He felt a keen desire to talk, and longed for Lorna to arrive.
She knew how much Bristow knew of the Baron, knew that between the Chief Inspector and Mannering there was a queer association that mingled friendship with suspicion: and she would know that Bristow would want a full account of Mannering’s movements – the movements of the man who was acknowledged at the Yard to be the cleverest jewel thief in the country.
Mannering felt a sharp sense of depression. It was easy to remind himself that this time Bristow could do nothing. He was in the clear. Yet there would be questions and interviews that might easily be disconcerting and even make it difficult to explain Bristow’s interest away. He was relieved even when Ransome came in to say that Anderson wanted an interview. Anderson followed on Ransome’s heels, his face inscrutable.
‘Well, Anderson,’ said Morency. ‘What can you tell us?’
‘Very little, sir. I doubt whether we’ll get much from the room or the safe, it seems to have been wiped clean of prints.’ It might have been imagination, but Mannering fancied that the sergeant glanced towards him. ‘I think you ought to call in the Hampshire Police, sir.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ said Morency. ‘An Inspector is coming from London. This affair must be kept quite secret, Anderson, you know that. Are any of the servants acquainted with it yet?’
‘Not to my knowledge, sir. Bennett has been in the servants’ hall most of the time, and he will know. Shall I inquire?’
‘Do that,’ said Morency.
‘Very good, sir. And do you think it would be possible to make sure no one goes out tonight without saying why?’
‘No one’s likely to go out in the black-out,’ said Diana quickly.
‘I’m afraid the damage has been done,’ said Mannering.
Diana looked as if she wished he had not spoken, but to Mannering it was plain that the police must know, and quickly, of the attack on Armitage. Probably it was because he, himself, could so easily come under suspicion that he decided to tell the story without first suggesting it to the others, and running the risk of being enjoined to silence.
Anderson listened impassively to the recital.
‘I see, sir,’ he responded finally. ‘It looks as if the man who attacked Mr Armitage might have been the thief, then.’ Anderson was a model of caution, and Mannering admired his attitude. ‘I’d like a word with Mr Armitage, sir.’
‘The doctor’s with him now,’ said Diana.
‘I’ll go up,’ said Anderson firmly.
&
nbsp; Diana glanced at Mannering asking him to go with Anderson, but without speaking. He nodded and followed the sergeant. Anderson made no protest at his company and they entered Tommy’s room together.
Dr Brill was pinning a bandage about Tommy’s head. The injured man was sitting in an easy chair, and apart from the pallor of his face seemed little worse for wear.
The doctor finished his job, then bustled off to see his second patient.
Tommy looked at Anderson with some curiosity.
‘Detective Sergeant Anderson of the Yard,’ Mannering explained. ‘We were lucky he was here, Tommy.’
‘Would you mind explaining just what happened, sir?’ cut in Anderson.
Tommy pushed at his bandage.
‘Well, that’s easier said than done.’
‘Meaning what, sir?’
‘I don’t know a lot about it myself,’ said Tommy. ‘You know what I was doing, and why, I suppose?’
‘Yes, sir. You were waiting in the porch in case anyone came out?’
‘That’s so,’ said Tommy.
‘And did they?’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ said Tommy. ‘That is, I’d been outside about ten minutes when I saw a torch shining along the drive. It was a pretty powerful beam, I can tell you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Anderson patiently. ‘That can be dealt with after we have the man. What happened then?’
‘Not much,’ said Tommy. ‘I wondered whether to investigate and then decided I’d better stick to my post. I suppose it was another ten minutes before I heard someone walking furtively, and I slid out to investigate.’
‘How far did you follow him, sir?’
‘As far as the grass verge, and that was the end for me.’
‘I see, sir. Did you glimpse the man at all?’
‘Well, I had a vague impression of one of them. A small undersized specimen, I thought.’
Mannering spoke for the first time.
‘Was the torch still shining when you were hit, Tommy?’
‘Oh, Lord, yes! The beggar behind me must have been able to see me against the light as plain as a whale.’