Call for the Baron

by John Creasey

  Slowly Logan backed to the door, Mannering frowned; listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps. Strange that he had heard nothing when Logan had approached.

  Mannering slipped into the passage.

  He saw Logan go into Cecilie’s room. Presently he came out, carrying a small bottle.

  He went on to his employer’s room without turning round.

  One part of the story was true, then; but had Logan really mistaken the room, or had he deliberately aimed to enter Mannering’s?

  Mannering felt an oppressive warmth as he remembered Logan’s quick glance towards his pocket. He hesitated, and then stepped towards the staircase. He was halfway down when Logan returned to the landing and went along a passage leading to the servants’ staircase.

  Mannering retraced his steps swiftly, deciding to follow the man.

  A glass-panelled swing door separated the servants’ staircase from the main rooms, Mannering pushed it wide enough open to see the passage beyond.

  Logan’s footsteps had stopped. Mannering could see only the man’s back, when the quiet voice of Ransome startled him.

  ‘Is there anything you want, Mr Logan?’

  ‘I—er—where’s a telephone that I can use privately, Mr Ransome?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘There’s a girl I promised to phone,’ Logan said confidentially. ‘I’ll not be wanting all of them downstairs to hear, will I now?’

  There was a faintly contemptuous note in the butler’s voice as he answered. ‘You can use the telephone in my room, if you wish.’

  ‘It’s grateful I am,’ said Logan heartily, and he walked on.

  Mannering hesitated by the door, his heart thumping unpleasantly. Was Logan going to telephone about the encounter? It was probable, and Mannering felt a sickening sense of helplessness. It was past ten o’clock, and it was likely that some of the servants would be in their bedrooms, or on the way to them. It would be risky to follow Logan. Keyed up to concert pitch, Mannering hurried down to the study.

  It was empty.

  In the drawing room he found Lorna, the Veres, the Eton-cropped woman whose name he could not remember, the poet Dryden, and young Menzies. But for Lady Usk, Cecilie, Armitage and Morency, they comprised the house-party, for the others had been there only for the evening.

  Lorna’s eyes met Mannering’s. It was unlikely that the others noticed his tension, but Lorna saw it at a glance.

  Vere looked round with a smile as Mannering dropped into a vacant chair beside him.

  ‘I think it’s time we moved,’ Mannering murmured. ‘Will you slip out and tell Ransome to report to you immediately if Logan makes any move to go out?’

  Vere could not keep a hint of excitement from his voice. ‘I say, John, that’s quick work. You don’t want anyone but Ransome to know, I suppose?’

  ‘No – definitely not,’ said Mannering.

  Vere stood up, but before he reached the door Lorna had taken his place.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

  ‘A humourist has parked some of the things on me,’ Mannering whispered. ‘Logan probably saw them. How are you off for petrol?’

  ‘There’s plenty in the tank. Must you go out?’

  ‘If Logan does, yes,’ said Mannering. ‘It’s in the air, but I think I can keep pace with him. Where’s Cecilie?’

  ‘She had a headache, and has gone up to bed.’

  ‘Try to check on that,’ said Mannering, with an eye on the door. ‘And what do you make of Diana?’

  ‘Obviously there’s something on her mind.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mannering’s brow furrowed. ‘There are a lot too many uneasy people here – not excepting me,’ he added grimly. He leaned back, and they made a show of paying attention to the poet, who was waving his arms in artistic arcs while quoting Byron. But Dryden finished abruptly, oblivious of the modest applause which followed. Clearly he was affronted.

  The Eton-cropped woman joined Mannering and Lorna.

  ‘Shame on you,’ she said, and her grey eyes sparkled maliciously. ‘You’ve quite upset poor Mr Dryden.’

  As she spoke, Vere re-entered the room. Barely moving his lips, he whispered in Mannering’s ear: ‘Logan’s just had permission to use the car. Ransome’s outside.’

  Mannering made for the door. He dared lose no time, even at the risk of arousing the curiosity of the others.

  Outside, he found Ransome waiting for him.

  ‘Just what did Logan tell you?’ he asked hurriedly.

  ‘After telephoning, sir, he told me that a friend in Winchester was ill, and he went to Lady Usk and asked permission to use the car. It was granted,’ added Ransome, his lips tightening disapprovingly. ‘He is on the way to the garage now.’

  ‘Can you delay him for a few minutes?’ Mannering said. Ransome nodded.

  ‘Good. Is the garage door locked?’

  ‘If it is, sir, you’ll find the key on the ledge just above it.’

  ‘Right, thanks,’ said Mannering.

  In his room he donned mackintosh, rubber-soled shoes, and a hat, and then stuffed a dark scarf and several handkerchiefs into his pocket. He had been no more than four minutes, but he was on tenterhooks lest Logan had gone too far to be followed.

  He hurried downstairs, reaching the grounds by a side door that opened near the garage. The doors were shut when he reached them, and he groped for the key. From the front of the house he could see the glow from the headlights of Lady Usk’s Daimler, and hear the murmur of voices. Ransome was excelling himself, but as Mannering opened the garage doors he heard the Daimler’s engine start up. Quickly he slipped into the driving seat of Lorna’s car and eased it round the house. Once on the drive he spotted the rear light of the Daimler as it turned into the road. Presently he switched off his lights. The glow cast by the Daimler was enough to guide him, and he did not propose to risk Logan seeing the M.G.’s lights in the driving-mirror.

  Once on the Winchester road, however, he switched them on again, for there was no longer any danger of being associated with Vere House.

  For the first time since Logan had seen him he felt that he dared relax. Winchester was twelve miles away, and at the speed-limit of twenty miles an hour the run would take all of thirty minutes.

  But what would be at the end of it?

  Mannering had taken it for granted that Logan had reported the glimpse of the necklace, and had received instructions to make a fuller report in person. The one way to learn the results of the development was to overhear Logan’s interview. It was vital that Mannering should prevent any word reaching the ears of the police.

  If that were impossible, he must find some way of discrediting Logan’s story, for Chief Inspector Bristow, or any other man who came from the Yard, would be sceptical of the truth.

  Chapter Nine

  The White Angel

  As the Daimler reached the High Street in Winchester, there was no more than twenty yards between the two cars. Logan pulled in at a nearby parking place, and climbed out. Mannering looked straight ahead as he passed, but Logan showed no interest in him.

  Parking his own car Mannering managed to sight Logan’s retreating back just entering the White Angel Hotel.

  His pulse quickening, Mannering followed in his wake.

  The foyer was empty but for a sleepy-eyed porter behind the reception desk. Mannering spoke abruptly in a voice which few would have recognised as being his own.

  ‘Is there a single room vacant for the night?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Would you like a front room or a back one, sir?’

  ‘I’ll take a back room,’ Mannering said. He was acutely conscious of his low-pulled hat, and the fact that his collar was hiding part of his face, but he dared not risk letting the man take a clear view of him.

  Quickly he filled in his registration, giving the name of Morely, and his last address as the Regal Hotel, London.

  ‘Can you get me a whisky and soda?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir.’
/>
  ‘Then bring me one immediately,’ said Mannering. ‘I’ll find the way up myself.’

  ‘The second floor, sir. Room 9.’ Damn the fellow, why was he so attentive? He accompanied Mannering to a lift, giving him precise instructions. ‘Turn right when you get out, sir, up three steps, and it’s on the left – you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mannering, ‘thanks.’

  He reached his room, his breath coming quickly, his forehead cold and damp. He stepped to the wash-basin, filled it, and was washing his face when the porter came with the whisky and soda. Mannering nodded to a small pile of silver on the dressing table.

  The porter helped himself with alacrity, but still did not go.

  ‘Anything else, sir?’

  ‘I’ll ring if there is,’ said Mannering from behind the towel, waiting impatiently for the porter to leave both the room and the second floor. Mannering slipped into his coat, pulled his hat once again low over his eyes, and worked on a pair of thin black cotton gloves. That done he left the room.

  The passage was flanked by nine doors. Outside seven of them were shoes, evidence that the occupants had retired for the night. He stepped cautiously towards Room 3, the only one beside his own without them.

  He put his ear close to the door, but heard nothing.

  Had Logan’s employer put his shoes out?

  From only two rooms came any sound of voices; in each case a woman’s. Mannering stepped to the end of the passage. A flight of stairs ran about the lift, and Mannering went down them.

  The first floor was similar in layout to the second.

  Here two rooms were without shoes: silence came from the first, but as he neared the second he heard the murmur of a man’s voice. He stopped, ears alert for any sound of approach from the stairs or the lift; and then he recognised Logan’s voice.

  ‘But wid my own eyes I saw it!’

  ‘Don’t talk so loudly!’ said the second man sharply. The voice was mellow and cultured, and the words were only just audible. ‘So you insist on the story?’

  Mannering turned the doorknob, very gently. The door yielded a fraction of an inch, and now the voices were much clearer. Logan was saying: ‘Well, I’ve eyes in my head, sorr. And tell me this, why should he be pushing sparklers in his pocket if he had no cause to hide them?’

  ‘I don’t pay you to make wild guesses,’ said the unknown man suavely. ‘I pay you to do as you’re told. Did you ever hear that Mr Mannering was a well-known collector of jewels?’

  ‘And if I did?’ demanded Logan doggedly. ‘Calls himself a bloody ‘tec, too, but it don’t make him one.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ said his companion impatiently. ‘I thought you’d something of real importance for me. You haven’t found Lady Usk’s collection?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘And all you can tell me is that Mr Mannering was holding some jewels when you went accidentally into his room.’

  ‘Och, yes.’ Logan was surly.

  ‘All right. Now what’s this about the police?’

  Logan’s tone altered, and he talked eagerly of the activities of Bennett and Anderson, and of the fact that he believed someone was coming from the Yard on the next day. The man heard him out, and then snapped: ‘Keep your eyes and ears open, Logan, and don’t do anything foolish. Have you seen Woolf today?’ he added sharply.

  ‘Sure an’ I did see him, sorr.

  ‘This afternoon as ever was.’

  ‘Not this evening?’ There was a hardening in the speaker’s voice, and Mannering sensed a sudden increase of tension.

  ‘Woolf has been very foolish,’ he went on incisively. ‘He was in the grounds tonight when one of the guests was knocked out. You don’t know anything about that little incident, do you?’ There was a note of menace in the man’s voice, and Logan drew in a sharp breath.

  ‘But I never went out!’

  ‘All right. But remember, you’ll do nothing without my instructions. Woolf lost his head, and I don’t want that to happen to you. Keep that mouth of yours sealed, and report by telephone tomorrow unless you think it’s necessary to come here. Make an appointment for that – but make sure it’s important enough.’

  Quietly Mannering drew the door to. He stepped swiftly to the end of the passage, and was going down the stairs when he heard the door open and close.

  Logan’s heavy footsteps drew near. Mannering reached the foot of the stairs, and turned towards a room marked ‘Lounge’. Logan passed him, going through the foyer to the open road.

  Mannering retraced his steps, thinking of that suave, menacing voice.

  He reached the door of Number 3 again, and proved that he had been wise to lose no time for he heard the careful voice of a man telephoning.

  Again Mannering turned the handle of the door, opening it wide enough to let the words come through clearly.

  ‘Woolf … listen carefully – have you heard any rumours at any time about John Mannering … what’s that? … any kind of rumours, you damned fool!’ There was a long pause, and then the speaker said abruptly: ‘All right. No, I don’t want any inquiries made yet. I’ll tell you if I do.’

  The receiver went down sharply.

  Mannering waited tensely. Through his mind passed a summary of all he had heard, and all that it implied. Logan had seen the necklace and had made haste to report it, but his employer had shown no interest until Logan had gone. But the chauffeur’s information had impressed him; again Mannering sensed the nearness of danger, and yet could see no way in which he could evade it.

  Mannering felt something of the inward excitement of the days when he had worked as the Baron, when an exploit such as this would have been an everyday affair. It was as if a strange psychological change took place in him, as if the Baron and not John Mannering was standing silently outside the door. That he had done nothing to precipitate it made no difference to the issue at stake: a word from the unknown man to Bristow could prove fatal.

  Who was the unknown?

  The name ‘Woolf’ had brought a simple explanation of one thing. Presumably he was the owner of the detective agency which Cecilie had mentioned and for which Logan worked. The man at the White Angel either employed the agency and exercised considerable control over it or, using Woolf as a cover, was its true principal.

  Was he working for Lady Usk? Had Logan’s call been solely due to the chauffeur’s belief that he had found a clue to the robbery? Or was there a deeper motive?

  Mannering had to see the unknown, had to find some way of making sure. If the agency was genuine then Logan’s report would probably reach the police; but there was far more than the personal issue at stake. There were the other robberies, and the ineffectual efforts to open several safes in Vere House. There was the fact that Morency’s visit, although kept so secret, was known to the man here, through Logan; and it might have been known before. There was the knowledge that the man who had knocked Armitage out was apparently unconnected with the Woolf Agency; and it was strange that Woolf had thought it necessary to report both that and his own escape from Mannering.

  Mannering reasoned that Woolf was the thin-faced man.

  There was the mystery of the past two weeks, and the obvious possibilities of Morency’s visit to Hampshire. There was the fear of Lady Usk, and the apprehension which Diana felt but had not yet admitted. For all of those things there was an explanation, and the man who had talked with Logan might be able to explain something of them.

  Someone, for instance, had sent a menacing, threatening letter to Lady Usk.

  Mannering hesitated, not moving.

  He could telephone Vere to say that he might not be back that night. He could visit, during the night, Room 3. There would be little difficulty and, he believed, little danger. He would be able to see the man, and perhaps find papers that would give a clue to the other’s activities.

  If they were strictly lawful Mannering knew the danger could hardly be greater. But there was something furtive about Logan’s
visit and Woolf’s presence in the grounds, lending Mannering a conviction that the activities were not within the law. If he could prove that, he would have a weapon which could be used if Logan’s report was followed up, and inquiries grew threatening.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ Mannering thought. ‘And—’

  It was then that the door opened.

  The man inside had moved so softly that Mannering heard no sound.

  He saw a tall, hard-faced man, sallow and thin-featured – with a pair of shoes in his hand.

  The man gasped, then stepped back, his right hand lifted with the shoes in them. Mannering knew that they were to be used as missiles. There was nothing for it but to jump forward, his own right fist clenched and raised. As a shoe hurtled towards him he struck out.

  The man’s knees bent beneath him.

  Mannering stepped farther into the room.

  As he did so he heard footsteps running up the stairs, and knew that the commotion had raised an alarm. He stooped down swiftly, collected the shoes and put them outside the door, seeing the porter at the end of the passage.

  He called in a voice very like his victim’s: ‘I fell over a chair. No trouble, porter.’

  Then he banged the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily and looking down on the man he had felled.

  Chapter Ten

  Alarm!

  The porter’s footsteps faded. Mannering drew a hand across his forehead, content to relax for a few seconds.

  The man at his feet stirred.

  Mannering took a clean handkerchief from his pocket, and tied it about the other’s mouth then he eased the man up and on to the bed. He used the sash of a dressing gown to bind the wrists.

  That finished, Mannering tied his scarf loosely about his own mouth and chin. It would lessen any risk of recognition when the other regained consciousness.

  Mannering felt as if the months had rolled back, and he was indeed the Baron again. Tense, alert for the slightest alarm, exhilarated. The difficulties and attendant dangers faded from his mind as he turned from the bed and ran through the drawers of a dressing table. Shirts, socks, collars, enough of everything to suggest that the man proposed to stay for several days, were there; but no papers.