by John Creasey
She laughed, but without humour. ‘And how I wish we weren’t. Why do things always happen when you’re about?’
Mannering shrugged. ‘You can hardly blame me.’
She looked at him oddly. ‘No. I suppose it’s mean of me to mind how much you’re enjoying it.’
Mannering kissed her. ‘You know me too well, but if I can clear Cecilie and myself, it will be over for us. She put on an act for Bristow, of course,’ he went on. ‘All she ran down the stairs for was to tell me’—he drew a big breath—‘that the jewels are in her room.’
‘She admitted it?’
‘And assured me she hadn’t taken them. The room should be empty tonight. I imagine Bristow will send her to Winchester. If the jewels are to come out it will have to be soon.’
‘John, if you’re caught with them it’s finis.’
‘If it were the robbery alone I’d be inclined to let her take her chance,’ Mannering said, ‘but there’s a connection between the robbery and the murder. I’m sure of it. Cecilie may have taken the stuff, but there’s an accomplice. It might have been Woolf, but it could be the murderer – and that means any one of the people in the grounds tonight.’
‘What a muddle the whole thing is!’
‘Well, here’s a theory that fits,’ Mannering said. ‘Cecilie and someone else stage the robbery, or someone here whom she knows well took them, and she afterwards discovered who. She gets them back, but wants to cover the thief. The thief is known also by Woolf, and while Cecilie’s talking to Woolf the thief makes sure that he can’t talk.’
‘I can follow that,’ Lorna said, ‘but it’s assuming so much. Why should she cover anyone?’
‘No stranger than why should she steal them?’
‘The value—’
‘No, I boggle at that,’ said Mannering decisively. ‘She might have stolen them for revenge, even to give her stepmother a shock, but not to sell them for hard cash. I’ll get them, anyhow – if I can.’
‘John – you’re not forgetting Cecilie could be trying to get you caught? Remember that someone planted the paste necklace on you.’
‘I’m forgetting nothing,’ Mannering said. ‘I must have proof of the thief before Logan talks. I won’t risk Cecilie being found guilty if she isn’t.’
‘Although you know her room is probably being watched closely,’ Lorna said slowly.
‘I can’t grant that,’ said Mannering. ‘Bristow’s taken her away, and he’ll search the room as a matter of course. When that’s done he’ll assume that the room’s no longer of any use. Why should it be?’
‘Are you more likely to find them than Bristow?’
‘Yes.’ Mannering slipped his hands into his pockets. ‘Yes, I think so. Because I’ll know they’re there. That’s always assuming that Bristow hasn’t found them, of course. I think,’ he added, ‘that I’ll have a talk with him.’
In his eyes Lorna saw a gleam that she had seen often before, saw a man who was less Mannering than the Baron. She knew that inwardly he was charged with excitement, that the risk he would take of getting into Cecilie’s room and, if necessary, of handling the stolen jewels, was countered by the thrill he would get, by the old urge to be active – whether it was for, or against, the police did not matter. It was not wholly the need of blocking Logan’s story which drove him on.
Chapter Nineteen
The Jewels
It was dark in Mannering’s room.
The luminous dial of his watch showed that it was two o’clock. He had been asleep for a little over two hours, but the brief rest had done him good. In darkness, he dressed quickly, adding the rubber-soled shoes, and thin, cotton gloves. Except for the wind there was no sound. The storm had passed, and the air was cool and refreshing.
He twisted a dark scarf loosely about his neck, then slipped into a dark mackintosh and a wide-brimmed hat which he pulled down over his eyes.
He had no tools as the Baron had often used, but he had a many-bladed knife that would be useful with any recalcitrant catch, and a long, thin piece of wire which he could use as a pick-lock. They were amateur’s tools, but used by the Baron they would be effective enough: he had no doubt of his ability to get where he wanted that night.
When he opened the door he saw a faint light in the passage outside, but there was no sound. He stepped through quickly, and glanced about him. No one was in sight until he reached the landing. Then, glancing over the balustrade, he saw one of Bristow’s men sitting in the hall. On a chair next to the man was a heavy service revolver.
Mannering smiled, thinking of the days when he had outwitted the police and entered strong-rooms far more secure than Vere’s was likely to be. In those days entering a room as he proposed to do now would have been no more than a minor incident. It would not be difficult now, unless Bristow had set a trap.
He reached Cecilie’s room.
As he passed that of Lady Usk, he heard a confused murmur of voices. Usk’s voice was recognisable but the words were lost. The argument he appeared to be having with his wife made noise enough to cover any sound Mannering caused, although it also prevented him from hearing others should they approach. He felt tense and yet full of confidence, for after he had left Lorna he had talked with Bristow – and learnt that he and Tring had already searched the room and found nothing.
Mannering turned the handle of the girl’s door.
It was locked, and his heart beat faster. With the pick-lock it would take at most a minute – but every second he would be standing in the passage, in full view of anyone who glanced that way.
If his heart was beating fast, his fingers were steady enough as he slipped the wire into the keyhole. He stood tense and hardly moving, then the wire found purchase and the lock clicked back.
He turned the handle and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room was in complete darkness, and he waited for some seconds with bated breath. He heard nothing, no sound of breathing which he had feared.
He knew that each room door had two keys, and in the top drawer of the dressing table he found the spare. He stepped to the window, unlocked the shutters, and pulled the window down. The air was cool against his cheeks.
After a few seconds he could see vaguely, by the light of the stars. It was a first-floor window, and there was a long drop to the ground. He had examined the wall outside his own room carefully, however, and knew that a pipe with a granite surround led to the ground from the adjacent bathroom.
The layout here was the same. In an emergency he could get out that way. He shuttered the window and, satisfied that he had taken all possible precautions, he took a sheet from the bed and laid it across the bottom of the door, so that no gleam of light could get through.
He switched on the light, and looked about him.
He was looking for evidence of Bristow’s activities, and that was not hard to find.
Mannering went about the room slowly. It seemed that there was nowhere Bristow had missed. Even the bathroom and hand-basin grids had been scraped, suggesting that Bristow had examined them to make sure nothing was hanging down the runway pipes.
But the jewels must be here, unless Cecilie had lied.
Mannering saw no reason why she should have done so, unless she had set a trap for him. He tried to forget that possibility, but it remained.
He was looking speculatively at the fireplace, when he heard the sound outside. It was dull but clear, and his heart turned over. He stepped to the door, but before he reached it he heard the sound again.
Bristow’s man probably, patrolling the passages.
Mannering switched off the light, turned the key in the lock, and opened the door. Light filtered through, and the soft footsteps of a passer-by came more clearly. Mannering could see the back of the walker, and the somewhat stealthy posture.
As he reached the landing and turned towards the stairs, Mannering saw that it was Mike Deverell. But what on earth was Mike Deverell doing creeping about the passages during the night!
/>
Mannering pushed the door to, but his heart was thumping lest Deverell had seen him.
The footsteps passed, on a return journey, and a moment later a door closed softly.
Mannering relocked Cecilie’s door, and tried to concentrate on the search; but memory of Mike’s furtive walk persisted. Automatically Mannering looked through drawers and wardrobe, but all the time he knew that the hiding-place was somewhere far less obvious, somewhere in fact too clever for Cecilie to have discovered. That thought gave force to the idea that Cecilie was not working alone. Whether she had played a part in the murder of Woolf or not, it grew increasingly clear that there was someone else at the house with whom she was in contact.
Armitage?
Possibly. Mannering remembered that in the first few days of his visit Armitage and Cecilie had been on very friendly terms. Then Cecilie had professed to get bored with him, and Armitage had blamed the constant chaperonage of Lady Usk. Could the resultant coolness have been a deliberate effort to prove that they were not working together?
Cecilie’s shouting as she had run down the stairs, her urgent whisper, were vivid in his mind. That had been less than five hours before, and from that time onwards she had been left alone. Had anyone else found the jewels?
Mannering looked towards the ceiling.
Two feet from it, along the walls, ran a picture rail.
Mannering pulled a chair to the wall, and carefully working his way round, ran a finger over the entire length.
On every part there was very slight dust – excepting a stretch of two feet or more immediately over the dressing table. The rail was a wide one, and it might be hollow.
Mannering had forgotten Deverell, and everything but the search on hand. He examined the picture rail carefully, and he found what he was looking for – a slight break in the wood. Immediately above the dressing table a piece some three feet long had been inserted.
Mannering felt a fierce excitement as he pulled gently at the inserted piece. He felt the wood move. There was a sharp grating sound, and a moment later it came away in his hand.
Beyond it was a cavity nearly a foot long!
Mannering found himself breathing quickly as he slipped his fingers into the cavity, and touched something beyond. He caught it between his fingers, and drew it out.
It was one of Lady Usk’s brooches.
Another brooch, some earrings and a bracelet followed. He slipped jewel after jewel into his pocket, surprised at the capacity of the hole in the wall – and then his fingers touched cotton wool, and he pulled it out, feeling something hard wrapped within. A moment later he uncovered the necklace.
Mannering did not move immediately.
His expression was strained as he looked at the necklace, and then raised the shade of the lamp so that he could get the light to shine more directly on the diamonds. His breathing was shorter and a little laboured when he stepped down at last.
It was the genuine Deverell necklace: the diamonds were real.
A problem now faced Mannering.
Cecilie had told the truth, and the jewels, damning evidence against her, had been found in her room. If he handed them to the police it would condemn her. Keeping them from the police involved greater risk for himself, but he was less concerned with that than with the possibility that, if convicted, Cecilie would take the charge alone.
By leaving them he would be presenting Bristow with his wanted evidence, and lessening the force of Logan’s story: but in his heart he knew that there was no question of letting the police have them.
Mannering slipped the necklace into his pocket, wrapped the other jewels in a handkerchief, and then replaced the strip of picture rail. When it was back he was surprised how well it fitted. Apart from a little dust, there was nothing to show that anything had been disturbed. With a handkerchief he wiped the dust away, and then he turned to the door. He knew that he would have to get rid of the jewels quickly: it would be disastrous if he were found with them on his person. The question was – where to hide them?
His eyes gleamed.
The obvious thing to do was to put them on Lady Usk’s dressing table, but apart from other complications, this would mean giving Lady Usk the real necklace for the false one.
He did not think there was any possibility that he had been mistaken in the first place, and that raised another problem. Had the fake necklace been planted on him deliberately, or had it been put there merely to withdraw suspicion from the thief? And had Lady Usk also had the original?
He switched off the light and opened the door stealthily, then slipped into the passage. He needed to cross the landing to reach his own room, and he approached it cautiously but without suspecting that anyone would be in it.
He reached it – and then he had a shock which sent the colour from his face, set his heart thumping, and for a moment robbed him of the power of movement or speech. He could have sworn that there was no sound, but as he reached the end of the passage he found himself looking at Anderson, and he knew after that first split second of shock that the sergeant was as startled as he was himself.
The interval seemed to last for an age.
In it Mannering saw disaster ahead of him, knew that the jewels in his pocket would condemn him out of hand. The shock was so great that for a full five seconds he did not move. The sergeant recovered himself first. His right hand slid towards his pocket.
Chapter Twenty
More of Lady Usk
Mannering had little choice.
To draw back, to try to argue with or to outwit the man once the gun was in position would be fatal. If he were to be shot he could not help it. Injured or not, unless he out-played Anderson now it meant complete disaster. With the one thought in his mind Mannering’s right fist shot out as the man touched the trigger.
Anderson staggered back; but the gun went off. There was a roar like thunder as the revolver clattered to the floor. Mannering struck again, swiftly and savagely, sending Anderson thudding back against the wall.
Mannering ran past him.
He heard a shout from the hall, and footsteps rushing the stairs. A door banged from somewhere ahead of him, and another opened. As he moved he took the jewels from his pocket and flung them from him, not caring where they went in his relief that they were out of his possession. He ran on prepared to tackle whoever was coming out of the open door ahead.
And then he saw who it was.
‘Lorna!’
‘Quick!’ she said. ‘Get those clothes off.’
He swung into her room and she went out closing the door behind her. Mannering turned the key in the lock, and then stripping to singlet and trunks bundled his discarded clothes together. By then footsteps were hurrying past, and he heard Vere’s voice, Diana’s, and the acid tones of Hilda Markham.
There was a light tap on the door.
A jumble of voices reached his ears as he opened it, and Lorna slipped through, carrying his pyjamas and dressing gown. Under one arm she had his slippers. Her hair was tumbled, but her eyes were bright, and she looked excited rather than alarmed.
‘Bless you!’ said Mannering fervently. He slipped into the pyjamas and dressing gown, ran a hand through his hair to make it tousled, and then put an arm about Lorna’s shoulder.
‘Bless you,’ he said again.
‘Bless me indeed,’ said Lorna lightly, ‘and thank heaven I wasn’t asleep. Push those clothes into the wardrobe, we can get them back later. And you’d better make an appearance quickly, or Bristow will be after you.’
He said excitedly: ‘Sweetheart, Cecilie didn’t lie.’
‘You found them?’ For the first time she showed alarm. ‘Where are they?’
‘Out and about,’ said Mannering. ‘I threw them away.’
Lorna said: ‘Well, that’s something. At least I can provide an alibi if necessary.’ She laughed as Mannering opened the door and slipped into the passage.
For a moment he thought that he was unseen, but he was wrong. Armit
age, and Lord Usk were in sight.
Both men looked away.
As Mannering reached the landing he heard Bristow call sharply: ‘Quiet please!’
Deverell was on the edge of the little crowd, and Mannering touched his shoulder.
‘What’s happened?’ he whispered. ‘More robbery?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ said Deverell. Bristow looked up and caught Mannering’s eye. There was a hostile, frostiness about the glance. Mannering’s face was expressionless.
Bristow said quietly: ‘I’m going to ask you all to go straight to the drawing room, ladies and gentlemen, and wait there for a few minutes.’
Vere, Diana, Armitage, Usk, Hilda Markham, Lorna Dryden, and two of the secretaries, filed quietly past him.
When Deverell reached Bristow, he hesitated, then said tentatively: ‘I heard a noise, or thought I did, not long ago, and came out to investigate.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll be glad of your statement later.’
Mannering was the last to reach Bristow. The Inspector said casually: ‘A moment, Mr Mannering, please.’
‘Of course,’ Mannering regarded the Inspector sardonically. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know myself yet,’ said Bristow sharply. ‘You’d better come with me.’
‘Manners, manners,’ chided Mannering softly.
Bristow drew a deep breath.
‘I’ll be damned if—’ He caught Mannering’s eye, then broke off and laughed. ‘All right, you devil! Come with me, please.’
‘Always glad to help,’ said Mannering gently.
‘Have you looked downstairs, Inspector?’
‘I’m just about to do so, sir.’
‘But surely Anderson was inside the strong-room?’ Morency insisted.
‘He was, but he found it too much for him. A mild form of claustrophobia, I expect. I had another man take his place after the first half-hour, and put Anderson on patrol. By the time we get back,’ he said, ‘he’ll be able to talk.’
Morency nodded, and they hurried to the strong-room door. Tring was standing outside, his melancholy face showing no expression beyond a gloomy pessimism.