Shadow The Baron

by John Creasey

  “I wasn’t anywhere near the hotel last night.” Smith said righteously. “Mannering and all the police in Scotland Yard couldn’t prove that I was there. You may not believe it, Mannering, but I hadn’t anything to do with Muriel’s murder, though I would have thoroughly enjoyed killing George.”

  “And framed Fleming.”

  “Certainly.”

  “What have you got against Fleming?”

  “I just don’t like him,” Smith said pleasantly. “When are you going to take these cords away, Mannering?”

  “I haven’t decided what to do with you yet It would make a pretty story for the police.”

  “You won’t take it to them.”

  “Why not?”

  Smith said: “You haven’t got what you want yet.”

  “And what do you think I want?”

  Smith grinned.

  Lee said abruptly: “I can’t believe it. Muriel dead. Mannering don’t trust him. He killed Muriel. He knew we were planning to take Celia away, and it was his method of stopping me.”

  “Why did you work for him in the first place?”

  Smith said approvingly: “That’s right, my boy, answer that one.”

  Lee flushed, but didn’t avert his gaze.

  “Muriel fell for him. I wanted to part them, but he offered me a good job. As Muriel said she was in love with him and wouldn’t leave him, I took it. That was a long time ago. I’ve been in and out of the Army since then.”

  “And you came back and worked for Smith?”

  “Why not?”

  “What work did you do?”

  Smith interrupted with a practiced smoothness: “Honest work, Mannering! I’ve a legitimate business, didn’t you know? George is a pretty good buyer. He buys up all the electrical appliances for me, mostly bankrupt stock, and then the mail ordering gets busy. As for Muriel, our affair was washed up years ago. At first George was pretty sore about the way he said I’d treated her; and then he met Celia. Believe it or not, dear George lost his heart.”

  The words seemed to sear the air.

  Lee said thickly: “You fooled me for a long time, but I got wise to you. And from then on I planned to take both Celia and Muriel away from you. I would have done it, too, I would have done it.”

  “Don’t you believe it. If Mannering hadn’t come along, Celia wouldn’t have left the flat. She wouldn’t trust you as far as she could see you.”

  “That’s a lie! There was a time when –”

  “She had a crush on you? Poor dear George. She was merely practising on you.”

  Lee said: “I can’t stay in the room with this swine any longer; if I do I’ll break his neck.” He blundered out, and they heard a door close with a bang.

  Smith’s lips curled.

  “Don’t trust him, Mannering.”

  “I haven’t reached the stage of trusting anyone.”

  “You’re wise. What about cutting these cords?”

  “I’m still undecided,” Mannering said. He turned on his heel. Glancing back from the door, he saw venom in the man’s expression, and in his eyes the unfamiliar emotion of fear.

  It would do Smith no harm to endure for a while the treatment he was so prone to give to others.

  Mannering went into the big room. George Lee was sitting in the armchair in which he had so contentedly counted the money. His explanation of that might be true; but – on the other hand – it might not. It was as well to remember that all good liars sounded plausible. Now Lee looked dejected and distressed, with a cigarette drooping from his lips, his eyes wide open and his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t glance at Mannering, who went across to the cocktail cabinet, and poured out two whiskies and sodas. He needed one himself.

  Lee shook his head.

  “Don’t be a fool,” said Mannering.

  Lee took the glass, and sipped.

  “I just can’t believe it,” he said. “I knew I’d live to regret getting mixed up with a swine like Smith, but that he should kill Muriel –” he tossed the drink down and pushed the glass away with an ungentle hand. “Oh, I’ve asked for it. But Muriel was still in love with him. Only when I realised that he’d some damnable influence over her and over Celia, did I see how bad he is. He crawls. Did you know that he uses hypnotism?”

  Mannering nodded.

  “When Muriel and I discovered that, we knew how crazy we’d been. We tried to get Celia away. Now – I don’t know what to do, she’s dead –”

  “Celia isn’t.”

  “Muriel could have done more with Celia than anyone else possibly can,” said Lee. “I won’t have a chance, myself; she never looks at any other men. Smith’s got her exactly where he wants her. Muriel would have helped to get her back to normality and later –”

  He stopped, and literally shook himself. His voice deepened. “Oh, hell!”

  He went out, but there was nothing wild about him this time. Somewhere nearby, water splashed vigorously out of a tap. Soon, Lee returned, his hair rough dried into points.

  “That’s a bit better.” He forced a grin. “I’ve got to get a grip on myself. What are you going to do with Smith?”

  “Let him go, but he doesn’t realise it yet.”

  “Sure that’s wise? We could charge him with assault, couldn’t we? If the police knew all about it, they’d probably send him down for a year or two. That would give Celia a real break.”

  “She’s having one.”

  “Not while Smith’s free,” Lee said.

  “He doesn’t know where’ she is, and she’ll stay hidden quietly for a few days. In order to find her, he’ll take big risks.”

  Lee nodded, comprehendingly. “Give him enough rope to hang himself. I suppose there’s something in that. There’s another thing you ought to know.”

  “What is that?”

  “He’s in some racket or other. The mail order business at Buckley Street is just a blind. I don’t know much about it, but just before I left England, Muriel told me she thought that he dealt in stolen jewels. She even said – “he broke off, and gave a forced laugh.

  “Even said what?”

  “That she thought he was the Shadow. You know, the chap who’s making such a sensation. I don’t think he’d have the guts but he might handle the Shadow’s loot. Is that the kind of thing you hope to pin on him?”

  “More or less,” said Mannering. “Can you tell me anything more about Muriel’s suspicions?”

  Lee said: “Sorry, no. I was obsessed with the need for getting Celia away. I didn’t pay much attention. But I’ve had a lot of time for thought since. Too much. Been playing with the idea that we might catch Smith out on some crime. If he were jailed, it would give Celia a damned sight better chance.”

  “Have you ever heard of a man called Caton?”

  “Caton?” Lee frowned and pushed his fingers through his curly hair. “No, I can’t say I have. I knew a chap named Caton once, he was with my squadron for a few months. Should I know Caton?”

  It could be an ingenuous reply; Mannering was inclined to think it an honest one. If it were honest, Lee had no idea that Smith was Caton.

  “Did Muriel ever mention the name?”

  “I don’t recall it.”

  “Where would Muriel’s personal papers be – her Will, and all that kind of thing?”

  “I doubt if she made a will, and she didn’t have much in, the way of private papers. They’d be at our flat – we shared a small flat, not far from Buckley Street.”

  Lee’s sad eyes showed a gleam of interest. “You mean, she might have collected some dope on Smith, and kept it somewhere?”

  “Possible. If they’re at the flat, the police will have them. Why didn’t you go straight there when you reached England?”

  “Had a note from Muriel while I was away,” Lee said. “I’ve got it somewhere.” He took out his wallet and began to rifle through its contents. “She said that she thought the flat was being watched. That Smith was suspicious. And that he’d been asking
for me and for information as to where I was. I thought he’d start throwing his weight about if I turned up there. I don’t mind admitting that Smith puts the wind up me. He’s an uncanny devil.”

  “That’s half pose. When did you arrange to come here?”

  “I’ve been here quite a lot,” said Lee. “I kept it secret – didn’t want Smith to know. If he’d discovered that I was working with Major Fleming, he might have –”

  He broke off, raising his hands. Some of the letters dropped.

  “Might have done what?”

  “It’s hard to say.” Lee spoke sharply. “The man just gets under my skin. If it hadn’t been for Celia, we’d have had a head on crash a long time ago, but his influence over her – how the Devil did you manage to get her away?”

  “There’s a weak link in his influence – she’s very fond of her mother.”

  “Yes, I know that. Well, you fixed it, that’s the main thing. Where is she? I’d like to see her, if only to say hallo.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that,” said Mannering. “Sure you don’t know where Muriel might have kept papers?”

  “Only at the flat.”

  “Oh, well,” said Mannering resignedly. “What are your plans for tomorrow morning?”

  “I was going to hare up to town and put this cash into my friend’s bank. The sooner it’s off my hands the better. He’ll be advised when it’s there, and will release the funds to me, in Italy. I’m a bit worried about it, if the exchange control people find out there’ll be hell to pay, but if ever a thing was justified –”

  “Worry that out with your conscience,” Mannering said, and smiled. “I wouldn’t let it weigh too heavily. The question now – how to scare the wits out of Smith?”

  “Sure you won’t turn him over to the police?”

  “Not yet,” said Mannering.

  “Pity, in a way,” Lee said, “but you seem to know how to take care of yourself. I’d be turning cold by now, if you hadn’t come along. One day –”

  “Forget it.” Mannering stood up.

  “Here’s that letter from Muriel,” Lee said.

  “Thanks – may I keep it?” Mannering put the letter into his pocket, “Where will you stay in London? The flat?”

  “No, I don’t think so. The Lithom Hotel, Aldwych.”

  “Telephone me tomorrow evening,” Mannering said, and gave Lee a card.

  “Right!”

  “You might give me a hand getting Smith to the car,” added Mannering.

  “Where are you going to take him?”

  “The less you know, the better it’s likely to be for you,” Mannering said.

  Smith didn’t speak when they went into the kitchen. He looked tired and sombre. Mannering ignored him, went to a drawer and took out a clean tea towel, then went behind Smith and tied it over his mouth and nose. He knotted it securely, while Lee stood watching. Smith had been here for an hour, was probably stiff and uncomfortable. He grunted when Mannering helped him to his feet, but remained passive. Mannering and Lee lifted him, Lee taking his legs, as they moved cautiously out of the house. The darkness lent eeriness to the scene as they pushed Smith into the back of his own car. There was little sound.

  “Good riddance to a rather nasty piece of work,” Lee said, loudly enough for Smith to hear.

  Mannering chuckled.

  He took the wheel and drove off. Lee was going to collect the Buick from the field, and keep it in the garage. Once Mannering reached the main road, he drove fast. There was no sound from the rear, he might have been alone in the car. He sped along the Kingston by-pass, and stopped at the London end of it, to light a cigarette. He kept the engine running, but it made only a gentle purring sound. There was no other traffic on the road. Mannering drew at his cigarette and seemed to have all the time in the world to spare. The dashboard clock in the powerful Chrysler pointed to half-past four.

  The cigarette was half finished before Smith muttered something which Mannering couldn’t hear; the tea-towel muffled his voice. Mannering made no comment. Smith spoke again, and Mannering turned and pulled the gag down, so that it lay round Smith’s neck, like a scarf.

  “Did you speak?”

  “Damn you,” Smith said viciously.

  “Is that all?”

  “What are you going to do?” Smith hated asking the question, hated showing fear; but it was in him, now, and every minute was torment.

  “I still haven’t decided. You don’t know any safe ways of disposing of a body, do you?”

  “I –”

  “You yourself always seem to leave them about rather untidily, so you’re unlikely to have any really brilliant suggestions I fear.”

  “What good will it do to kill me?”

  “Take a load off several people’s minds, and let Celia start living again,” Mannering said. “I can think of a dozen good reasons for killing you.” He laughed. “What’s your other racket’ Smith?”

  “Never mind that! I’ll pay you anything you ask if –”

  “Too bad,” Mannering said. “I’ve all the money I need.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To see you dead – hanged for preference, but the police might not be able to collect the evidence. What’s your racket?”

  There was silence.

  “Oh, well,” said Mannering. He turned round, tossing his cigarette out of the window, and let in the clutch.

  “Mannering!” Fear sounded harsh and raw in Smith’s voice. “I’m in several rackets. One of them would be profitable to you; I could put a lot of jewels in your way. Old stuff, too.”

  “Thief or fence?”

  “The stuff passes through my hands,” Smith said. “I’m one of the biggest receivers in the game. I’d give you first choice, for Quinn’s.”

  “Quinn’s doesn’t deal in stolen stuff.”

  Smith said: “I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at Mannering.”

  “I’m interested in your rackets.”

  “I –”

  “How much blackmailing have you been doing lately?”

  “I suppose Fleming told you that I put the screw on him once,” Smith said sullenly. “That’s not my regular line, but I can squeeze –”

  Mannering laughed,

  Smith said: “To hell with you!”

  Mannering drove on. Smith could shout, if he thought it worth the risk. He didn’t. Mannering glanced round at him. The blinds were down, and Smith sat staring straight ahead. He must know that they were now in London. He was eaten up with fear, but still fighting against showing it. Fleming had said that this man’s one weakness was a pride that could brook no humiliation; that was probably true.

  They reached the West End; and then the Adelphi. Mannering stopped the car.

  “You’re nearly home,” he said. “Listen, Smith. I’m looking after Celia Fleming, and I don’t want you poking around. I’m going to get you for Muriel Lee’s murder. If necessary, I’ll report to the Yard about what happened tonight. Lee and I, between us, can have you sent down for several years. You’re in a jam. Understand?”

  Smith said nothing, but the tenseness in his attitude betrayed that he was listening.

  “I’m going to unfasten your feet, and then we’ll go to your flat. You’re going to show me round. I propose to search it for all the evidence I can find of your various rackets, and I’m going to take that evidence away with me. If you start any funny stuff, the dossier will go to the Yard. Understand?”

  Smith muttered an unintelligible assent.

  There seemed to be no one in Buckley Street, but that might mean that the Yard man watching the place was keeping out of sight. Mannering helped Smith out of the car, and supported the man to the front door. Smith could hardly stand, and was gritting his teeth against the pain which went through his legs now that the blood was freely circulating. Without speaking he handed over his keys.

  Mannering shut the flat door behind them as Smith staggered to a chair and dropped into it.
Leaving the inner door open so that Smith was under constant observation, Mannering went into the study and began work on the desk. One of the keys opened the safe; he pulled back the hinged lid.

  This time it wasn’t empty. Mannering pulled out two chamois leather bags, untied the string of one of them and shook the contents out. Diamonds, rubies, pearls, already taken put of their setting, lay before him. They made a shimmering heap at which Smith stared tensely.

  “Not bad,” Mannering said. “The Shadow’s last haul, I believe.”

  Smith muttered: “Supposing I am the Shadow?”

  “Still think there’s doubt about it?” Mannering dropped the jewels back into the bag, and tossed it into the safe.

  “Where do you keep your other stuff?”

  “To hell with you!”

  Mannering said: “Listen. I have only to go out, leaving you bound and gagged, and tip the police off about this, and they’ll be here in five minutes. You’d be in dock within a few hours and in jail within six weeks. Don’t make any mistake about that Where do you keep your other stuff?”

  Smith muttered: “At the garage.”

  “Where are the keys?”

  “You’ve got them in your hand.”

  “Where’s the safe at the garage?”

  “In the room opposite the stairs. It’s built into the wall, behind a radiogram.”

  “I’m going to have a look,” Mannering said. “If there’s any trouble, the police will be your next visitors.”

  He went into the lounge. Smith, too unsteady on his legs to fight, allowed himself to be tied up again, and then gagged. Mannering left him, fairly comfortable, this time, and went across to the other fiat.

  One of the keys opened the door.

  Mrs. Morant was in a small bedroom, sleeping the heavy, rather pathetic sleep of the middle aged. The key was on the inside of her door. Mannering took it out and locked her in, then went downstairs.

  23: Dossier on Smith

  No one appeared to be in Buckley Street, and Mannering wasn’t followed.

  London was waking up. A stream of taxis passed him as he neared Palling Street. He pulled up a hundred yards away, and walked the rest of the distance. The Palling Garage was closed, its frontage blank, and without lights.