by John Creasey
“Do you really mean you want to go overseas?”
“I’d like to be in some kind of fight. Either use my wits or use the latest form of high-explosive.”
“You’ve exploded quite enough for tonight.”
Lorna went out – and the telephone bell rang.
The old-fashioned candlestick instrument was on a table near the window. He crossed the room, and said: “Mannering here.”
A main said, “Hallo!”
Mannering recognised the voice. He shot a startled glance at Lorna, as she came in with the coffee. The caller went on, “Well, you’ve tucked yourself away pretty snug, haven’t you?”
“Out of reach of all bad men, Bill!”
“Bill,” cried Lorna. “Bill Bristow!”
“I’m at Langley.” It was Bristow, who sounded peeved. “No one here has heard of you or even Holly Cottage.”
“That’s not surprising. The postal address is Langley, but the cottage is in Quintin St. Mary, a hamlet nearby. What brings the great alien chaser to Winchester?”
“Don’t bring that up. I want to beg a night’s lodging.”
“We’ll both be delighted.” Mannering stared at Lorna.
“I’ve got the car. Just tell me how to find you.”
“Oh, to be a policeman now that war is here! Come out of Langley on the Winchester Road, over the white bridge and then take the first left. It’s straight on until, half a mile along that road, you come to a fork. Take the right-hand fork and drive on for about a mile. You’ll see some buildings and a white house on the left. Stop by the house and we’ll come and hold your hand.”
Bristow repeated the directions, and added, “You’re sure I won’t be a nuisance?”
“Welcome as the flowers in May, Bill! We can hardly wait to put hot water bottles into the spare bed. I’ll see if I can find a few stolen jools for you, too.”
Bristow chuckled.
“You mean hide ’em, not find ’em. You’d better hurry.” Mannering replaced the receiver Lorna closed the book of clippings.
“So I did see him. Did he say why he wanted to come?”
“No. But he will come as a friend.’
“I wonder.” She laughed, on a high note. “Darling, pinch my nose or tread on my toe or do something to shake me out of this mood. Put that book away and get our coats, will you, and then start singing a round-song. We must be in our brightest mood, brimming over with happiness, showing him how real your transformation is. How quaint, seeing a man from the great big city! I’ll cut some sandwiches, he probably hasn’t had dinner, and make some more coffee.”
“He prefers tea.”
“What a memory! The book, you big brute. Hide it!”
There was no moon, but the stars were bright points in a fathomless sky. Now and again a gust of wind bent the tops of trees and rustled and hissed, bringing the leaves flurrying into their faces. They walked past the village pond, deserted and straggly. They reached the gate of a white house nearby. It showed up in the darkness like a pale square. The headlights of a car, coming through slotted wartime masks, showed perhaps half a mile away. It was cold, and Mannering hug his mackintosh tightly. He stood with his arm linked in Lorna’s, who was snug in mink.
Then the headlights shone on the Mannerings and the white house. The car stopped and, as Mannering approached, Bristow called, “Hallo, John! Lorna, you shouldn’t have come out.” He opened the door.
“Don’t get out, Bill. We’ll drive up to the cottage,” Mannering said.
“Right.” Bristow was only a shape and a voice. They went at a snail’s pace along the rough road, to the cottage.
“Here we are,” said Mannering. “I’ve opened the garage doors, you can drive straight in.”
“I’ll guide you,” Lorna said. She scrambled out and went in front of the car.
Mannering closed and locked the garage door, and Bristow, swinging his ignition and car keys in his hand, walked with them to the front of the house; the door stood ajar.
Inside, Mannering switched on all the lights, and said: “Now, let’s have a look at you.”
Chapter Three
Bristow sat back, with a cup of tea in one hand, the saucer in the other. Smoke from his cigarette curled from the ashtray on the arm of his chair.
“So you’re having a lovely, quiet time?”
“Why did you come?” said Mannering.
“There was a nasty murder outside Winchester. A Dutch girl, in domestic service. We thought it might be espionage. It wasn’t, and it finished early; some imbecile killed her. So I wondered where I could spend a pleasant evening nearby without talking shop, and drive up to town in the morning. Happy in your work, John?”
“It could be more exciting.”
“Busy?” Bristow’s elaborate air of nonchalance made the question significant. A glimmering of the truth – that Bristow was here to ask a favour – dawned on Mannering.
“Very!”
“Weekends, too?”
“The sinister and subtle policeman gets slowly to the point. What would you like me to do with my weekends?”
“Dabble in this and that. Pick up the threads of the kind of job which amused you some years ago.”
“No!” cried Lorna, and she clapped her hands and bounced up and down on her firestool. “You don’t want him to help you?” She laughed immoderately, for all her fears were banished, even if not far away.
“If you think you’re going to disturb the idyll of Holly Cottage, Bill, you’re sadly mistaken,” Mannering said. “I haven’t time for detecting or jewel judging.”
“Jewel judging’s right, anyhow. You’ve no idea how many of our experts are on duty overseas, and the work gets heavier. We could find a job for you.”
“Officially?” Mannering choked.
“No! This is my bright notion. But if you took it up, the Yard pundits would look on with an indulgent eye.”
“I smell a rat. A large, long-tailed, lively rat.”
Bristow chuckled. “If you’re worried in ease I’m trying to dig up the old story that you’re the Baron, forget it. We’ve a nasty job that I can’t puzzle out.”
“Let’s hear more.”
Bristow said, “Right! I’m serious, John. It won’t surprise you to know that there’s a lot of trafficking in precious stones? Some are smuggled from the Continent, more are smuggled out of England to America, and it’s all strictly against the law. There are too many holes in the law, but even if it were watertight we couldn’t stop smuggling.”
“Has it grown much?”
“Plenty, but we don’t know just how much. We do know that a lot of valuable jewels are being sold under cover. Secret selling is the rage – jewel collectors with’ famous stones hate to admit they have to cash in. Taxes have gone sky-high, money’s short – and someone is buying up a lot of stuff. There’s a big black market, and we don’t know how big. We want to find out.”
Lorna said weakly, “Well, well!”
Mannering went to a cabinet and took out whisky and a soda siphon.
“And you think I’m the buyer. Drink, Bill?”
“I don’t think anything of the kind! I’m asking for help, and that means I’ve swallowed a lot of pride. You know the precious-stone market better than anyone in England.”
“Better have a drink, it will soothe your nerves.” Whisky gurgled, soda splashed. “Gin-and-lemon, darling?” Mannering juggled with bottles and a glass.
“Let me get this straight, Bill. Collectors are unloading prize gems through unorthodox channels. Not through dealers, not through sale-rooms, not through other collectors. You think there may be a single buyer or a syndicate, cashing in in a big way. And you think this syndicate or single buyer may be smuggling the stuff out of the country.”
“That’s the situation,” said Bristow.
“And so, will I help to find the facts?” said Mannering.
Bristow said clearly, “That’s all there is to it.”
“Why pick
on me?” Mannering paused, then answered himself. “The trade can’t help, and the underworld won’t talk to policemen but might talk to me.”
“I suppose you’ll have to know a bit more. The important thing is that these jewels represent hard cash. Sterling. They are invaluable as exchange with America and other non-sterling areas. If they’re being smuggled out of the country on a big scale, it’s—”
Mannering said, quite seriously, “Economic sabotage.”
“That’s it.”
“In other words,” said Mannering, “you’re not asking me to dabble in common crime, but in sabotage. It sounds better. But there’s a serious snag. A lot of jewels would have to reach the United States before it really mattered.”
‘That’s the point. Small quantities are going over for certain, but is there smuggling on a bigger scale? I don’t ask you to make any effort to stop the buying or smuggling, just to find out on what scale it’s going on. If you can do that, we’ll do the rest. Don’t turn the proposition down right away.”
Mannering pondered, Lorna looked thoughtful, Bristow hopeful. This was the kind of job on which the Yard might ask Mannering’s help and still have a clear conscience.
He said, “Give me the weekend, to think it over.”
“Gladly! If you play, and find that you want more time than you have to spare, we could fix special leave. You might be able to combine it with a week or two of riotous living in London!”
John, do you really need the weekend to think it over?” asked Lorna, looking owlishly at Bristow. “You don’t really want to dabble in it, darling. It will disrupt everything, and we’re getting on so well. We can’t neglect the garden, and London in the blackout is appalling.”
“Now look here—” Bristow began.
“I do believe you’re right,” Mannering said, poker-faced. Yet he could have laughed aloud, for sheer joy-for the promise of a chase, of action, scheming, being away from his desk. And Lorna knew it, and was glad of it.
“No, don’t play the fool,” pleaded Bristow.
“Then tell us why you came here tonight, instead of any old night. Why you’ve not called me up before. Why you haven’t looked us up, when we’ve been in London.”
Lorna murmured, “You’re a sly old fox, Bill, but not so clever as you need to be. Tell us the truth, or I’ll stop him somehow.’
Bristow growled, “I’ll have you directed into a war job. Oh, well! I’ve wanted to ask you before, but resistance from the pundits at the Yard was too strong. Then a piece of manna fell into my lap – the news that you’re on the invitation list of a certain Lady—”
Lorna jumped up. “No!” she cried. “Not Lady Ley!”
“That’s right,” said Bristow. All official resistance melted, “and here I am, longing for you to go to Hadley Grange.”
Chapter Four
“How did you know we were due at Hadley Grange tomorrow?” asked Mannering slowly.
“I only knew that you were likely to be invited – and that you have been asked to go several times before. The fact that you said. “No” puts you in the clear! I hoped I wouldn’t have to go as far as this. I know that the Leys are friends of yours, and that you might get a notion that it was—”
“Snooping on friends?”
“That’s not the way to look at it. This is a job of war work. Anyone at the house might be involved – guests or servants. We certainly haven’t assumed that the Leys—”
“We’re not shocked at a policeman’s base suspicions,” Mannering said, dryly.
Bristow said, “They have a regular flow of guests at the Grange. Some of the guests aren’t all that they might be including a certain Marcus Shayne. Have you ever heard of him?”
“No.”
“Every time you have been invited to the Grange, Shayne has been there. Other well-known collectors have been invited also when Shayne has been weekending in luxury.”
“How did you find it out?” Lorna probed.
Bristow shrugged. “We have a man at the Grange.”
“Who is he?”
“You can’t expect me to tell you that!”
“I do, Bill. Proper briefing – and I’m not going to be watched by a detective I don’t know.”
“I shouldn’t have gone as far as I have. I’ll strike a bargain with you, John. You promise to tell me anything you find out, and I’ll tell you who our man is. I’ll take your word but without it, I can’t be reasonably sure that you won’t warn Lady Ley. Our man might be fired. He’s on the staff.”
Mannering said, “We’ll still sleep on it. There are other things you can tell us, without revealing the Yard’s precious secrets. The other jewel collectors have been to the Grange—”
“At Shayne’s invitation,” murmured Bristow.
“Now we know you’re romancing,” said Lorna.
“Meaning, how can Shayne invite people to Lady Ley’s house? It isn’t quite so open as that, of course. Shayne exerts pressure or expresses a fond desire, and Lady Ley issues the invitations. Anyway, all the people whom Shayne has wanted at the Grange have dutifully turned up – except you.”
“It could explain why Marion’s been so persistent. Refuse her once, and you’re usually struck off her list,” said Lorna.
“More about Marcus Shayne, please,” Mannering invited, “and I want a clear picture, William.”
“Imagine a man who makes John look like a roughneck, Lorna. Handsome isn’t the word! Give him an expression which would make you want to grab your palette and brushes and slap him down on canvas. Add that he’s the courtly owner of several exclusive picture galleries and antique shops, trading under the name of the Leyden Galleries, and you have some idea of Marcus Shayne.”
“The Leyden man! I’ve turned down a dozen commissions to do portraits and copies for them. John, you know the Leyden Galleries, Bond Street—”
“Bond Street, Princes Street, Edinburgh, and Cross Street, Birmingham,” Bristow said. “They’ve a place in Manchester, too, but I can’t remember the address offhand. Before the war, they had branches in Paris and Berlin, Rome – where I believe they’ve re-opened – Milan and Venice, New York, Washington, and Los Angeles. You begin to see?”
“A pretty good organisation for smuggling,” Mannering agreed. “But would a man with that reputation go in for undercover stuff?”
“I don’t know. If he does, it’s big enough to worry about.”
“Yes, it’s beginning to make sense. If Shayne is implicated, he would only handle large sums, or else—spying, Bill? Our old pal and wartime sleeping partner, espionage.”
“Partly.”
“Largely. And you hope that Shayne will make me a proposition, and want me to rush to you and tell you all about it?”
Bristow sipped his drink.
“I want you to tell me whether in your considered opinion, the smuggling is on a large scale. I’ve told you that I’ll do the rest. I can get the time and the men for it then, but they can’t be spared to follow up a vague idea. I’m not asking you to do anything beyond making those discreet inquiries. I won’t ask you where you obtain your information. No one need know you’ve helped.”
“All right, Bill! We’ll let you know over breakfast.”
“Can we have an early breakfast?” asked Bristow, and yawned. “Sorry. I’ve had a heavy day.”
“Bedtime?” asked Mannering. “I’ll take you upstairs.” He showed Bristow his room.
Silent Lorna and thoughtful Mannering washed the glasses and laid the table for breakfast. In their room, Mannering unfastened her dress at the back. Her eyes were smiling into the dressing-table mirror as she said, “Thanks,” and she went on when she had drawn the dress over her head, “Weren’t you longing for a break like this?”
“I’m a dutiful, much-married man. Whether I say yes or whether I say no depends entirely on you.”
“Do you really believe that?” marvelled Lorna.
“I really believe it. I love the silly way your eyebrows draw
together when you frown and the ridiculous way your hair curls, and I’ve great respect for your likes and dislikes. If you say let’s cut out the trip, I’ll run a high temperature.”
“Darling. What will you have? Influenza or something more complicated?”
“I’d prefer the complications.”
“Let’s have a game of exorcising evil spirits. You scared me when you let off steam about the job, you know. I can imagine you rushing off and robbing a safe, just to relieve the tedium. Marion and this remarkable Marcus will give you something to think about. Bristow would have to be grateful, and the Baron would be written off. You know, darling, this might be your great chance. Poacher really turned gamekeeper-cracksman finally into detective, all with the official blessing. Love me?”
Next morning, heavy clouds were driven across the sky by a high wind, and squalls of rain spattered against the windows. The curtains of the Mannerings’ room billowed inward, and a vase was swept onto the floor and broken. Windows and doors rattled. Small trees and bushes bent beneath the fury of the wind; tall trees drew their branches together as if in self-defence.
“On the whole, a blustery morning,” Mannering announced, when he woke Bristow, carrying a tea tray. “How have you slept, William?”
“Eh? Oh—like a top.” yawned Bristow. He was resplendent in royal blue pyjamas. “Thanks, John.” He sipped his tea. “Well, what’s the decision?”
Mannering said solemnly: “We’ve decided not to trust you, Bill. We think you’ve got something else up your sleeve.”
Bristow gulped, put down his tea.
“Listen to me! I came down here after I’d discussed this with the Assistant Commissioner and Lynch. We think you’re the one man likely to get us the evidence we need. And John, there’s something tied up with it. Something unspeakable. It—” He broke off, as if he regretted that outburst. “Well, anyway, there might be. We must know what their strength is before we can tackle it. John, I beg you—”
Mannering began to laugh and poured out more tea, still chuckling.
“All right, Bill, we’re going to take a chance. I wanted to get your reaction on waking up; even an ace detective couldn’t put on an act within three minutes of waking.”