by John Creasey
There was a faint click as the key turned.
Meyer’s lips closed, and his body relaxed. Shayne smiled faintly. He put his hand inside the case and, stepping forward, Mannering saw the little opening at one side. Between the outer and inner coverings of hide the hollow section was large enough for small things: watches, papers – or jewels.
Shayne inserted his fingers and slowly drew out a piece of fine twine. It was attached to a stronger cord. He pulled this in turn and brought out a black wallet of limp leather, which bulged in the middle.
Shayne pressed the bulge, then put the wallet into his pocket.
“Thank you, Mannering. A few minutes longer here and he might have found this. They are getting very daring. Did you get a clear view of the man?”
“Yes. As bald as a coot. He’s at Brockenhurst now.”
“O’Malley!” exclaimed Meyer. “Sir, there’s no doubt—”
“O’Malley, yes,” said Shayne. “I hope you agree that even this should not be used to alarm the others.”
‘I shall need a lot of convincing.”
“I think I can satisfy you. May we talk in your room, while Meyer tidies up in here?”
Mannering said, “Will you change first, then come along?”
Mannering left the room.
Cheriton, in a dinner suit, was on the landing. “You’ll be late, Mannering!” Mannering laughed. In the bedroom, Lorna was brushing her hair vigorously, and didn’t notice him come in. He watched the quick, graceful movement of her hand and arm. When she stopped, to rest, he said: “Can I help?”
She started. “John, you’ll be late for dinner.”
“Offence admitted.” He picked up the brush. “I shall have good company; Marcus will also be late. He’s coming here, in about ten minutes. I’ll see him in the dressing room. There, that’s as glossy as you’ll ever get it. I’ll get changed.” He left her fiddling with her hair.
When Mannering was dressed, Lorna was ready. His eyes lit up at sight of her in a black gown, with a single diamond clip at her corsage, a single diamond in her hair.
“Ravishing!”
“Will Marcus think so?”
“You forget Marcus, and go and make Marion envious.”
Shayne arrived, smoking a cigarette in his amber holder, immaculate; yes, he was outstandingly distinguished. He bowed to Lorna.
“Lucky John Mannering!”
Lorna said, “Try to convince him. Darling, I left my nail varnish behind, I’ll go and borrow Marion’s. Don’t be long.”
Mannering closed the door behind her.
Shayne sat down and took the black wallet from an inside pocket of his coat.
“Give me your opinion on these, will you? My friend O’Malley certainly came for them.”
Mannering took the wallet, which had a zip-fastener, and drew out a roll of cotton-wool. His heart began to beat fast. He unfolded the roll, and the light shone upon diamonds.
He glanced quickly at Shayne. His handsome face was tense. He had a look which Mannering knew well. Only those familiar with precious stones, who felt a passion for them deep as the passion of man for woman, knew that look. It told him much: that Shayne was a collector and loved jewels for their own sake; and these were beauties.
There were four.
They were egg-shaped, rose-tinted stones, beautifully cut. Mannering drew in a sharp breath. The light from the single lamp seemed to be absorbed by the gems, and to explode in a thousand fiery sparks of scintillating brilliance.
Mannering crossed to the lamp. He had little doubt that the stones were real, but turned each one over in his fingers, lifted it, and held it near to the light. Gently, he moved his hand up and down, to judge their weight; he thought each was about twenty carats; they were certainly not less. The rose tint added to their value. He had never seen them in a collection, nor heard of them. Yet such gems as these should be famous.
He put them back on the cotton-wool.
“Are they for sale?”
“No, they’re sold. To an American friend of mine.”
“And you are the dealer?”
“Yes.”
“When O’Malley came to get them, did he know exactly what he was looking for?”
“I think so.”
“And he works for this enemy of yours?”
“Yes, and the man would give his right hand for them. Oh, not O’Malley! He works for money. Mannering, I need your help, but I also need to be sure of your absolute discretion.”
Mannering said, ‘Yes. Are these stones hot?”
“I am acting for their legal owner, but there may be people who will try to convince you that it isn’t true.”
Mannering said, “I think we’ve started off on the wrong foot. You have legal title to these, but someone disagrees with you? Can’t you prove your case?”
“Not to everyone’s satisfaction. The police might question my right to handle them.”
“Oh. So the police are involved now, are they?”
“Yes, and that is why I need the help of an experienced man. I confess I had no idea that I was suspected of handling stolen jewels until Meyer discovered that a detective from Scotland Yard was working here as a footman. I am afraid that was bungled, Mannering. Marion was here when Meyer blurted it out, and the man has already been dismissed. He—”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, he went this morning. Marion regarded it as an insult to a guest.” He smiled, deprecatingly. “I don’t know Superintendent Bristow personally, but I know he is Scotland Yard’s jewel expert. After this, he will doubtless feel convinced that I’m up to no good.”
“And it’s brought you in conflict with the police.”
“Not quite so simple as that, Mannering. It has put an edge to enmity. What I do, this man tries to undo. He knows that there might be some doubt as to the legality of what I’m doing; so, to make it difficult, he warns the police that I am worth attention.”
Mannering said, “And obviously you are. This business of yours is illegal, is that it?”
“I don’t think so. Others might.”
“I’m tired of the riddles. Who else knows about this? Marion?”
“Only a little.”
“Robert Ley?”
“I don’t think so. Of course, one always wonders if Bob knows more than you think he does. I’ve told him nothing.”
“Meyer?”
“Yes. He is quite trustworthy.”
“And your customers?”
“They simply buy what I later sell.”
“So we’re back at O’Malley master.”
“Yes. He discovered this, very early on. Since then he has done everything he could to stop it – even employing that Irish rascal with the English voice and others. It has been going on for a year, and I cannot keep on by myself.”
“Isn’t it time the enemy lost his anonymity? Who is he?”
“That is exactly what I want you to find out. He appears to believe that I have done him some great wrong. If I did, it was unwittingly, Mannering. Meyer has tried to find out who he is, but failed. I’ve suffered some losses, but none really severe. The strain gets worse day by day, though. Telephone calls, anonymous notes, whispered threats when I am in crowds – it is becoming unbearable.” He pressed his hand against his forehead, and the tell-tale signs of strain were clear at his eyes and lips. “Yet I’ve gone on because I felt that I must. It began with passion for jewels, Mannering – especially for diamonds. I keep as many as I can afford, but very few. I’ve studied them, I think I know almost every diamond of repute, wherever it is, whatever country. My enemy knows this.
“When he discovered what I was doing, he sent O’Malley to see me. I doubt if you will ever meet a more plausible rogue. He asked for some small but beautiful diamonds which I’d just obtained, threatened disclosure if I refused. I did refuse, I shall always refuse to be blackmailed. Immediately he began a campaign to frighten me. He always asks for certain diamonds – I imagine he knows th
e lure of them, too.”
“But he doesn’t give you away to the police?”
“No.”
“Are you smuggling the stones in and out of the country?”
“Yes.” Shayne drew his fingers across his forehead. “You see, I put myself in your hands, completely. The gems are smuggled but are not stolen. As personal possessions, they are not dutiable – but will the police believe that? I have grave doubts. Mannering, if it weren’t for this man who has fought me so bitterly, I should have no anxiety and no scruples. My conscience is quite clear. I come here, my customers meet me here, and we come to terms. It is all straightforward. I make no profit, seldom sufficient to meet expenses. Have you guessed where the jewels come from?”
“The Continent.”
“Occupied Europe, yes.”
“And you sell to America?”
“Mostly.”
“Ever heard of the dollar shortage?”
“Mannering, have you ever heard of the conditions across the Channel? The hunger, the privations, the sickness, the constant fears of freedom-loving people stamped upon by the Nazi brutes? Do you read the heart-rending stories which the Red Cross observers bring back? Can you picture the dreadful conditions in the concentration camps and internment camps? Squalor, filth, human misery in its most damnable form. Can you—”
His eyes glowed, his hands were clenched, he seemed to pour his soul into the words.
“Those people must feel that God has forsaken them! Every penny I get for these jewels, smuggled out of the Continent at great personal risk, is sent back to help the forsaken people. And if I did not smuggle them, if I obeyed the law—” He laughed. “What would happen, Mannering? Confiscation, dollar shortage, red tape – and greater misery. One source of life and hope would be denied the creatures of desolation. While I’ve breath in my body, I shall go on.”
He fell silent.
Mannering did not speak, just watched him.
“Will you help, Mannering? This is no crime, this is a service to humanity. In the bloody holocaust of war, the passion to destroy and destroy again, human beings are forgotten, damned. I have found a way to help. I believe others would help, if they were given the opportunity. There was one man—”
Mannering said, “Who?” The word came out sharply, almost with antagonism, as he fought against the onrush of sentiment, against the almost hypnotic pull of Shayne’s soft voice and the glow in his eyes.
“I only know him by a soubriquet. He was famous – oh, the law-abiding fools to whom every by-law is a commandment would say notorious. I greatly admired him. He was a thief, who robbed the blatant rich and fed the hungry poor. A great man. They called him the Baron.”
Chapter Eight
Tension made Mannering’s muscles taut, was like ice in his mind. It sprang from the story and was heightened to a sudden, sharp intensity by those final words. Did Shayne know?
The brown eyes were hidden, now. Shayne sat, motionless, as if in the grip of a great emotional storm.
“I can hardly expect you to give me an answer immediately, Mannering, You will probably want to discuss it with your wife. But I feel that I can rely on you to forget what I have told you if you decide not to help. There will be danger, and you are an officer, under the King.”
“Yes, but is all this true?”
A gleam of what might have been anger came and faded in Shayne’s eyes. He relaxed, took out a cigarette case, lit up, and fitted the cigarette into his holder carefully. When he looked up, he was smiling – as a saint might smile.
“Perhaps Marion will convince you.”
“How much does she know?”
“Of what I’m doing, everything. Of how I do it, little. Of my evening and O’Malley, nothing. I’ve told her there are difficulties – an attempt to sabotage what we are doing.”
“Why did you confide in Marion?”
“She began it all. She has raised funds for years for the Swedish Red Cross, and so became familiar with the plight of millions in Europe. Later, she became president of the Overseas Assistance League. The organisation has the full approval of the government – it works in close touch with the Red Cross. Marion discovered that available funds weren’t sufficient, and also that there are strict limits to what the Red Cross can do. She found it possible to get in touch with friends in France and other countries through other friends in Spain and Portugal. The stories were heart-rending and funds terribly short. She was asked to see jewels which were smuggled here, sold them through me, until—well, I had to ask where they came from. I recognised the Gold Diamond, and—”
“I’d no idea that Marion had a soft heart,” Mannering said.
“She is a remarkable woman, and few understand her. Beneath this gay and extravagant facade, she feels deeply for those in distress. Her social position is a great help. She is sometimes able to get donations in hundreds or thousands of pounds, where others can only obtain trifles. But it is still not enough. What is your valuation of those four diamonds?”
“Seven or eight thousand pounds, each.”
“You’ve underestimated them, I think. They were given to us by a Frenchman who is notorious for his collaboration with the Nazis. The French newspapers pour out streams of vituperation, while he works miracles of relief at home. I say given – he wants nothing for them. In America they will fetch at least a hundred and forty thousand dollars, and give hope and salvation to hundreds of men, women, and children.”
“How many people have any idea of what you are doing?”
“There are some of those who have bought from me, of course. I had to prove my bona fides, but I think they can be trusted. Where I doubt the good will of a customer, I sell through a reliable third party. I have a great number of friends both here and in America. In many European circles, my name is a sufficient guarantee of good faith.” He spoke gently; humbly. “None know everything, but five know a great deal. Two on the Continent – a Dutchman and a Frenchwoman, who send the jewels here. In England, Marion and one of my business partners, Duval, and I. Meyer and Ferris know much. They work only for me, and are quite trustworthy.”
“Does Marion know how much you’re telling me?”
“She has always believed you would help. If you’re anxious that no one should know of your interest, apart from Marion and myself, you can rely on us. No one else need know. I have not discussed the possibility with anyone. Well. Mannering. Will you help?”
First Bristow; now Shayne; and undoubtedly it was the same business. Bristow had talked of an unspeakable horror. Shayne had drawn a picture of human misery which had no parallel. Now he must dose emotion and sentiment with cold logic. This proposition might be an appeal to the heart, but the mind had to answer.
“Before I leave here, I’ll tell you,” he promised.
“Good. Now I must go and see how Meyer is getting on.”
Mannering looked at the four diamonds which lay on the palm of his hand, then wrapped them in the cotton-wool and put them in the bottom of the wardrobe. Did they come from France? Or was this an elaborate story, to win his confidence? Was he halfway into a trap, beautifully baited for him? Would Marion lend herself to that? Which was the real Marion? Society hostess, famous beauty, luxury-loving woman – or the president of the Overseas League?
Was Robert Ley completely unaware of what happened in his house?
Why had Shayne talked of the Baron?
He went downstairs slowly.
Marion was dazzling, outshone Lorna, made Gertrude look oafish, Cheriton crude, subdued Bob Ley, drew Shayne out until he was almost gay. She sat next to Mannering, and Gertrude sat on his left, competing, sometimes waspishly, for her share of attention. The word ‘rationing’ seemed unknown; the wines were perfect. There seemed no undercurrent of tension here; but there was one.
Gertrude said loudly, “Hearing regularly from Charles?”
“Oh, yes,” said Marion, but the light suddenly dimmed in her eyes.
“Good lad, your son,”
declared Cheriton. “Bombers, eh? Pathfinder. Stout fellow! Got the courage of old Nick, those boys. See much of him?”
“No. He’s stationed in the North.”
Charles was their only son; and they lived, daily, with his danger and their dread as constant companions.
“He could come sometimes,” Gertrude said. “Mustn’t it be terrible when someone has a telegram saying a son is missing?”
Shayne said quickly, “It’s wonderful how they’ve reduced the losses on operational flights, isn’t it? The Nazis can’t have radar.”
Marion shot him a grateful glance, Mannering caught and held Gertrude’s attention; but the brightness of the party was tarnished, and Marion’s laughter became forced. Behind his glasses, Ley’s eyes seemed to be looking into a different world.
When the men were alone, Ley was called to the telephone.
Cheriton sniffed. “Clumsy of Gertrude. Must speak to her. Bad thing, an only child; thank God, I’ve got five. Ley worships the boy. So does Marion. Lose him, lose everything. Half the reason Marion goes in for this Red Cross work.”
They were all together, in the drawing room, when the butler came in with a salver. Ley’s glance swivelled towards the buff envelope on it.
Marion went quite still, and silence fell on the room. Lorna caught Mannering’s eye.
“A telegram, my lord,” the butler said. The words held an ominous ring.
“Thank you, Lawrence.”
The butler waited; Gertrude rattled her spoon in her coffee cup; Cheriton blew his nose. The sound of tearing paper hurt.
Ley read – and smiled, then looked at Marion. “He’ll be here tonight or early morning.”
“May I say how delighted I am, my lord?” Lawrence’s voice cracked as he spoke.
‘Thank you, Lawrence.”
Marion said in her clear, silvery voice, “I hate telegrams, these days.”
“Wish I hadn’t said that, at dinner.” Gertrude blushed. Charles had not arrived by eleven o’clock. Gertrude went to bed first, Cheriton soon after her, and Ley went off to his study; it lured him, as a magnet. Mannering said, “Early to bed, I think.”