Reward For the Baron

by John Creasey

  “Well, what are you going to do?”

  It had rarely been more difficult to answer. If he were wise, he would tell Kay everything he knew and everything he had heard, and leave the investigation to the police. That would not prevent him from working on a different theory, and it would save him from doing so under Kay’s constant suspicion.

  There was one difficulty. If he took that course, he would antagonise Jeff and put an end to confidences.

  “Can’t you make up your mind?” asked Jeff, impatiently.

  “Well, I think the best thing would be to see that our stories tally and are fairly uncomplicated. First, you need a sound reason for talking business with Kingham.”

  “So you’re going to help.” There was relief in Jeff’s voice. “You’re courting trouble for yourself, you know.”

  “My wife will tell me all about that in good time,” said Mannering. “Don’t ask for explanations, just put it down to a quirk in my character. Now, what about your business with Kingham?”

  “I could be interested in curios.”

  “That won’t be good enough.” Mannering stubbed out his cigarette, and thrust his hands deep in his pockets. “You’d better tell Kay that you went to see some gems which Kingham said he had on offer – combining business for Gentian & Co. with the visit here. That would be normal enough. Gentian’s need know nothing about it – have you ever done business without consulting them?”

  “Often.”

  “Then that’s all right. I went with you because I was also interested in the gems. Kingham preferred to deal with you, so I faded out. That’s simple and safe, leave it at that.”

  Jeff looked at him, not entirely convinced.

  “If the police found you out in one lie, they would suspect all the rest,” Mannering went on. “For instance, did you see your family on the way to Dacres?”

  Jeff hesitated.

  “That means you didn’t.”

  “Well, I saw my sisters-in-law, but not actually my brothers,” Jeff said slowly. “The devil of it is, that any one of us could have done it, and if the blackmail motive is established, each will be under suspicion.” Jeff hesitated; “Blood is thicker than water, you know.”

  “A completely meaningless phrase,” said Mannering briskly, “though I gather what it is meant to imply. In any case, you’ve enough on your own plate without thinking up fanciful alibis for your family. Will you promise to be guided by me in this?”

  “Yes,” said Jeff, after a pause.

  “Good!” Mannering smiled: “Do you think any one of the others killed Kingham?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think one of them might have?”

  “No.” Jeff hesitated. “I don’t think any of them knew about this blackmail, nor do I think that any of them would be fond enough of the Old Man to kill a man who was twisting his tail. The prevailing opinion would be, I think, that he deserved it.”

  “There are, of course, other suspects,” Mannering said speculatively. “The girl at the shop, for instance. Did she really call upstairs and ask Kingham whether she could go out?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Jeff, “just as I was coming downstairs. I let her get out first.”

  “Make that clear when Kay questions you. We’ve forgotten another thing – you went to Dacres because you heard of the seizure.”

  “I have remembered that grain of truth,” said Jeff.

  “I don’t think you’ll forget much,” said Mannering drily. “Now I don’t know of any motive the girl might have had, but we’ve got to think of all contingencies. She lives alone in a furnished flatlet, she’s friendless, and I’ve arranged for her to stay here for the time being.”

  Jeff shook his head. “Surely even Kay need only look into her eyes to know that she wouldn’t kill a man, or even a spider. How was he killed by the way?”

  “Far better for you not to know at this stage,” said Mannering. “The police might slip in a catch question, and if you know how he was killed that will lead to more trouble.” Jeff nodded absently.

  “When may I show myself?”

  “Any time now. You’d better go up to your own room, until someone calls for you. It’s possible to walk into the hotel and go upstairs without being noticed.”

  “Already I feel the hempen rope about my neck,” said Jeff, half laughing, half serious.

  As Mannering went to the door, he heard voices. Lorna’s was one, the other was Carol’s. Jeff heard them too. He looked startled, instantly aware of the danger. Mannering stepped swiftly into the passage, signalling a message to Lorna.

  “Luckily there was a room vacant, he said heartily. “It’s number 37, nearly opposite.”

  By good chance the door of No. 37 was ajar and he pushed it wider. Both women followed him.

  When he returned, with Lorna, to his own room, Jeff had gone.

  Carol tapped on the door five minutes later, and then went downstairs to tea.

  Chatting amiably, trying harder than he appeared to make Carol feel less conspicuous under the barrage of curious eyes, Mannering looked round as a sudden silence filled the room. Two policemen were walking through the hall, Jeff Dell between them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Matthew & Christine

  Jeff might be under arrest, or he might have been taken for questioning. Mannering thought that the odds were on arrest.

  Muttering to Lorna: “I’ll have a word with Lloyd,” Mannering slipped away from the table.

  The manager was in a touchy mood. Some aura rightly belonging to Bristow had descended upon Mannering, and Lloyd was now prepared to unload his grievances on him.

  “I thought I knew Kay well enough to be in his confidence,” he complained, “and now this. If the rumour gets around that Dell is under arrest, there’ll be a crop of departures in the morning. My patrons don’t like this kind of thing. Do you know whether he’s been arrested?”

  Mannering shook his head.

  “The quicker they get a London man down for Kingham’s murder the better,” said Lloyd, sourly. “Oh, I know Kay’s idea is to solve the mystery before anyone else gets the credit, but I don’t think he’s the right man for this job.”

  “Why is that?”

  “A great number of very funny people visited Kingham,” said Lloyd, “and they weren’t all local. It’s not my business, Mr Mannering, but if I were asked for an opinion I would look outside Larmouth. I don’t think Kay will do that.”

  Mannering would have probed Lloyd’s ideas further, but the manager squared his shoulders and became, suddenly, the suave, imperturbable hotel-manager. It was a transformation, a trick of carriage and expression which had often amused Mannering. Now it irritated him, until he saw the cause of it.

  Mrs Kingham was getting out of a taxi.

  She was already in black, and it suited her tall, Junoesque style of beauty. She was undoubtedly an attractive woman in a crude flamboyant way.

  It appeared that she wished to stay in the hotel for a lime, and was given a room on the first floor.

  Carol and Lorna, coming from the lounge, crossed the hall at that moment. A peculiar look—surprise? dislike?—passed between Carol and Mrs Kingham.

  “We’re going for a walk,” Lorna said. “Are you coming?”

  Mannering shook his head, smiling. “Too lazy.”

  He watched them making their way towards the sea front.

  The man whom Kay had detailed to watch Mannering was still in sight. The most trying factor was Kay’s suspicions; without them he might have received some confidences from the police. He found himself thinking of Mrs Kingham’s words when she had been told of her husband’s death: ‘The fool, he asked for it.’ Was that cryptic sentence connected with the mysterious visitors whom Lloyd had mentioned? Another point arose from that: how had Lloyd come to know of the nature of Kingham’s customers? It might, of course, be that Kingham’s reputation in the town was not as good as Mannering had imagined.

  Restless and on edge, he went u
p to his room. Picking up a magazine he thumbed through it idly. An article caught his attention, and reading at first with half his mind, he soon became absorbed. Larmouth, Kingham and the Dells were all forgotten, and he was startled by a tap at the door.

  He looked up as Matthew Dell walked into the room.

  He was smiling as he approached Mannering and introduced himself. Just as Jeff Dell appealed to him, so did Matthew. They had a touch of the same quality, and both reminded him vividly of Old Montagu.

  “I hope you will forgive me if I appear to be cross-examining you, but I believe you went out with my brother earlier today.”

  “That is so,” said Mannering, easily.

  “Do you know that he is under arrest?”

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  “Well, he is,” said Matthew. “Of course it’s quite absurd to think that Jeff killed Kingham, or, indeed, could kill anyone.”

  “There’s a lot of circumstantial evidence,” murmured Mannering.

  “That’s what I was anxious to find out. I didn’t imagine the police would act like this unless they had good grounds.”

  “Good enough for detention but not, I would say, good enough for a conviction,” suggested Mannering. “But I’m not persona grata with them here.”

  “I’d rather gathered that,” Matthew crossed his long legs. “As a family, we believe absolutely in Jeff’s innocence, but we do see it will be necessary to get legal help. We thought—that is to say, I have been sent as an envoy from the others!—that you might be able to give us the name of a good, London man.”

  “I don’t know that you’d be wise,” said Mannering, judicially.

  Matthew frowned. “Surely on a matter as serious as this—”

  “I don’t think your brother will give much away,” said Mannering, “and the only sound advice that anyone can give him is to tell the truth. A local man would do as well as anyone to look after the legal aspect. If you get a bigwig down from London, you’re encouraging the police to think that you’ve good reason for being nervous.”

  “Oh,” said Matthew blankly. “We hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “I should persuade the others to think again,” advised Mannering. “There’s no immediate danger, and there are other suspects. Much will turn on the motive, and they haven’t yet found a motive against Jeff – or I shall be surprised if they have.”

  “You’ve seen Jeff now and again, haven’t you?” asked Matthew.

  “Yes. He also asked for my help.”

  “We all seem to want that,” said Matthew, awkwardly. “I’ll admit we haven’t the slightest grounds for expecting you to help us, and yet – well, will you do what you can? Jeff’s often made a fool of himself in the past, but anything like this is beyond him.”

  “I’m already committed.” Mannering waved aside Matthew’s exclamation of thanks. “I think it would be good policy, though, not to bruit it abroad.”

  Matthew said: “Why? We’re united in this.”

  “The more who know, the bigger chance of it getting to the ears of the police,” Mannering said. “They very much resent outside interference: I would rather you give your brothers the impression that this isn’t my cup of tea.”

  “You’ve some other reason for wanting that,” said Matthew, thoughtfully.

  “I shouldn’t probe too deep,” said Mannering. “It’s a good policy, let’s leave it at that.”

  He got Matthew’s assurance, but still he seemed loath to go. He was nervous and on edge and quite incapable of silence.

  “You’ve been very good,” he said, “and I do really appreciate it.”

  “About the rest of the family,” Mannering enquired for he may as well make use of Matthew’s mood and learn all he could. “What do they do?”

  “Oh, Charles is in antiques. Mark is an accountant. Thomas has a small hotel in London, and I run a bookshop in the City. None of them are very sinister occupations, you see!”

  “They’re varied enough.”

  “You’re probably wondering why the sons of Montagu Dell can’t give you a more impressive list of occupations,” said Matthew, with a rather hollow laugh. “The truth is, that we were all expected to sink or swim on our own. We are not greatly indebted to the Old Man. That being so, we are naturally anxious to figure in his will. That may or may not be our right, but we certainly considered it to be so.” Matthew looked a little defiantly towards Mannering. “Surely there can’t be any connection between our family mystery and the murder of Kingham! What do you think?”

  “I’ve a fairly open mind,” Mannering assured him. “At this stage I would be a fool to have anything else.”

  Matthew left at last.

  It was now nearly seven o’clock, Mannering decided he would stroll in the direction which Lorna and Carol had taken, and perhaps he would meet them.

  Kay’s man followed at a discreet distance. Half a mile from the centre of the town, on the bleak cliff top, peewits circled about the fields which were fenced off from the cliff path. Very few people were about, and there was no sign of Lorna and Carol.

  Mannering turned a bend in the path, passing the headland which jutted far into the sea, and saw a woman standing on the edge of the cliff, looking down. At that moment a boy came rushing towards him, white-faced, panting, his entire energy bent on reaching some destination in the least possible time. Seeing Mannering, he paused – but only long enough to gasp out: “Lady … fallen … over … cliff.”

  Mannering turned to urge on Kay’s man, and together they ran towards the woman standing on the cliff edge. Within a few yards of her Mannering saw that it was Lorna.

  So Carol had fallen—

  If fallen were the word.

  As Mannering reached his wife she turned and gripped his arm, pointing wordlessly over the cliff.

  He peered down. Carol was lying, inert and unmoving, on a narrow ledge of rock, a sheer drop beneath her.

  There was not a moment to lose. Scanning the cliff face Mannering spied the chance of a foothold which he might possibly climb down.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cliff Climb

  He began the descent infinitely cautiously, for any dislodgement of the loose sandstone might topple the girl over. The arrival of ropes could hardly take less than half-an-hour, and by that time it could be too late.

  Kay’s man, too winded to be of much help, leaned over the cliff top, urging a warning. The rocks beneath looked sinister and sharp. The pleasant scene had darkened, holding now, less of loveliness than threat.

  Mannering tested each jutting rock before putting his weight on it. Soon his head was below the level of the cliff. Now and again he dislodged a stone which fell, clattering sickeningly into infinite space. He went slowly, gripping the rocks with his hands whenever possible but often forced to stand poised on one foot above that sheer drop. A rope tied about his waist, with strong men at the other end of it, seemed to him at that moment to be the most desirable thing in the world.

  He made progress with painful slowness, sometimes going up to get a hold, sometimes going down. Then he glanced towards Carol, and his heart leapt – he was almost directly beneath her.

  He shifted his balance. The ledge on which he pinned his hopes was a little to the right. By stretching up, he could just touch it. Soon he got a grip on it, hauled himself up. Carol was now no more than six or seven feet above him.

  He stood up, slowly – as he did so a fall of stones and earth took him unaware.

  He grabbed desperately at the side of the cliff, found a hold, and recovered his balance.

  Looking up again, his heart seemed to turn over. Both Carol’s legs, were now dangling over the ledge. He stretched up his arms, and could just touch her right foot.

  If she fell now, he could not save her.

  He thought that if he could get another twelve inches up the side of the cliff, he might be able to take her weight and ease her down gently to the wider ledge on which he was now standing. There was no foo
thold, but he began to kick at the sandstone with his toe. Soil and rock came away in tiny pieces. In a few minutes he had made a step at just about the right height. Thrusting the side of his foot in it, he was able, by straining upwards, to take the weight of Carol’s body. So far, so good, but he had to do more than this, for the gap between her and the cliff side was widening.

  It widened further, and earth first in crumbs, and then in quite large pieces, began to fall.

  Mannering felt a great fear, the fear that she would plunge downwards, taking him with her. He braced himself to withstand the shock, but it did not come. The fall had created a gradual slope, and she slid slowly towards him. He got one arm about her knees, and inch by inch edged her down.

  At last her feet touched the lower ledge.

  With infinite caution he lowered her until she was lying on her back. He knelt down beside her. The gulls screeched above his head, and one came near enough for him to feel the wind created by its wings.

  He felt Carol’s pulse, and saw with relief that she was breathing. Running an eye anxiously over her he could find no serious injury, no bones appeared to be broken.

  There was nothing more he could do but wait. He sat with his back against the rock, counting out the seconds with scrupulous fairness.

  The quiet was broken suddenly by a hail from above. He looked up, but could not see the cliff top. It took him several minutes to stand and face the rock. Then, gazing upwards, he saw a man climbing down towards with a rope tied to his waist.

  The final stage of the rescue had begun.

  Mannering lay deeply in the blessed comfort of a hot bath, the stiffness gradually easing from his bones. He was in a surprisingly cheerful frame of mind, for he himself was alive, and Carol would suffer no worse consequences than a few days in bed.

  He hummed as he towelled himself – not too vigorously. Then, in dressing-gown and slippers, he went to his room. Lorna was lying on the bed, little the worse for the ordeal through which she had passed.

  “No Kay?” asked Mannering.

  “A remarkable silence,” Lorna assured him. “I expected him to be full of questions.”