by John Creasey
He broke off. Bristow was watching him closely, and Pleydell glanced at the Yard man, as much as to say: “It’s coming.”
Mannering felt a sudden warmth of excitement, an eagerness greater than he had known even when he had been told what had happened earlier in the night. Quite suddenly, he felt that he had at least half of the answer, and that it had been waiting for him to see. Every piece of information had its significance, and now he believed that he began to see the shape of the completed puzzle.
“… Rebecca brought the jewels from her father,” he said softly. “She believed them to be real, but – did he? After she had left for Quinns, he was murdered. Why? He must have known where his brother-in-law had been for the past fifteen years. He must have known that the jewels were not heirlooms, but were stolen property. Supposing he substituted the fakes? Supposing he refused to let Rebecca become involved? Supposing he threatened to give the secret away – the identity of Smith and the hiding place of the jewels – so as to protect her? That would explain his murder, wouldn’t it?”
Bristow said softly: “It could.”
“It certainly could,” said Mannering, and his voice was harsh with growing excitement. “And if Rebecca’s father was involved in this business, it could explain a great many things. Bill – someone got into his flat and killed him, and there were no signs of forced entry. Right?”
“Right.”
“A man got into the flat again yesterday morning and attacked Rebecca, and then vanished without a trace. Right?” Pleydell jumped up. “Good God!”
“Right,” said Bristow, in a tense voice.
“Bill,” Mannering said, “you haven’t done a lot to make me enthusiastic about you on this job, but here’s a way you can make amends. Take me to Mapperley Street, Notting Hill. Take me to the Blests’ flat. Let me search the place thoroughly – even if you’ve already been over it with a fine-tooth comb. Have as big a bodyguard as you like, but take it from me I won’t try to escape this time. I would just like to be in at the showdown. You can get a suspect out of Brixton to take him back to the scene of the crime, can’t you?”
“I should think I can,” said Bristow. “Yes, of course I can. Who else do you want at the flat?”
“Rebecca, I’m afraid,” said Mannering. “Lorna, too, because she might be able to identify either of last night’s men. Young Terry McKay, of course, and Chittering. And if you really want Ingleby there, I’ll forgive you.” His eyes were very bright, and his heart was racing. “I might even forgive you for being a son of a so-and-so, after all.”
A few of the people of Mapperley Street saw the two police cars which drew up outside number 127, in the middle of that afternoon. Several windows went up, doors opened, more and more people came to see what was going on. No newspapers had been informed, and Chittering had been told off the record. He was already in the Blests’ flat, with Lorna, Rebecca and young McKay. Mannering was helped out of the car by Ingleby, who had sat next to him throughout the journey. Two uniformed policemen were at the front door, which was open. Bristow and another Yard man came from the second car.
Just inside the hallway, moments later, Ingleby was standing with a large shallow box in his hands. In it was a piece of broken picture frame, and some tiny splinters of glass.
“From Larraby’s picture,” said Mannering keenly. “Where did you find those?”
“In the boot of a car parked outside,” Ingleby said. “So someone here went to Larraby’s flat.”
They walked upstairs, heavily, and the door of the downstairs flat opened a few inches; the woman Ashton glanced through, then closed the door.
The door of the Blests’ flat was also open, and a policeman was on duty.
“Well, now we’re here, show us how you can search this flat better than we could,” challenged Ingleby; there was still a note of sourness in his voice.
“Where do you want to start?” Bristow demanded.
Lorna was coming from the living-room, and Mannering did not answer Bristow, but looked at his wife, and smiled. He felt the glow of satisfaction which always came from realisation of her absolute loyalty, of the affection they had for each other, which could so easily have been taken for granted. He glanced from her to Rebecca, and to young McKay, who was looking stiff and awkward, as if alarmed. Chittering, with a bruise on his forehead and a bandage on his left hand, was sitting on the arm of a chair.
“Hallo, my sweet,” Mannering said to Lorna. “It won’t be long now, and for last night – just thanks.” He turned to Bristow. “I don’t think we need search up here, Bill. I think we should search downstairs, among the friends and neighbours. The neighbours could come in and out, remember – especially if they had a key. The neighbours were able to talk to Laker alias Klein whenever he was here with his brother. Laker had to talk to accomplices, yet none could be traced. Here’s the one obvious rendezvous, and the obvious people are the Ashtons. Remember that apart from Terry McKay, the only people likely to know when Rebecca began to doubt whether she had seen the right jewels at the Yard—”
“Ruth Ashton!” exclaimed Rebecca. Her eyes held a glint of unbelief. “Ruth?”
“That’s right,” said Mannering. “Ruth Ashton – so Ashton would know that if he wanted to have me where he wanted me, he had to get rid of you as a witness. The raider came in without being heard, and disappeared most mysteriously. Out of one window and into another below – there can’t be much doubt about that. Do you think there can, Bill?”
Ingleby said: “But we’d never given them a thought!”
“No, we hadn’t, had we?” said Mannering. “May I come down with you?”
“Yes.” Bristow said to Ingleby: “Go and call on the Ashtons. There’s a complete cordon round the street, John. No one will get away this time.”
“I hope not,” said Mannering. “I don’t think the Yard would ever live it down.”
They stood waiting, as Ingleby and two others hurried down the stairs to the ground floor flat; there came a thudding on the door.
“Bill,” Mannering went on, “let’s have a grandstand view.” Bristow led the way to the passage again, Mannering following him. Rebecca was talking in high-pitched whispers, and the name “Ruth” kept cropping up. Mannering looked down over the banisters, and saw Ingleby and the other man, Ingleby thumping on the door with a clenched fist, and calling: “Open in the name of the law. Open this door!”
The woman answered in a quavering voice: “All right, all right.” Ingleby and his man stood back, and Mannering saw the door open a crack. Because of his position, he could see better than Ingleby, and he was a split second ahead of Bristow in realising what was going on. The old woman was opening the door, and something bright glinted a foot or two above her head.
The man Ashton was there, holding a hammer.
“Look out!” Mannering cried, and as he shouted, the door opened wide and Ashton leapt forward, hammer sweeping towards Ingleby’s head. Ingleby glanced up at Mannering, then dodged to one side. The hammer brushed on his shoulder, missing his head completely. Ashton turned desperately to attack the other Yard man, but as he struck, Mannering swung on to the banisters, slid down, then leapt to the passage floor. He banged bodily into Ashton, who had half turned to meet the new threat. He still held the hammer.
“John!” cried Lorna.
Mannering threw himself at the man, carrying him back several feet. The head of the hammer caught between two banister rails, and jerked Ashton’s arm back. Ashton cried out in pain, and let go the hammer. As he stood there, swaying, Mannering pushed him back into the waiting arms of Ingleby and the other policeman.
The other jewels were found under the floorboards in the flat below the Blests’.
By that time, Mrs. Ashton had admitted everything that was necessary, although Ashton – known now to be alias Smith – refused to say a word. He had been Laker’s accomplice in the old days, and had waited until Laker had come out of prison. He and Laker had planned to dispose of t
he jewels between them, but had not been able to find a buyer except at a very low price. Laker had worked out the scheme to involve Quinns, hoping to pass the jewels off as being legitimately owned by African families. After Laker’s death, his associates started to work through Rebecca, on the legacy pretext.
Samuel Blest, who had been prepared to help the associates himself, had not been willing to let them use his daughter, and had threatened to inform the police.
“That was an invitation to murder,” Bristow said, later that evening. “According to Mrs. Ashton, Laker and Ashton had sets of imitation jewellery made years ago. Blest had always known about these. He substituted the fake gems for the real, so that Rebecca did not handle stolen jewels at all. He was a shrewd old man all right.”
Lorna, sitting in a chair which had been brought into Mannering’s cell, leaned forward and asked: “What about Laker – how did he die?”
“Natural causes, beyond any doubt,” said Bristow. “The official death certificate called it cerebral haemorrhage. Ashton took over. Laker had made all the preparations, Ashton simply had to carry the job out. He used a young brute who hired himself out as a strong-arm man, and forced the coloured man to act as messenger. The drug given to Larraby was stolen from a chemist, when they first thought up the scheme. They wanted to wait for the moment to act, but Farmer precipitated the crisis. They forced him up to your flat at the point of a gun, and attacked him there. No doubt they stifled any cries he made – and the actual blows would make little sound. They left him for dead, but he was tougher than they realised. He actually managed to get to his feet. Incidentally, they kept Larraby alive, because they might want to use him again. They could always use a man at Quinns.”
“What did happen to Larraby?” asked Pleydell.
“As far as we can make out, he was forced to open the strong-room under threat of death,” Bristow answered. “When he was first attacked, in his flat, the picture by Wimperis was broken, and Ashton took it away and swept up the broken glass, rather than leave it there as evidence that Larraby had been subject to violence. Immediately after the strong-room job was finished, Larraby was given the drug. I’m told he will probably never remember what happened.”
“That’s good,” approved Mannering. “The situation couldn’t be much better.”
“It could, a lot,” said Lorna. “You could be coming home tonight.”
“Can’t be done, I’m afraid,” Bristow said regretfully. “But there will be a special hearing in the morning, and we shall submit no evidence, so there’ll be no case to answer. The Press will have told the world about it before then, too.”
“Bill,” said Lorna, looking at him steadily.
“Yes?”
“Why did you go all out against John?”
“I’ve told him. I’ll tell you,” Bristow said. “I thought he was playing the fool with those jewels. I thought he meant to sell them for Rebecca Blest. And I thought that he did kill Farmer in your flat – that’s what all the evidence said.”
“Go on like that,” said Pleydell, “and you’ll have us saying that we should never believe the evidence.” He stood up. “Lorna, we ought to go, and let John spend his last night in jail in peace.”
After a three-minute hearing, Mannering heard the magistrate, McKenzie-James, dismiss the case. He saw the magistrate’s clerk frown in annoyance at the people crowded in the public gallery, who were applauding; even the men in the Press Box joined in.
Mannering went down into the well of the court; and joined Lorna. They went out together. Young McKay was waving to him enthusiastically with his right arm; his left was tight about Rebecca’s waist. Chittering joined them at the door which led to the street, where at least a thousand people had gathered. There was a loudvoiced cheer when Mannering appeared.
Bristow and Ingleby were at the doorway.
“No Black Maria?” Mannering inquired.
“Mr. Mannering,” said Ingleby.
“Yes?”
“I had to do what I conceived to be my duty.”
“My dear chap,” said Mannering. “I wouldn’t expect less.” He put out his hand, and Ingleby seemed both surprised and genuinely pleased.
“Au revoir, Bill,” Mannering said. “When Lorna’s really forgiven you, you must come and have a meal.”
Pleydell came hurrying from the court, saying: “John, I’m told there’s a plane leaving London Airport for New York in an hour’s time with a seat vacant. I’ll just about catch it, and I’ll be away for two or three months. Try to keep out of trouble until I’m back.”
“I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Lorna said.
Series Information
Published or to be published by
House of Stratus
Dates given are those of first publication
Alternative titles in brackets
‘The Baron’ (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)
‘Department ‘Z’’ (28 titles)
‘Dr. Palfrey Novels’ (34 titles)
‘Gideon of Scotland Yard’ (22 titles)
‘Inspector West’ (43 titles)
‘Sexton Blake’ (5 titles)
‘The Toff’ (59 titles)
along with:
The Masters of Bow Street
This epic novel embraces the story of the Bow Street Runners and the Marine Police, forerunners of the modern police force, who were founded by novelist Henry Fielding in 1748. They were the earliest detective force operating from the courts to enforce the decisions of magistrates. John Creasey’s account also gives a fascinating insight into family life of the time and the struggle between crime and justice, and ends with the establishment of the Metropolitan Police after the passing of Peel’s Act in 1829.
‘The Baron’ Series
These Titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels
Meet the Baron (The Man in the Blue Mask) (1937)
The Baron Returns (The Return of the Blue Mask) (1937)
The Baron Again (Salute Blue Mask) (1938)
The Baron at Bay (Blue Mask at Bay) (1938)
Alias the Baron (Alias Blue Mask) (1939)
The Baron at Large (Challenge Blue Mask!) (1939)
Versus the Baron (Blue Mask Strikes Again) (1940)
Call for the Baron (Blue Mask Victorious) (1940)
The Baron Comes Back (1943)
A Case for the Baron (1945)
Reward for the Baron (1945)
Career for the Baron (1946)
Blood Diamond (The Baron and the Beggar) (1947)
Blame the Baron (1948)
A Rope for the Baron (1948)
Books for the Baron (1949)
Cry for the Baron (1950)
Trap the Baron (1950)
Attack the Baron (1951)
Shadow the Baron (1951)
Warn the Baron (1952)
The Baron Goes East (1953)
The Baron in France (1953)
Danger for the Baron (1953)
The Baron Goes Fast (1954)
Nest-Egg for the Baron (Deaf, Dumb and Blonde) (1954)
Help from the Baron (1955)
Hide the Baron (1956)
The Double Frame (Frame the Baron) (1957)
Blood Red (Red Eye for the Baron) (1958)
If Anything Happens to Hester (Black for the Baron) (1959)
Salute for the Baron (1960)
The Baron Branches Out (A Branch for the Baron) (1961)
The Baron and the Stolen Legacy (Bad for the Baron) (1962)
A Sword for the Baron (The Baron and the Mogul Swords) (1963)
The Baron on Board (The Mask of Sumi) (1964)
The Baron and the Chinese Puzzle (1964)
Sport for the Baron (1966)
Affair for the Baron (1967)
The Baron and the Missing Old Masters (1968)
The Baron and the Unfinished Portrait (1969)
Last Laugh for the Baron (1970)
The Baron Goes A-Buying (1971)
The Baron and the Arrogant Artist (1972)
Burgle the Baron (1973)
The Baron - King Maker (1975)
Love for the Baron (1979)
Doctor Palfrey Novels
These Titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels
Traitor’s Doom (1942)
The Legion of the Lost (1943)
The Valley of Fear (The Perilous Country) (1943)
Dangerous Quest (1944)
Death in the Rising Sun (1945)
The Hounds of Vengeance (1945)
Shadow of Doom (1946)
The House of the Bears (1946)
Dark Harvest (1947)
The Wings of Peace (1948)
The Sons of Satan (1948)
The Dawn of Darkness (1949)
The League of Light (1949)
The Man Who Shook the World (1950)
The Prophet of Fire (1951)
The Children of Hate (The Killers of Innocence; The Children of Despair) (1952)
The Touch of Death (1954)
The Mists of Fear (1955)
The Flood (1956)
The Plague of Silence (1958)
Dry Spell (The Drought) (1959)
The Terror (1962)
The Depths (1963)
The Sleep (1964)
The Inferno (1965)
The Famine (1967)
The Blight (1968)
The Oasis (1970)
The Smog (1970)
The Unbegotten (1971)
The Insulators (1972)
The Voiceless Ones (1973)
The Thunder-Maker (1976)
The Whirlwind (1979)
Gideon Series
(Writing as JJ Marric)