by John Creasey
“There won’t be. The company will say that you broke the terms of the policy by withholding the news for so long and preventing them or the police from searching for the jewels when there was a reasonable chance of finding them.”
She wasn’t perturbed.
“I see. I’m quite sure that my husband would rather suffer the loss than have Nigel branded as a thief. What else are you going to do?”
“Find out what Allingham wants with me.”
“You said that you went to see him.”
Mannering chuckled. “Beware of the obvious conclusions! There was some talk of Allingham and me doing business, wasn’t there?”
“I have a fairly good memory, Mr. Mannering.”
“The last thing I shall do is under-rate your memory or your mind,” said Mannering drily. “But I couldn’t descend upon Allingham without a convincing reason, could I? As it happened, I didn’t need one. He had already invited me to talk business with him. I’d been there, before you saw me, and was leaving when we passed on the road. What were you thinking about on the way?”
She didn’t answer.
“I didn’t like the set-up,” went on Mannering blandly. “You gave a reasonably plausible explanation of why you wanted to keep away from the police, but if I believed everything that’s plausible I shouldn’t get many results. I turned back to find out what you were doing with Allingham. His staff didn’t want me to break in, hence the atmosphere. At last I discovered that you hadn’t gone there simply to discuss crime! The odds are that you went there on a romantic mission. On balance I’ve more reason to believe what you’ve told me than disbelieve it.”
She smiled frostily. “Thank you.”
“Delighted! But I still don’t know why Allingham wanted to consult me. Possibly over the same business – we hadn’t got that far when I left.”
The bell-buzzer sounded outside, so faint that it was hardly audible. Mannering said: “Sorry, I won’t be a moment,” and slipped outside, closing the door behind him. Here he stood in a small alcove. A long mirror was fastened to a corner opposite, and he could see whoever was at the front of the shop. He stood close to the wall, hidden by the gloom, peering into the mirror. He saw Rodney’s back, hiding the caller; but as Rodney moved, Allingham appeared.
“I want to see Mr. Mannering.” Allingham was abrupt; he hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of their second meeting. “It’s urgent. Tell him at once.”
“I will find out if he is in, sir.” said Rodney politely.
“I know he’s here. He’s expecting me. My name is Allingham.”
“If you will wait one moment, sir,” said Rodney. He turned and walked towards the office, without hurrying; he had not formed a high opinion of Mr. Allingham. He saw Mannering and judged that because he was standing in the alcove he didn’t want to be seen yet. As he passed, Mannering whispered: “Send him along.”
Rodney didn’t answer, but passed through the doorway to the staircase, disappeared for a moment, then returned; it was beautifully done. Mannering emerged from the alcove. Allingham came striding along.
“Mannering, I want—”
“Take it easy,” said Mannering, “this is a shop, not my study.” He waited until the man reached the alcove, then turned the door handle. “We’ll talk in here.”
He thrust the door open.
Thelma Courtney was looking into a hand mirror. Allingham took a step forward, saw her, and stopped. She looked up – and the expression froze on her face.
Allingham shot a swift, furious glance at Mannering, and then said sharply: “Thelma! I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“How nice to meet friends unexpectedly,” said Mannering. He went in, closing the door and stood with his back towards it.
Chapter Eleven
And One Makes Four
Thelma Courtney put her mirror unhurriedly away and looked at Allingham. The man’s breathing was heavy; he’d neither expected nor wanted this meeting.
“Is it so surprising?” Thelma Courtney asked coldly. “I said I intended to see Mr. Mannering. What do you want here, Gerald?”
Allingham laughed, without amusement.
“I didn’t want you messing about in this sordid business. I was going to see Mannering, and do the dirty work for you. If Nigel did take the diamonds – well, I’d have told you. It isn’t your kind of job, Thelma.”
“We disagreed about that before,” said Thelma.
So they’d ‘disagreed’ after Mannering had left the Grange.
“Well, it’s up to you,” said Allingham. “I’m sure Mannering would offer the same advice as mine. He and I can handle this business between us, and just pass on the results to you.”
He wanted Mannering to agree; he wanted Thelma Courtney to believe that his business with Mannering concerned the lost diamonds. He was desperately anxious that nothing should be said about the Carla pearls; and nothing of what had happened at the Grange. He hated Mannering with a good, old-fashioned hatred – but he was entirely at Mannering’s mercy. It showed clearly in the expression in his eyes, a mixture of demand and pleading.
Mannering said: “That’s up to Mrs. Courtney.”
“I think I will deal with it myself, Gerald,” said Thelma Courtney, in the same flat voice. “You have enough to do at the Grange. There isn’t time for you to handle this as well, and I have every confidence in Mr. Mannering.”
Allingham eased his collar.
“Well—well, I suppose that’s that,” he said, and forced a grin. “You’ve told him that it mustn’t go to the police?”
“Yes.”
“That’s definite, Mannering. You’re not to go to the police about Nigel. It’s a domestic matter. He’s got mixed up with a bad crowd; we must get him out of it. That’s even more important than getting the diamonds back, although that’s important enough. I—”
“I am quite capable of explaining the situation,” said Thelma Courtney. Now there was a cold, cutting edge to her voice.
“I’m only trying to help! Don’t get me wrong, old girl.” Allingham eased his collar again, and ran a hand across his forehead. He didn’t want to leave them together but was afraid that he would have to. The veneer of culture was wearing thin; his voice was a little hoarse and very faintly common. “Can I run you home?”
“No, thank you.”
“Oh well,” said Allingham, “It’s an important job, Mannering. I know that Mr. Courtney would pay you plenty to keep Nigel out of trouble with the police. You could name your own figure, pretty well. Eh, Thelma?” He gulped, while Mannering stood by the door, doing nothing to ease the situation. “Drop everything else and just concentrate on this, Mannering, won’t you?”
“I’ll look after it.”
“Hope we’ll meet again,” said Allingham. “Come and have dinner with me one night. Wonderful place you have here.” He wiped his forehead again and then forced a grin. “Well, I’ll be off. Coming down to the Grange this week, old girl?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh well! Better be off.” Allingham turned and, with his back to Thelma, looked at Mannering with that curious mixture of pleading and anger – of warning and supplication. “Don’t forget that dinner!” He meant: “Don’t forget that we’re going to meet again and I’ve got plenty to say to you.”
Mannering moved aside. The bell-buzzer rang.
Thelma Courtney said quietly: “Gerald, have you heard from America this week?”
“Eh? No, no,” answered Allingham, snatching at an excuse to stay longer. “Probably be some mail in the morning. Look here, I’m not so desperately busy as all that, Thelma. Come and have dinner with me. I’ll have time to get back to the Grange. May have to work a bit late, but that doesn’t matter.”
“I’d rather you went straight back,” said Thelma.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Allingham turned to the door again – and one of two telephones on the desk rang sharply. Mannering turned to it.
“Hallo?
”
“I thought I should tell you, sir,” said Rodney’s gentle voice, “that a Mr. Courtney has called – Mr. Nigel Courtney.”
“Yes, thanks,” said Mannering. “Immediately, please.”
“Immediately?”
“Tell him I’ll see him at once,” said Mannering. He put the receiver down.
Allingham was still reluctant to leave.
“I won’t keep you a moment,” said Mannering.
Allingham looked delighted. Mannering opened the door and closed it firmly behind him. A tall, willowy young man was approaching. In the dim light it was impossible to get anything but a vague impression of a pale face and fevered eyes.
“Mr. Mannering?” No doubt this was the voice of the man who had telephoned him.
“Yes?”
“I must see you!” Nigel glanced over his shoulder at Rodney. “It’s a private matter, Mr. Mannering, and very urgent, if you can spare me half an hour—”
“I think I can,” said Mannering. He took Nigel’s arm, and felt the muscles quivering. He flung open the door of the office. Allingham turned from the desk. Thelma Courtney, like beauty painted on canvas stared coldly up.
“Great Scott!” Allingham cried. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Nigel stood on the threshold, trying to free himself. He turned frightened, almost terrified eyes towards Mannering; there was reproach as well as fear in them.
Allingham roared: “You young swine!” He lunged forward, grabbing at Nigel.
Nigel screeched: “Let me go. Let me go!”
His stepmother said: “Gerald—”
Nigel swung his clenched fist at Allingham, who backed away too late. The fist struck him on the cheek, and loosened his hold. Nigel turned, but before he could get out of the office Allingham leapt at him, grabbed his shoulder and drove a pile-driver at his face. It was powerful enough to smash his nose – but it didn’t land. Mannering pushed Nigel to one side, the tail-end of the punch hit the doorframe. Allingham snatched his hand away.
Thelma said: “That’s enough, Gerald.”
“Damn it, we’ve got him! The swine will talk if we go about it in the right way.”
“That’s it,” said Mannering. “Let’s try the right way.”
“Now we’ve got him, it’s our business! Come on, Thelma, we’ll march him back to your flat. If he hasn’t come across with a confession before I’ve finished with him, I’ll be surprised. Mannering, you keep out of this.”
Mannering said: “We don’t see things the same way, do we?” He pushed Nigel into the alcove, and Rodney hovered near, protectingly. Mannering took Allingham’s wrist and pulled him forward. Allingham was too startled to defend himself. Mannering gripped the collar of his coat and the seat of his trousers and ran him along the shop. Halfway along Allingham kicked against a small table and sent it crashing. Near the door Mannering released him, then held his wrist. When Allingham tried to free himself he gasped in sudden pain.
“If you pull hard enough you’ll break your arm,” Mannering said brightly. He opened the door. Two curious passers-by stopped to watch. Mannering pushed Allingham vigorously out of the shop; he reached the kerb, stumbled and fell headlong.
Mannering stood in the doorway, watching as the man picked himself up, glared round, then turned and hurried away.
Back in the alcove, Nigel’s voice sounded high-pitched, edgy. He was standing with his back to the door, looking down at his stepmother.
“Supposing I did? It was your own fault, you drove me to it. But they were fakes – I tell you they were fakes. What have you done with the real diamonds? Tell me!” As nearly as he could ever be, Nigel was dominant.
Thelma said slowly: “I think you had better discuss the matter with Mr. Mannering.” She stood up, collected her gloves and handbag, and stepped towards the door. “Will you telephone or visit me, Mr. Mannering?”
“Yes. Soon.”
“Thank you,” said Thelma. She gave a conventional smile as she passed him. Rodney followed her and reached the street door in time to open it. The buzzer sounded.
Nigel said in a taut voice: “She sold them – she must have! But—” he gulped, ran his hand over his forehead, and dropped weakly into a chair. “What was she doing here? What are you doing for her?”
Mannering said slowly: “I’m finding out whether she’s good or bad.”
Nigel spread his hands out on the desk, with a weak, endearing gesture. Mannering took whisky and a syphon of soda from a small cupboard and poured a drink as Nigel said: “I can tell you – she’s bad!” He grabbed the drink, muttered: “Thanks,” and drank half of it at a gulp. He put the glass down unsteadily. There were tears in his eyes; he was little more than a boy – and in his way a good-looking boy. If his willowy figure filled out, he would be a big man.
“She’s bad. Bad all through. I hate her.”
“What makes her bad?” asked Mannering.
“Everything. And the poor fool thinks she’s perfection! It’ll drive me mad – I just don’t know what to do. I can’t think. Everything’s crazy – I tell you everything’s crazy! I’d never have come if I’d known she would be here.”
“You couldn’t have timed it better. You still haven’t told me why you think she’s bad.”
“Everything. The way she lies to him, the way she makes him think she’s loyal and faithful, he—”
“Who is ‘he’?”
“Eh?” Nigel looked startled. “Oh, my father. He married again, you know. Worst day’s work he ever did in his life. She fooled him by her looks; she could fool any man – until he found out the truth about her. If you knew how she and that swine Allingham—”
Nigel caught his breath.
“Oh, hell, I hate her! That’s all.” He finished the whisky, his fingers were unsteady as he lit a cigarette. “That’s not why I came to see you. I—I telephoned you, last night. You remember, I said—”
“You didn’t say that you’d stolen your stepmother’s diamonds and wanted to sell them,” said Mannering sharply.
“So she—”
“She wouldn’t go to the police. She had to do something about it, so she came to me for help.”
Nigel said: “She did that? I shouldn’t have thought that she cared a damn whether—” he broke off again, and grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant grin, but it did a strange thing to him. He looked older, and more mature; there were the makings of a man in Nigel Courtney. “Well, well, I shouldn’t be surprised if she had taken you in now! I suppose she told you she kept away from the police for my sake. The truth’s as plain as the nose on my face. She came because she knew they were fakes, she didn’t want the police to investigate the loss; they might find out what she’d done with the real ones. So she fooled you!”
He laughed; it was an unhappy laugh.
Mannering sat down.
“How did you find out that the gems you stole were paste?”
Nigel said: “They—they told me.” He swallowed hard and all laughter, all malice, faded. He took a folded newspaper from his pocket and tossed it across the desk. He smoothed down his ruffled hair. He looked as if he could sleep the clock round. “It’s a hell of a mess. I was fool enough to ask Alicia to look after the things for me, because I was scared, and—look what’s happened.”
“I know about that,” said Mannering.
Nigel said: “It was bad enough before, it’s hellish now. It doesn’t matter which way I turn, there’s trouble. That she-devil. Then Allingham. And now I’ve got Alicia in a mess. I didn’t dream there was any danger for her. If I had I wouldn’t have given her the bag. I swear I wouldn’t.”
Nigel thumped the desk with his clenched hands.
“I was going to get you to see the diamonds – I thought you’d buy all right, because—well, I am a Courtney. They’re Courtney jewels. I’ve a right to them. All right, damn you! there’s no need to look at me like that! Supposing I was going to make you buy stolen jewellery without you knowing it, you’
d have been all right. You’d have paid a small sum, and said you’d be insured!”
Mannering said slowly: “What’s all this about debts and being pressed to pay them? How much do you owe?”
“About—about eight thousand pounds.”
“More – or less?”
“Well, nearer nine. That’s all I was going to ask for the diamonds, ten thousand – enough to clear the debts and give me a fresh start. It wouldn’t have been necessary if that bitch hadn’t cut me down to next to nothing. It’s her fault—”
“Was it her fault when your father paid your earlier debts?”
Nigel evaded Mannering’s eyes. He was so weak, and yet there was the promise of manhood in him. He sat back in his chair, his hands and arms limp, exhausted. He wouldn’t meet Mannering’s eye, and Mannering didn’t speak.
“So she told you that,” he muttered at last. “Yes. Is it true?”
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t talk like a nasty little coward. Is it true?”
Nigel met his eye and mumbled: “Yes.”
“Sooner or later you’ll get dragged down deep in the muck, or you’ll have to start afresh,” said Mannering. “It’ll be the only way of keeping yourself out of jail. The first step in starting afresh is to be honest with yourself – if you’re not honest with yourself you never will be with others.”
“I thought you were a detective, not a second-rate philosopher.” The sneer started bitterly, but ended on an uncertain note. “Oh, hell! Look here, Mannering, I don’t care what happens to me now. There’s nothing I can do to keep myself out of trouble, I’ll have to take what comes. But they weren’t the real diamonds, and—”
“Does it matter?” asked Mannering.
“It matters a hell of a lot! I—” Nigel broke off, meeting Mannering’s eye, and suddenly his voice changed, the petulant note faded: “I see what you mean. No—no, that doesn’t matter. I was going to say, all I want is to find Alicia and see that she’s all right. I’d rather kill myself than put her in trouble, and those devils—”
“Which devils?”
“The men who stole the fakes from her.”