John Creasey - Meet The Baron
Wagnall broke the silence that threatened to develop.
“This is a silly business, Gerry,” he said, and Mannering was glad that he sounded friendly enough. “What’s happened ? You must have some kind of explanation. Let’s have it, and clear the thing up.”
Long wearily pushed his hand through his light hair.
“I haven’t,” he said rather helplessly. “Only that I didn’t touch the pearls on the table.”
He broke off with a shrug of resignation, and for the life of him Mannering could not guess why. If ever a man looked guilty the young American did at that moment; yet . . .
“Then what the devil’s the meaning of these ?” began Wagnall, and then relapsed into silence. All the men present looked at one another awkwardly, and it was Mannering who moved first. He picked up the necklace and held it close to his eyes for a moment; then he rolled the stones in his fingers thoughtfully. He had guessed what they were, even though he still could not understand how Long had come by them. Bui at least, he told himself, he could ease the tension.
“They’re fakes,” he said quietly.
In the silence that followed a pin dropping would have made a clatter. Only Mannering was fully under control, and his lips were twitching. The next man to recover himself was the Yard detective.
“Fakes ?” His voice cracked. “Duds! But, hang it, Mr Mannering, the real stones are missing!”
“Possibly they had dummies made for the show,” said Mannering easily.
Wagnall and the Colonel shook their heads decisively.
“Never! It might have caused a scandal,” Wagnall assured him.
“All the same, these are dummies — culture-pearls at their best,” said Mannering, throwing the pearls into the air and catching them. “I’ll wager my opinion against anyone you care to bring, Mr Wagnall.”
He looked inquisitively at the American, who seemed
completely bewildered.
“But — but why the dummies?” Wagnall was staring at Gerry Long, who was still looking uncertain, and creating an impression that he knew something, that there was at least some truth in this accusation. “Tarnation, Gerry, say something! You didn’t come by these things by accident Where’d you get them?”
Wagnall’s voice had hardened, and his aggressive tone seemed to be the stimulant that Long wanted. The younger man’s eyes flashed, and he squared his shoulders, as though preparing for a physical effort.
“I don’t know where I got them,” he said slowly. “They were in my pocket; they must have been put there. . .”
The man from Dorman’s Agency laughed across the words.
“A fine story! With all respect to you, Mr Wagnall, it’s as plain as the nose on my face. Mr Long took the original pearls, hoping to slip the dummies in their place later.”
“When I’m needing your opinion,” said Wagnall coldly, “I’ll advise you.”
The man from Dorman’s dropped back a pace. Every expression went from his face, saving a mask-like smile.
“Very good, Mr Wagnall.”
“And that,” thought Mannering, “is a fair specimen of the private detective.” He tried to remember the name of the Yard man, who was still inspecting the pearls, looking as though he was thoroughly pleased with himself — a remarkable thing, now that the situation was fogged instead of clear.
Tring — Sergeant Tring, Mannering remembered, and he was glad to have even so small a thing to hold on to in this nightmare development.
Sergeant Jacob Tring, or Tanker, was thoroughly enjoying himself. The pearls were undoubtedly missing, the obvious suspect was Long, a friend of Wagnall’s, and the whole affair presented complications that would have made the average policeman savage; Tanker was accordingly happy.
“I’m thinking,” he said, after noting with malicious pleasure that the Dorman Agency man had been rapped over the knuckles, “that Mr Mannering’s correct, Mr Wagnall. These are dummies all right.”
The American’s eyes glittered.
“Surely,” he snapped, “you’ve reached a most important decision, officer? Perhaps you’ll tell me now what you propose to do to find the real pearls ?”
Tanker was used to outbursts of all kinds, and he took them with a kind of gloomy joy.
“Yes,” he said, and he said it with relish, “I propose to send for help, and make a thorough search, sir. I’ve telephoned for the Inspector.”
“Bristow?” snapped Wagnall.
“Yes, sir,” said Tanker.
Colonel Belton, who had been standing by and showing remarkable restraint, took a step forward, as though the limit had been passed.
“But it’s impossible, impossible! We can’t search — these — these people.”
“The law’s the law, sir,” said Tanker, still with relish.
Belton cleared his throat and glowered. Mannering knew that he was thinking of the celebrities still in the house, of the commotion and sensation a general search would cause. He felt sorry for the Colonel at that moment, because Belton was a man who believed in the thing being the thing, and whose sense of obligation to his guests was very strong. By no stretch of the imagination could this be blamed on to him, but he took it as a personal responsibility, ignoring the fact that the police barely troubled to consult him.
“It’s unthinkable,” he muttered; “it’s — it’s not done J”
Apparently Wagnall did not agree.
“Why?” he said laconically. “What other choice have we?”
There was a pause; conflicting emotions in the room were very strong. The only man of whom Mannering was not sure was Gerry Long. Gerry was leaning against the table, smiling a little, and now thoroughly at ease. Where a few minutes before he had looked guilty and afraid of consequences, he now created the impression that he hadn’t a care in the world. Belton was very red in the face, worried and annoyed. Wagnall was making the best of a bad job, and taking the thing well. Sergeant Tanker Tring and the other police-constable seemed to be looking forward to their task with considerable pleasure, while Mason, the agency man, was also pleased — maliciously.
Mannering was disappointed in Sergeant Tring.
The obvious thing, if a general search was needed, was to make sure that no one in the house was allowed to leave.
The fact that the damage was done in this direction should have made the policeman realise at once the futility of his suggestion.
He had underestimated Tring.
The Yard man believed, reasonably enough, that Long had arranged to slip the false pearls into the place of the originals and to hide or pass on to an associate the genuine string. It was the obvious solution to the mystery, and if the associate was in the house a search would reveal him — or her. On the other hand, Tring knew “that the guests had already started to leave. He doubted whether Long, who had not been in the reception-room, knew that, and, by proposing a general search, hoped to trap the young American into an admission of sorts.
Long refused the bait, but he broke the silence.
“I’m sorry that you don’t feel you can take my word for it,” he said. “But I’m telling you that the first time I saw those pearls” — he pointed to the string in Tring’s hand — “was when they were taken from my pocket. The only time.”
“Nons . . .” started Bel ton, and thought better of it.
“Is that true, Gerry ?” asked Wagnall evenly.
Gerry Long flushed a little, but his voice was steady.
“I’m saying it is,” he said.
Wagnall took a deep breath. Mannering, watching him, could easily understand why the man had risen to considerable heights in the commercial world. He had a way with him that created the impression that his word was the obvious law, and no one could have taken the theft more coolly.
“That’s good enough for me,” he said.
“But not for me, I’m afraid,” said Tring respectfully.
Wagnall looked at the sergeant as though he was nonexistent.
“I’ll talk with the Inspector,” he said.
Tring coloured, and muttered under his breath. Mannering, now that he felt that there was little or no likelihood of trouble arising for Gerry Long, felt easier in his mind, and more able to appreciate the humours of the situation.
“Meanwhile — the search?” he suggested.
Tring’s respect for him suffered a reverse, but the sergeant was used to the reactions of the untrained mind, and certainly he did not appreciate the depth of Mannering’s remarks.
“Now we think of it,” said the sergeant quietly, “it won’t be much good, gentlemen. Half the guests are away by now.”
Mannering whistled, and his surprise seemed perfectly real.
“The devil ! So they are!”
Colonel George Belton looked his relief, but had wits enough left not to speak of it. Frank Wagnall shrugged his shoulders, and Gerry Long seemed to realise that the storm had blown over for him. He was smiling in real amusement now.
It was in this atmosphere that Detective-Inspector William Bristow found himself when he arrived in response to Tring’s telephone-call. The detective heard the story, briefly outlined by Tring. The accident to Lady Kenton — how he hated the sound of that woman’s name! — the check-up on the gifts, suggested by Mannering, the discovery that the pearls were missing, the finding of the lakes on Gerry Long a few minutes later. Tring was very brisk and official throughout his recital.
“What made you think Long had them?” Bristow demanded pertinently.
Tanker shrugged his shoulders.
“He happened to be just outside, sir, when I opened the door. “Trouble?” he asked. “Pearls gone,” ses I, and he moved his hand towards his pocket, sir. I just slipped mine in after he’d stopped thinking about it and found ‘em.”
It was a little unorthodox, Bristow thought, but the end had justified the means, and he took the situation in hand immediately. He left Tring and the other Yard man to watch the library, asked Mason to guard the door against the unlikely eventuality of a further raid, and suggested to the Colonel that they should have a quiet talk.
Ten minutes after the detective had arrived all five men were sitting in the Colonel’s study, one of the few rooms in the house which had not been delivered up to the celebrations.
The Colonel, much more cheerful now that the possibility of a scandal had disappeared, rang for whisky. Mannering watched the reactions of Gerry Long very carefully, and he was more puzzled than ever.
He told himself that Long had been eager for that stimulant. The American knew something. What was it ?
They didn’t find out that evening. Bristow asked a dozen catch-questions, but Long stuck to his story. The dummy necklace, he maintained, must have been slipped into his pocket. It was possible, of course, that it had been inserted after Lady Kenton’s fall, but it might have been before that. From his knowledge of precious stones he was inclined to believe that the pearls he had commented upon to Lady Kenton had been genuine, but the light had been poor, and he had not touched them; he couldn’t be certain.
“You’re sure you didn’t touch them?” asked Bristow.
“Ask Mannering,” said Long, with a quick smile.
Mannering smiled and nodded.
“That’s beyond doubt,” he said. “Neither of them touched the pearls — nor did I, for that matter. We were too anxious to rescue Lady Kenton.”
Bristow managed a smile, but his expression was sour.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “we’ve no real proof that the pearls were stolen during that little episode. They might have disappeared any time during the day. It looks,” he added thoughtfully, “as if someone exchanged the real pearls for dummies, and afterwards slipped the dummies into Mr. Long’s pocket.”
“Thanks,” drawled Gerry.
“But why remove the dummies at all ?” demanded Mannering.
Bristow shrugged his shoulders.
“I just can’t say,” he said. “I will do everything I can, Mr Wagnall, to recover the pearls, but I can promise nothing. It’s been cleverly done — very cleverly.”
Mannering smiled a little, but his satisfaction at the success of the haul was marred by the discovery of the dummies. Someone else had had their eyes on the pearls, and he would have liked to know who it was; but there was one thing that helped him: the trail was so hopelessly confused that no one was likely to get near the genuine string; certainly he had nothing of which to complain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A SUSPECT
MANNERING WAS NOT SURPRISED ON THE FOLLOWING MORNING to find Gerry Long waiting for him in the lounge of the Elan. The American looked cheerful enough, but inwardly, Mannering thought, he was very worried. It was not long before he broached the affair of the previous afternoon, and Mannering knew that the other had been thinking about it a great deal.
“It’s all right, so far as it goes,” Long said, as the two men walked towards the Junior Carlton, “but I’m damned sure that Belton’s suspicious of me, Mannering. And I don’t quite know what to make of that detective. It’s not good enough.”
“You mean,” said Mannering thoughtfully, “that if you could find who really took the necklace you’d be able to clear yourself ?”
“That’s about the size of it,” admitted Long.
“How are you going to set about it?” asked Mannering.
The American shrugged his shoulders.
“How can I ?” he demanded. “If your police can’t . . .”
“You could employ a private detective,” suggested Mannering.
Long laughed, without much humour.
“Another specimen like that stuffed dummy Mason?”
“Well,” said Mannering with a short laugh, “the only other thing you can do is to hope that the Yard finds the thing. It isn’t as if you had any idea who took them.”
Long looked very grim; Mannering watched him and wondered at the set expression on his face, but he was not prepared for the bombshell that followed.
“But I have,” Long said.
Just for a moment Mannering’s face turned colour. They were walking along the Mall, and Mannering had been enjoying the walk and the conversation. He was sorry for Gerry Long, and he proposed making sure as soon as it was possible that the American suffered no consequences from the suspicion that had fallen on him. Apart from that little matter he had felt thoroughly happy and at peace with the world. Success was coming easily, and he was still unsuspected — or at least so He had thought.
But Long had an idea who’d taken the pearls!
To cover his momentary confusion Mannering coughed. He straightened up with a smile that cost him a great effort.
“Sorry,” he said. “Er — so you have an idea, have you? Well . . .”
“I’ve no objection to telling you,” said Long, and Mannering’s heart stopped thumping. “It seems absurd, but . . .”
“Who are you getting at?” demanded Mannering, intrigued, yet sure that Long’s suspicion was not very close to the mark.
The other’s words made him gasp. They came quickly, as though the American was afraid of ridicule, but there was no doubting their sincerity.
“Lady Kenton,” said Gerry Long.
Lady Kenton! For a moment Mannering felt beyond the power of speech. He stared at the American, and only the grimness of the other’s eyes and the obvious sincerity of the words stopped him from laughing.
