Held At Bay (12 page)

Mannering's eyes narrowed.

“Was she dancing alone?”

“
Mais oui, M'sieu
!
La Supreme,
no others dance alone ‘ere. Gussi, ‘e is the ‘usband.”

“Good God!” gasped Mannering.

“It is the life, an' they are ‘appy. Now,
M'sieu,
we talk. You ‘ave the diamants. We divide,
n'est ce pas
? Fifty-fifty, is it not?”

“You did the real work,” protested the Baron. “And there is Granette.”

“Granette!” said Labolle softly. “'E will not worry,
M'sieu le Baron.
‘E is after a special stone, not those.”

Labolle stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing, for he stared at the diamond that had leapt into the Baron's hand.

“
Sapristi, M'sieu,
it is it! Ze size, the appearance,
exactement
!”

“Yes,” smiled the Baron. “We were after the same stone. But Granette should have warned you.”

“Permit me,
M'sieu
! Granette, ‘e come today, ‘e tells me of a
M'sieu
Man'ring, whom I shall kill, yes?” Labolle touched the knife suddenly, and the Baron's spine chilled. “That I onderstan'! You, you would perhaps lie,
M'sieu.
I try to what you say – catch
M'sieu le Baron,
or
M'sieu
Man'ring, it is the same.
Mais non
! I work for Granette, yes, but I not kill one who save me. Benedicte Labolle know when to believe. I work for Granette, but ‘e is a dog! You ‘ave done for me big service. Now,
M'sieu.
You onderstan'?”

Chapter Sixteen

Shocks

In the moments that flashed by as he met Labolle's straight gaze Mannering realised that the Frenchman had been the winner in that battle of wits. But Mannering had been thinking that Labolle was ill-disposed towards Granette; instead he was still with the man, and he had held his hand simply because Mannering had saved him from Panneraude.

He broke the silence at last.

“I see. So you want this for Granette?”

“You do not onderstan',” said Labolle gravely. “Labolle fails to win one-two
petits
diamants – poof! He is disturbed,
le Baron
beats him up.
Le Baron
won,
M'sieu, chez Panneraude,
and he has the diamant!”

The Baron tossed the glittering gem towards the ceiling and caught it, almost gloating. The Crown of Castile, and it was his!

“Fine! Then I'll keep this and these others are yours.” He pointed to the smaller stones.

The more he saw of Labolle the more he liked him. It seemed that Labolle's ‘honesty' was crystal clear, according to his lights. This was a queer mix-up, with the fat Gussi, the lovely
La Supreme,
and Labolle to represent the
apache.
A man with an astonishing character – yet a garrotter.

He pushed his thoughts to one side. “Are you safe now, Labolle?”

“
Mais oui
! There is no worry,
M'sieu.
An' you, you tell those who may ask, yes, that the night it was spen' at the
Cabaret des Belles Femmes.
There is no other dangaire,
M'sieu
?”

“From the police? I don't think so,” said the Baron.

“
Bien
!” There was a tap on the door, and it opened at his call. Mannering's eyes widened as he recognised the woman who entered. She was smiling, a tall, slim creature swathed in a plain silk wrap, and in her dark hair a sparkling diamante tiara. Her bare feet were thrust into backless slippers, but it was the dark hair with the tiara that told Mannering that
La Supreme
was paying a visit to Labolle. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense, but her features were very delicate, and her complexion quite lovely. There was a transparency about her skin that was almost unreal. Mannering felt the fascination of her blue eyes as she glanced at him in well-controlled surprise, and then at Labolle.

“Benedicte, I am so sorry. I know not zat—”

“
M'sieu le Baron,”
said Labolle quickly, “‘E ‘as been admiring you,
ma cherie.
”

La Supreme's
eyes glowed as she looked at Mannering.

“It is a pleasure,
M'sieu.
” Her English was prettier than her French.

Mannering bowed. “I've never been so moved by dancing.”

The compliment pleased her as it would a child, and as her words tumbled out Mannering was astonished again by the naïvety of these people.

“That is ver' charming of you,
M'sieu.
Benedicte now, ‘e can never say ze word
comme ça
!” She twinkled at Labolle. “But ‘e is our ver' good friend,
M'sieu.
‘E ‘as told you that one day ‘e save the life of Gussi, yes?”

“He did say something about it,” said the Baron, “and—”

Gussi entered the room before he could go on. Fat and quivering, the Frenchman nevertheless walked with the grace that was one of the most remarkable features of the trio. Not until afterwards did Mannering learn that Gussi had been a tap dancer until eight years before, when his weight had grown too much for him, and he had invested in the
Cabaret des Belles Femmes.
Gussi was no more than forty-five, and
La Supreme
near the forty mark. The friendship between them and the
apache
was obviously deep-rooted.

Mannering talked for five minutes, and then stood up. Gussi smiled at him, that absurd rosebud of a mouth twisted.

“We shall be ‘appy always to see you,
M'sieu.
“

“
Et moi aussi,
” said
La Supreme.
“A frien' of Benedicte,
M'sieu,
is always welcome.”

“For me,” said Benedicte Labolle, “I can be found here,
M'sieu Baron,
at most times.”

Mannering shook hands all round, an odd feeling of mingled relief and disbelief warring in him, before Gussi showed him to the main hall. On the small floor a crowd was dancing to hot rhythm, and a few people noticed Mannering as he threaded his way between the tables. But the pert little
gamine
appeared at the door, and Mannering thrust a twenty franc note into her hand.

A moment later he sat back in his cab in deep satisfaction.

As he entered the foyer of the Hotel Bristol, the night-porter moved from his counter. Mannering did not notice the man's expression until he was halfway to the lift. Then he saw the uncertainty and the question in the man's eyes.

He frowned. “What is it?”

“
M'sieu,
there is a gentleman to see you.”

“To see
me
? At this time of night? What name, Jean?”

“
M'sieu
!” There was a message in the porter's eyes, but none on his lips. Mannering's guard went up instinctively. “He is in the lounge,
M'sieu,
and requests me to give no name. A thousand pardons,
M'sieu
!”

Mannering had a mental picture of a black Peugeot and a heavy-jowled Frenchman.

“That's all right.” He turned towards the lounge, knowing the door was open and that the man in there could hear every word. Moreover, Jean was not the type to be nervous without good reason, and to Mannering that spelled two words.

The police.

Only the police would have prevented him from passing on a message.

The police;
and he had the Crown of Castile in his pocket!

Mannering's lips were curved as he passed into the lounge. He hesitated on the threshold as a short, clean-shaven man stood up from a settee. He was well-dressed, heavy about the chin, with a pair of keen, grey eyes that swept Mannering up and down. His lips were red and full, and he did not look at all like an
agent.

“Good evening,” said Mannering. “What can I do for you?”

“My apologies,
M'sieu.
” The Frenchman bowed. “A small inquiry that I am compelled to make.”

“It's rather late for inquiries,” Mannering said good-humouredly, not at all like a man on guard. Actually he hardly knew what the man was saying. The Crown of Castile seemed like fire in his pocket although his tools and equipment were under the seat of a Renault taxi. He had never found it more difficult to keep his smile bright. His heart was thumping, and there was an odd, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. For French police methods were different from English. There would be no formality of a search warrant, and if the diamond was found the Baron was finished. He knew he should have left the Crown with Labolle. Confidence and satisfaction had made him careless. The little Frenchman's eyes seemed to be probing for the truth, and seconds dragged.

If Mannering had to run, it would be the end of life as John Mannering.

Odd thoughts flashed through his mind. The unexpectedness of this had startled him so much that he had not been able to see the full significance. Now he saw them, and was ready for trouble.

The Frenchman lifted his hands deprecatingly, and then slipped his fingers into his vest pocket.

“I agree that it is late,
M'sieu.
But my authority, you will understand, is correct.”

He showed the card of the
Sûrété Nationale,
and Mannering frowned as he eyed it.

“The
police, M'sieu
Robierre? My room's all right, isn't it?”

The other's eyes flickered, and Mannering knew that he had made a good impression. The doubt that had seemed to show in the other's face faded.

“But yes,
M'sieu.
It is not anything that has happened at the hotel.”

“Then what is it?” demanded Mannering. “And is it going to take long? If so, a drink—”

“I shall be happy to join you,” said the detective, and Mannering knew that this was not going to be easy. He called for the porter, waving Robierre to a seat.

“Jean, some special Courvoisier. That is to your liking,
M'sieu
Robierre?”

“Admirable.” Robierre seemed in no great hurry.

Jean brought the brandy and half filled two glasses, bowed and went out, closing the door behind him. Mannering's eyes were gleaming as he regarded the Frenchman and inhaled the bouquet.

“Your very good health,
M'sieu.
And now – what can I do for you?”

“It is my duty, you understand? Tonight, at the house of
M'sieu
Pierre Panneraude, on the Champs-Elysees, there was a very daring robbery. You understand?”

So it was the Panneraude job, and his position
was
acutely dangerous. Damn Bristow!

“I do and I don't,
M'sieu
Robierre. How can I help you?”

“
M'sieu
Mannering, I will be frank.” Robierre's hands were no longer moving, his body seemed tense. “Were you at the house of
M'sieu
Panneraude tonight?”

Mannering stared, apparently so surprised that he could find no words. And then to Robierre's surprise, he chuckled.

“I certainly was not! I know the place, of course. Anyhow, what made you come to me?”

Robierre's hands spread out again. What would he have done, thought Mannering, had he been able to see the diamond in Mannering's vest pocket?

“It is difficult to explain,
M'sieu
Mannering. Let me endeavour. You have heard of a big English jewel thief, by name the Baron?”

“I certainly have.”

“
Bon.
Then you will know why we are anxious to make an arrest, when you learn that the Baron was at
M'sieu
Panneraude's house. The description, the method of entry, everything was characteristic of him.”

“I still don't see where I can help,” said Mannering.

“You will understand that we had information from Scotland Yard about the Baron. And you will understand
my
surprise,
M'sieu,
when I learned that
you
might be the man for whom I search.” Robierre's voice had hardened.

“That is absurd,” Mannering said shortly.

“Perhaps,
M'sieu.
But I am informed that you are in Paris and at this hotel. Also,
le Baron,
he is in Paris. And I discover that you left your hotel an hour before the robbery is committed. My man, he loses you.”

Mannering moved back from Robierre, taking a cigarette and lighting it without moving his gaze from the Frenchman.

“So you are accusing me,
M'sieu
Robierre, of visiting
M'sieu
Panneraude's house as the Baron. And you had the impertinence to have me followed?”

“Reluctantly,
M'sieu.
I must ask you to explain your movements for this night.”

“I see.
M'sieu
Robierre, I don't wish it to be known where I have spent the evening. I do not think that the matter need interest you.”

Robierre took half a step forward.

“It is a matter of great interest! Particularly now.
M'sieu
Mannering, I must ask you to allow me to search—”

“Don't be a fool!” snapped Mannering. “Must I remind you that I am a British subject, under the protection of the British Consul?”

“And I must inform you that I have this information from the English police, and that it is a matter of time only before the Consul will give me permission to do just what I wish! Meanwhile, I shall if necessary, make sure that you are locked in a room at
le Commissariat de Police.
My powers, they are considerable,
M'sieu.
”

“Your powers would be nothing like so considerable if you make a mistake on this,” said Mannering. “It isn't always wise to arrest an Englishman, and to be forced to admit a mistake.”

“And I warn you,
M'sieu
!” Mannering knew that Robierre was feeling exactly as Bill Bristow had felt on several occasions; he believed that he had cornered the Baron, and to arrest the Baron was the dream of practically every policeman on the Continent or in England. “You will kindly permit me—”

Mannering laughed again, and Robierre stopped abruptly, hands waving quickly.

“You are prepared to joke, perhaps.”

“It's funny,
M'sieu
! I was anxious to see just how far you would go, and I'll have a word with the Commissioner of Scotland Yard, for it is very annoying. Does anyone but your department know you are here?”

Robierre's voice was sharp.

“Only the porter. But understand,
M'sieu,
that—”

“I'm not threatening to cause you trouble,” said Mannering easily. His voice became confidential. “I'm anxious that this evening's interview shouldn't be broadcast. You will understand,
M'sieu,
that I do not want it known that since twelve o'clock, until half an hour ago, I was at the
Cabaret des Belles Femmes.
I can offer good evidence of an intimate kind, and I am prepared to give it. But—no word to the Press,
M'sieu
!”

Robierre's eyes were narrowed now, but with a smile. Mannering had appealed to the romantic who lurked in every Frenchman.

“I understand. No word shall pass, if you can prove this.”

“Go to the place and inquire,” said Mannering.

“You understand, you will not leave the hotel until I return?”

“Of course,” said the Baron.

Robierre bowed, and turned away. Even as he left the lounge, the Baron's sixth sense of danger was highly sensitive. Were there others nearby? Was the surveillance as thorough as it had been in London, with the added disadvantage that he did not know the man he was dealing with, nor the powers of the Paris police?