Meet The Baron (21 page)

But although his smile when he left the Yard was as wide as it had been when he had entered he was in wardly feeling the strain. He had known that something serious had been at the back of Gerry Long’s mind that morning. Now he knew just what it was. The old scandals in which the other had been involved were bound to be revealed, and the young American had realised it.

But Mannering was not concerned with that. Long didn’t know it, but Mannering was the one man in the world who would not care about his crimes. Mannering’s concern was to make quite sure that no suspicion of guilt in this case rested on Long. If it came to the point he would return the pearls.

“But that,” he muttered to himself as he entered his flat, wouldn’t clear Gerry. It would be assumed that he’d been scared by the police and that he was trying to squeeze out of it. It would do more harm than good. And that means - ”

He broke off, whistling to himself£ He could see only one way to clear Gerry Long. It was dangerous, perhaps, but there would be a zest about it.

Mannering stopped whistling, and smiled to himself. The lights dancing in his eyes would have mystified anyone who knew him. There was devilment, amusement, challenge. He knew, very suddenly, what he would do, and how he would do it.

For the next half-hour there was no sound in the flat but the scraping of a pen across paper and an occasional chuckle from Mannering as he wrote. Twice he screwed up and burned his efforts. The third pleased him more. He sealed it and addressed it. Then he hurried from the flat to a garage where he parked his car, drove from Piccadilly towards Victoria, and posted the letter at an ordinary pillar-box.

The glint in his eyes was a little harder, perhaps, than it had been; but the challenge was still there.

From a telephone kiosk at Victoria Station he called Gerry Long, who was still staying with Colonel Belton. Gerry was in, and agreed to visit the service flat just after six. From the tone of the other’s voice Mannering knew that the American was still anxious.

Mannering smiled to himself, satisfied that he had done all he could to ease the situation. But it was still awkward, and he was not altogether happy.

Only the fact that he knew that Long could not make any admission about the robbery had persuaded him to arrange the interview with the police within hearing distance. Bristow and his men could not hear a thing that could cause Gerry trouble. On the other hand, if Mannering handled the interview well they might easily be convinced that the American knew nothing about the robbery.

The big stumbling-block was the existence of the dummy pearls.

Gerry Long had possessed those dummies, and the police would want to know the reason. Mannering was inclined to think that he knew it, and he worked it out in his mind.

The American was stone mad; their conversations had proved that. The sight of precious stones, especially a rare piece that could not be bought, had seemed to make Gerry Long brood. In a man so young and so normal in every other respect it was strange; but Mannering had discovered enough in the past few years to prepare him for eccentricities in the most unlikely people. According to Mannering’s reckoning, Gerry Long had bought the dummies, and had planned to exchange them for the real stones. It was a trick that anyone smart at sleight-of-hand could have contrived without much trouble.

Mannering chuckled to himself suddenly, and the weight of his depression lifted. He wondered what Gerry Long had thought when he had found the pearls missing; and he was inclined to believe that the American really suspected Lady Kenton. Detective Inspector Bristow certainly did, but the real humour of the situation would come only if the Dowager discovered it.

“So you’ve heard of that, have you?” said Gerry Long. He looked haggard and worn. The effort which he had made until that morning to keep cheerful despite the difficulty of his position had been exhausted. He was scared of the possibility of arrest and conviction on the count of the pearls, and to Mannering there was something pitiful in Gerry’s constant smoking of cigarettes; in his hands, which were never still; and in his nervous gestures. Twenty-four hours before the American had been one of the most self-possessed young men in London. Now he was very close to a nervous wreck.

“I’ve heard of them,” said Mannering quietly.

They were sitting opposite each other in the Englishman’s living-room. In the bathroom and the bedroom, Mannering knew, were Bristow and the sergeant with the curious name of Tanker - at that time Mannering did not know why the sergeant was so called, but certainly it was suitable - and he was hoping that they would get enough to convince themselves, even then, of Long’s innocence.

“And - the police?” Gerry’s eyes were haggard.

“They’re bound to have heard it,” said Mannering, still quietly. He stretched his legs out, and looked evenly at the younger man. “Well, it’s up to you, Gerry. I suppose you have been telling the truth?”

There was no offence in the words, and there was no bitterness or resentment in Long’s voice as he answered: “I have. I didn’t touch the pearls.”

Mannering nodded.

“Then you’ve nothing to worry about, surely? They can’t prove you did take them if you didn’t. It’s rather nasty, I know, but”

“It’s more than that,” broke in Long bitterly. “I may as well be honest, Mannering. I tried the funny stuff twice before, and I was lucky to get away with it. I can’t explain why”

“Don’t try,” said Mannering quietly.

Long’s expression showed his gratitude, but he did not speak of it.

“You can imagine,” he said, “that life wasn’t all honey afterwards. I made a fool of myself, and suffered for it. Now it’ll start again. You can guess this won’t be kept over here. Even if nothing happens officially the rumours will fly. You’d never believe how fast they travel”

“What it amounts to,” said Mannering, with a deliberate challenge in his words, “is that you’re afraid to go back to New York unless you can disprove the suggestion?”

There was a flash of spirit in Gerry’s reply.

“I’m afraid of nothing,” he said quickly. “If I’ve got to face it I will. But - there’s a girl, Mannering.”

Mannering was very still for a moment, filled with a flood of understanding.

He had been puzzled by Gerry Long’s manner right from the start. Long did not create the impression that he was lacking in pluck, and his attitude over the pearl robbery had been mystifying, to say the least of it. But if there was a girl…

“I see,” murmured Mannering, and the smile in his eyes was of sympathy, and not of amusement. He went on: “Well, you can only keep on denying your part, young fellow. Stick to the truth. It’ll see you I through.”

Gerry nodded, without much conviction.

“I’ll try that,” he said quietly. “But there’s one thing I can’t do.”

Mannering looked at him curiously.

“I can’t explain away that dummy necklace,” said the American. “It must have been slipped into my pocket, but in view of all the circumstances the yarn looks pretty thin.”

Mannering nodded, and his smile was still encouraging.

“I shouldn’t worry,” he said. “The police will probably want to see you again. Stick to your story; you’ll be all right.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Long held out his hand impulsively.

“You’re a great guy,” he said, very simply.

Mannering suddenly remembered the wedding reception.

“Here’s how!” he said and for the first time that day Gerry Long laughed as though he meant it.

“That’s that,” said Mannering as Detective-Inspector Bristow and Sergeant Jacob (Tanker) Tring, having come from their hiding places, awaited him. Gerry Long had gone, in a more cheerful frame of mind, Mannering believed, and the latter was satisfied that the talk had dome some good. “If you care to believe Long had anything to do with it you’re welcome, I don’t.”

Bristow fingered his moustache.

“It sounded genuine enough,” he admitted, cautiously. “I’ll have a talk with him myself later in the evening.”

Mannering saw his visitors off, and went back into the room. Gerry Long had left twenty minutes before, and Mannering had strolled towards Piccadilly with the American, buying an evening paper on the way back. He had glanced at the front page, and had seen what he wanted to see but he did not show it to Bristow.

Despite the secrecy with which Colonel George Belton and the Wagnalls had handled the affair, the story of the robbery had leaked out. Mannering imagined that Mason, the stocky little private detective, had something to do with it. Mason had been angered by the way in which he had been treated on the previous day, and was of the type to want to get his own back.

The paper had exaggerated of course. The five-thousand-pound necklace had grown into twenty thousand pounds worth of jewels and the story was as vague as it could possibly be. But the fact remained that publicity had been given to it, and, worse still, there was a list of the guests at the wedding on a centre page. Gerry Long figured on that list.

Mannering felt restless. He was worried about Long, more than he had been before. The fact that there was a girl in the background complicated the affair. Men did strange things when they were in love and Gerry Long was certainly in a state of very high nervous tension.

In a few hours, Mannering knew, the other man would have nothing to worry about, but those few hours were the dangerous ones.

At half-past seven, he telephoned Scotland Yard, to learn from Bristow that he had just seen Long at Belton’s house.

“I’m glad it’s over,” said Mannering. “How did he seem?”

‘Worried out of his life,” said Bristow bluntly.

Mannering grunted, and rang off after a word or two more; he was in no mood for a long conversation.

From his flat to Park Square was little more than half a mile, but something warned him to hurry for that journey. He hopped into a taxi, and waited impatiently for the short run to finish. He had a ten-shilling note ready for the driver, and did not wait to see the expression of surprise on that worthy’s face when he received ten times the normal fare. A queer urge inside Mannering made him hurry up the steps.

A trim maidservant answered the door. She greeted him with a pleasant smile and told him that he would find Mr Long in his room. The Colonel and Mr Wagnall were out.

‘I’ll go up,” said Mannering.

His feeling of impending disaster was very strong at that moment. He had difficulty in preventing himself from running up the stairs, and when he eventually reached the door of the American’s room he grasped the handle and pushed hard. The door was locked.

Mannering went very still for a moment. Then he reached a decision quickly, drew back across the wide passage, and hurled himself at the door. He might be making a fool of himself, but he would risk that.

The lock burst from its fastenings at the third attempt. Mannering went flying into the room, and a single glance told him that his fears had been justified. He caught a glimpse of Gerry Long, standing near the window, and he saw the gun in Long’s right hand. For a split second Long hesitated, turning startled eyes towards the door. Then he raised the gun to his forehead Mannering had gone sprawling across the floor, carried half-way into the room by the impetus of his effort.

Somehow - afterwards he could never remember how - he contrived to twist his head so that he could see Gerry. The American’s face, deathly white and thrown into ghastly relief by the grey darkness of the gun, was like that of a ghost.

Mannering’s heart was pounding madly. He knew that if he tried to get to his feet and rush the other he would be too late. A second lay between Gerry Long and eternity - and if Gerry died Mannering would never forget why.

“God I” he moaned, and it was a supplication.

He fastened his hand round the leg of a stiff-backed chair near him. He was still moving along the floor as his fingers found their hold, and he hardly knew how he rallied strength enough to lift the chair off the ground and throw it towards Long. As if in a nightmare he saw the chair going, saw the American dodge it instinctively, heard it thud against the wall and hit Long on the rebound; then, fast upon it, heard the report of the gun!

The explosion echoed through the room, sharp and ominous. Still on the floor, Mannering saw very clearly the wisp of smoke from the gun, the mark on Gerry’s forehead; he saw the other’s eyes close, saw his body begin to sag, heard the gun clattering, and then watched, fascinated, as Gerry slumped downward.

Mannering’s forehead was covered with sweat as he started to clamber to his feet. He was staring at Gerry Long’s motionless figure, and he felt afraid . . .

The shock of the shooting numbed Mannering’s mind, but it was only for a moment. His brain cleared very quickly. He heard the sudden commotion below stairs, a servant’s voice raised in alarm, and, very clearly, Lady Mary Overndon’s voice telling the girl not to make a fool of herself

“Thank God!” muttered Mannering, for he knew that Lady Mary would use her head if no one else could.

He was on his feet in a trice, and hurried to the door. The noise of footsteps coming up the stairs grew louder. As he reached the passage he saw Lady Mary approaching, very grim and very determined.

She stopped in surprise when she saw him.

“John - you! I didn’t know you were here.”

“Just arrived,” said Mannering. His face was grim and his voice hard. “A spot of bother, Lady Mary. Keep the servants quiet, will you, and send for a doctor who can be trusted to hold his tongue.”

“Gerry?” said Lady Mary quietly.

Mannering nodded.

“He’s not -?” There was a glimmer of real alarm in the old woman’s eyes.

“No,” said Mannering, “or it wouldn’t matter what doctor you sent for. I must get back.”

He turned, pushing the door to as Lady Mary moved away; and then for the first time he really looked at Gerry Long. He had told Lady Mary that the other wasn’t dead. For his own part he wasn’t sure. He had spoken on impulse, with the wish father to the thought. Now he looked down at Gerry Long, and saw that usually cheerful face robbed of its colour, saw the ugly wound in the forehead, and the blood coming from it. Very quickly, but moving deliberately, Mannering knelt down and raised the other’s head. With his left hand he felt for the pulse . . .