19

THE CONSPIRATORS

 

Mannering stood aside, and Aristide and Belle entered.

In the year or two that Mannering had known him, Aristide had always been a rather diffident young man, not at all sure of himself, but now he had an assurance – a confidence – which could not be mistaken. He looked Mannering straight in the eye. So did Belle, who was holding Aristide’s arm in the way peculiar to women who want to make sure that others know they will brook no competition.

Mannering closed the door.

“Mr. Mannering,” said Aristide. “You have twenty minutes at most to make up your mind whether you want to spend the next few years in prison, or whether to make yourself millions of pounds more than you have.”

“Oh,” murmured Mannering. “Is that so, Aristide?”

“Sarcasm won’t affect me,” Aristide said shortly, “and there’s no point in holding an inquest. You made the mistake a lot of middle-aged men make; you thought that because I’m young, I’m a fool – and inferior to you. I am not. I have fooled you completely. Ever since I came to work for you I have been planning this.” He was now moving towards Mannering’s office, and instead of standing aside and deferring to Mannering, he went in first, took a swift, arrogantly possessive look round, and looked superciliously at the portrait of Mannering as a cavalier.

Mannering slipped behind the desk and into his chair.

“Do sit down, Miss Danizon,” he said.

“Not Miss Danizon – my wife, Mrs. Smith,” corrected Aristide; and as Mannering tried to digest that piece of information Belle sat down in the chair opposite him. He had seldom seen anyone so radiant; if he had to judge, he would say that she was a very happy young woman.

“Congratulations,” Mannering murmured.

“A little overdue,” said Aristide, “but never mind. And now let me tell you one or two things that should help you make your decision. Bernard Yenn has believed for a year that he was using me and my friends. He has acquired a certain facility in tele-hypnosis, with the help of a tape-recorder and his curiously pitched voice. But although a lot of people fall for that, most don’t. He thinks his disciples, as he calls them, obey his instructions because of his hypnotic powers. In fact, they obey because I tell them to do so. I give them instructions, Mannering. Yenn is a useful cover – if we’d ever run into trouble we could always have pleaded that we were under the influence of Bernard and his phoney yoga-hypnotism.”

“How very ingenious,” Mannering applauded.

He was beginning to recover from the shock, but he felt far from easy. There was such confidence in this young man, such certainty; and so far Mannering could not see even a glimmer of hope.

“Not so ingenious as some of the other things we’ve done,” Aristide said proudly. “Each of us is from a wealthy family, Mannering. Each of us is sick to death of being told what to do by parents who belong to yesterday. And so we – or rather Belle and I – worked out a scheme to take some of the family jewels, which we would inherit some day in any case, turn them into big money, and take our turn at being top dog. And the scheme proved a very good one – the potential became larger and larger all the time. Now, thanks to an edited tape, we have Bristow where we want him; Bristow will do what he’s told, and he still has a lot of power as a policeman.”

“He’s had a remarkably fine career,” murmured Mannering.

“And if he’s sensible he can go out in a blaze of glory,” said Aristide. “If he isn’t, he’ll live in the shadows for the rest of his life.”

“What do you want him for?” asked Mannering. For the first time since the shock of this revelation he felt the stirring of anger, a glow which began to spread throughout his body.

“You can’t even think beyond the end of your nose,” said Aristide, glancing at Belle as if to say: “You see how much cleverer I am than Mannering.” “Bristow knows more about private jewel collections, and the safety precautions taken for them, than any man living. He’s going to help us take whatever we want, and you’re going to sell it for us. And you’ll both get a cut – ten per cent of the proceeds for each of you. You see how generous I am?”

“Very generous,” murmured Mannering. “And do I take it that your wife’s visit to Quinns and Bruce Danizon’s telephone call were stages in my—er—take-over?”

“You’re damned right, you can. And don’t think it wasn’t easy. I thought you might catch on when you caught me at your flat – I’d just fixed the tape-recorder – but you came back too soon. That was a pretty good act I put on,” said Aristide proudly. “And you were too damned blind to see through it.”

“Not blind,” Mannering said heavily. “Just reluctant to think I was being cheated by a man I trusted. Tell me – why did your brother kill Annabel Kitt? It was your brother, wasn’t it?”

Aristide nodded. “She learned too much about us,” he said grimly. “Once she came and started direct negotiations with you, she—”

“And how long do you think you can keep up this particular scheme?” interrupted Mannering, struggling to stifle the blind fury he felt rising within him. His only hope lay in keeping his temper, he told himself, and he could not keep his temper so long as he thought of Annabel.

“For as long as it takes to make us all very rich,” replied Aristide.

“I see. Don’t you think you might have overlooked—”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” rasped Aristide. “You’ve looked down your nose at me far too often. You’ve got fifteen minutes left. At five o’clock, Bernard Yenn will be here, and Bristow. As soon as they come the police will raid the place, and do you know what they’ll find? All over Quinns they’ll find stolen gems. Pieces I planted very cleverly and skilfully. Pieces that will prove you bought the jewels stolen from all five of the parents. Once the police get in here, Mannering, they’ll have a field day. They’ll go off with you and Bristow in the same Black Maria. Oh yes, I’ve incriminated him as well. You haven’t a chance, not a chance in hell—unless—” He left the threat hanging.

Mannering leaned back in his chair, his manner calm and relaxed. No one could guess at the rage which now surged inside him: at the almost irresistible impulse he felt to spring up and put his hands round Aristide’s thin, smooth neck.

Belle Danizon looked almost disappointed.

“You don’t seem at all shocked, Mr. Mannering.”

“Don’t I, Mrs. Smith?” Mannering smiled. “And how can I escape this fate in—” he glanced at his watch—”twelve and a half minutes, at most?”

“That’s easy,” Aristide said. “You have an ex-thief as a manager, and leopards never really change their spots. The deal would appear to have been between Yenn and Larraby. We’ve tape recordings – edited again – which would go a long way to proving that, and Bernard’s ‘disciples’ will give evidence that they heard Bernard plotting it all with Larraby.” He paused, and for the first time seemed to lose a little of his confidence, as if he could not understand the expression on Mannering’s face. “Your reputation will be un-smirched. Bristow will make the charge and arrest the precious pair – Yenn deserves what he’ll get, and Larraby’s an old man and he’ll soon die in jail – so you needn’t have them on your conscience.”

“Oh dear,” interpolated Belle. “Has Mr. Mannering got one of those old-fashioned things?”

Aristide went on as if he had not heard her.

“What could be more perfect?” he demanded. “The police will get a lot of favourable publicity, and so will you.”

He leaned forward, and so did Belle, as if she were trying to will Mannering to agree.

He managed to make himself ask: “What happens if I refuse? What do you get out of it then?”

“I’d have to start all over again,” sneered Aristide. “All of us, poor benighted victims of Bernard’s hypnotism would be given a stern lecture by the judge, and then given psychiatric help at the public expense to rid us of any lingering effects of Bernard’s machine-made hypnosis. No one could ever prove we hadn’t been hypnotised, Mannering. Even if we lose, we win in the long run. But we won’t lose,” he declared harshly. “You’ll do what we tell you and so will Bristow. Don’t try to bluff it out.”

“No,” Mannering said, as if very weary. “I won’t try to bluff it out. You’ve done a beautiful job of this, Aristide, and there’s only one more thing you have to do.”

“What’s that?” demanded Aristide, while Mannering could hear Belle, breathing almost hissingly through parted lips.

“Prove what you say,” said Mannering.

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That some of the stolen jewels have been hidden here at Quinns.”

“You doubt that?” Aristide cried, his eyes blazing. “If that’s all the proof you want, come on. There are thirty-one different pieces of jewellery, six from each collection, with a bonus from Belle’s father! Come on, we haven’t much time!” He leaned forward to grab at Mannering’s arm, but Mannering evaded him and stood up.

Whatever happened, he would forever blame himself. He had been suspicious of Aristide since this affair had begun, but he had not taken enough precautions. Deep down, he knew, he had not been able to believe that the young man would betray him.

“Mr. Mannering,” Belle said in a tense voice, “don’t try to be clever, will you? I would hate to have to shoot you.”

He saw the automatic pistol which she took from her handbag and pointed at him.

They went out, into the shop, and Mannering saw Larraby at one side, and wondered how the old man had managed to get in without being heard. Had he overheard what Aristide had in store for him?

Aristide did not appear to notice Larraby. He squeezed between an Elizabethan chiffonier and a Stuart settle, both oak, both beautifully carved, turned in front of the settle and lifted the seat.

“Remember this one?” he was saying with suppressed excitement. “You showed me the secret drawer, you showed me every hiding place in Quinns! It’s a wonder you didn’t hear me laughing as you went into such detail! How wonderful the craftsmanship was, what beauty had been hidden. You once told me about some love letters you found from some old woman who had never married. Beautiful, you called them – and you didn’t even find a market.”

He was breathing hard, now. So was Belle, but her pistol did not waver. But Mannering’s rage grew so that it nearly boiled over.

It was five minutes to five, and there was little time left – short of a miracle, the police would charge him with having the stolen jewels in his possession within fifteen or twenty minutes. What he would have done had Belle not been standing so near with the gun, Mannering did not know. His whole body was taut and cold, and there was an icy clutch at his heart.

There was a click inside the settle, and a panel inside the carved seat slid open. Aristide snatched at it, then groped; then gasped; then straightened up and glared at Mannering with eyes which shone with madness.

“They’re not here!” he cried. “You’ve taken them!”

 

But Mannering had not had the slightest suspicion that anything had been hidden there.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Mannering saw Belle move, saw her consternation, saw the way she turned to Aristide, momentarily forgetting her gun and the man she was threatening. He moved forward and snatched the gun away. It was unbelievably easy. She did not seem to realise what had happened at first, she was so mesmerised by the stark horror in her husband’s eyes.

“No,” she gasped. “They must be there!”

Aristide’s lips were parted, and his whole body seemed to shake. The glare in his eyes was murderous, but although he took a step forward it was not the gun in Mannering’s hand which stopped him from attacking, it was the physical paralysis which shock had brought. He began to speak but the words would not come, only an incoherent mouthing, which might have been: “You swine, you swine, you’ve taken them!”

Lurching drunkenly round, he staggered towards a Georgian rosewood chest, and pulling open the top drawer, he groped inside; the scraping of his fingers on the wood could be heard like a mouse, scratching. Inside the drawer was a secret panel; at last it clicked open, and Aristide groped once again. After a while, he stopped. His body still quivered as he leaned against the chest, and when he turned round all hope had left him.

“Gone!” he croaked. “Gone!”

“Darling,” Belle said in a choking voice; it was the first time Mannering had felt any warmth in her. “Oh darling, don’t worry, don’t worry.” She reached and put her arms about him, but he seemed unaware of her, only of the awful failure of his plans. “You—took—them—!” he croaked. “Gone!” Then Larraby came to Mannering’s side, speaking softly so that the others could not hear.

“I put the jewels in his car, sir: It is parked just outside.”

 

“You put them there?” Mannering felt almost dazed.

“I know I should have told you, sir, but you had so much on your mind, and I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. I did notice that Smith was spending a lot of time polishing certain pieces of furniture, and he had never before shown such devotion to duty. So whenever he had finished with one, I checked – and noted carefully what was there. I kept a close record of the times and occasions that Smith went to each piece, and felt quite sure that there would be no difficulty in establishing the truth, and to make doubly sure I twice took photographs, unsuspected by him, of him placing articles in the hiding-places.”

Mannering was almost unable to speak.

“Josh, if I had known—”

“I know, sir, I should have told you. And yet—” Larraby’s voice was so gentle in the shadowy room. “You might well have gone straight to the heart of the matter and I felt there was much more to be discovered.” He looked sadly at Aristide, perhaps with a touch of contempt. “Shall we take these young people down to join the others? I think there is just time.”

Taking Mannering’s agreement for granted, he went to Aristide Smith and Belle, took the girl’s arm and said in the same gentle voice: “Come along, now. Come along.”

They made no attempt to resist although they seemed oblivious of Mannering’s closeness with the gun. Larraby pressed the control for the floor hatch and stood over the couple as they went down.

The hatch was sliding back again, cutting them off from sight, when a bell rang at the back door of Quinns, clear and sharp.

After a pause, Larraby said: “That will be Mr. Bristow and Bernard Yenn, sir.”

“Yes,” Mannering said. “Yes. We’d better let them in.”

His heart swelled with gratitude to Larraby, but he had not really absorbed the full implications of it all yet, and still felt deep concern for Bristow, who was ending his career in pain and distress – even if there now seemed less fear of shame.

He opened the door and there was Bristow, not humbled or dismayed, but with a glint in his eyes and firmness in his manner, and his right hand tight about Bernard Yenn’s left arm.