20

ARRESTS

 

“Ah, Mannering.” Bristow was the man he had been ten, twenty years ago, brisk, assertive. The glint in his eyes even made him look far younger. “You know this man, don’t you?”

“Yes, I—”

“Let me go,” wheezed Bernard Yenn. “My God if you don’t, I’ll ruin you.”

“Keep quiet.” Bristow’s hold was such that he was able to propel Yenn into the little hall. “It is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be written down and used as evidence.” He looked icily at Yenn as he said to Mannering: “I have charged him with uttering threats and offering bribes to a police officer – to wit, me – in an attempt to cause a miscarriage of justice.” Mannering could almost see Bristow’s mind working; could understand how, at the last moment, Bristow had turned on his enemy and fought back. Now, he seemed to add: “Whatever happens I’ve done all I can.”

Yenn, looking like a bigger edition of Aristide Smith, tried to control his quivering lips.

“I’ve told you, I’ve a tape-recording proving you—”

“That’s enough,” Bristow interrupted. And he gave a short bark of a laugh. “I’ve warned you that anything you say may be used as evidence.”

“Bristow, you bloody fool!” screamed Yenn. “You’ll end your career in jail, you—”

“Somehow I don’t think so,” Bristow said. He gave that bark of a laugh again. “John, I think I owe that change of heart half to you, and half to my wife. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be believed in.”

“Bristow—” began Yenn weakly. “There—there are some of my—my assistants here. Here. They’re locked up somewhere in Quinns, they were brought here against their will and incarcerated. This—this man is responsible for that. If you arrest anybody you ought to arrest him.”

Bristow looked levelly at Mannering, although there was a twinkle in his eyes.

“Is that true?” he asked.

“There’s truth in it,” Mannering admitted. “One of them is Aristide Smith, an employee, whom I have reason to believe is using Quinns to his own advantage – using me as a cover for his own crimes.”

“Nonsense,” bleated Bernard Yenn. “Utter nonsense. Lies!”

As he spoke, the door of Quinns was opened wider and two plainclothes policemen came in, including the tall, lean one who had been above the carpet shop the previous night. Behind them were several uniformed policemen and other plainclothes men. Obviously they had been outside for some time; they must have heard most of what had been said.

“Good afternoon, sir,” this man said to Bristow.

“Hallo, Crabb,” Bristow said almost perfunctorily. “Mr. Mannering, I don’t know whether you know Chief Inspector Crabb.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” murmured Mannering.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Crabb nodded.

“What brought you?” Bristow asked, as if their arrival was a surprise.

“We had information to the effect that there were some stolen jewels here at Quinns, sir,” said Crabb. “I— er—I have a search warrant, sir.”

“Then use it,” said Bristow, indifferently.

“Yes, go ahead,” approved Mannering. “You won’t find any stolen jewels but you will find some borrowed bodies, as it were, in my strong-room.”

“Borrowed bodies, sir?” Crabb’s voice rose.

“One of my assistants and some friends of his, involved in an ingenious scheme to use me at Quinns as a receiver of stolen goods,” Mannering said. He shrugged. “Queer ideas people get. When you’re ready to see them I’ll take you down.”

“How did they get in your strong-room?” demanded Crabb, unbelievingly.

“I couldn’t think of a safer place to keep them until everything had resolved itself,” said Mannering. “I suspect that they may be able to tell you where to find the driver of the car which killed that young woman in Hart Row yesterday. And I know that they conspired to involve Quinns in illicit dealing.”

“Will you charge them?” asked Bristow, intently.

“I’ll be delighted to! And you might find some interesting evidence when you’ve searched them.” Mannering smiled across at Crabb. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Crabb said, and turned to Bristow. “Are you coming down, sir?”

“No. I’ve been in that strong-room often enough. Is there a car outside? I’d like to take Yenn in. I charged him with—”

“I heard you, sir,” said Crabb. “There’s a car whenever you want it.”

Bristow nodded, glanced at Mannering with a gleam of triumph in his eyes, then took a cowering Bernard Yenn out. In a few moments Mannering heard the roar of a car engine.

Larraby was on the telephone in the office, and Mannering was there in time to hear him say:

“Yes, Mrs. Mannering—I am quite sure he will be home soon. I thought you would like to know.” He smiled gravely as he replaced the receiver and looked at Crabb. “Good afternoon, Inspector.”

“So you two know each other,” Mannering remarked.

“We have met, sir.”

“Good. We’re going to let our friends out from the strong-room,” Mannering said. “I don’t think we’ll have much trouble with them.” He pressed the controls of the sliding mechanism and the hatch opened. Crabb peered in, and saw the first wall-door slide open. He and two other plainclothes men stood at the top of the steps, and after a long pause the prisoners began to come out.

The young men, so spruce when they had gone in, were now unshaven and their clothes badly rumpled. The girls looked pale and heavy-eyed. There was an air of incredulity among them all as they looked at the police.

The last to come out were Aristide Smith and Belle. Aristide had composed himself a little, and although he still looked in a state of shock, he said to Crabb: “Who are you?”

“A police officer, sir.”

“Well, it’s time you arrested him.” Aristide glowered at Mannering. “He kept me and my friends locked up—”

He broke off, as there was some kind of disturbance outside. A moment later a uniformed police officer came in, carrying a canvas bag which bulged as if it were half-filled with potatoes. In his other hand was a smaller, wash-leather bag.

“We’ve found a lot of the stolen jewels,” he stated simply. “They were in Aristide Smith’s car, tucked in the boot. They even include some of the jewellery stolen from his father’s collection.”

Aristide sprang forward.

“It’s lies—all lies! He put them there—” he pointed at Mannering. “He—”

“I think we’ll sort this out at the Yard,” said Crabb. “We’d better call for a van.”

Ten minutes later, a Black Maria arrived and one by one the prisoners climbed into it. Some of the plainclothes men made a perfunctory search of Quinns, but all of them seemed anxious to leave; as anxious to reassure Mannering that they had found nothing.

It was ten minutes to six when the door closed on them, and Mannering and Larraby were alone. They went upstairs to Larraby’s flat; Larraby poured out two large whiskies while Mannering watched him almost unbelievingly.

“Josh,” he said, “I think you’re the most remarkable man I’ve ever known.”

“Not even remotely as remarkable as you, sir,” Larraby assured him. “You were quite prepared to face this out, weren’t you? And quite prepared to take risks with your own future, for Mr. Bristow. All I have done I have learned from you, and you yourself did a similar switch of jewels, years and years ago.” Larraby raised his glass. “Your very good health, sir.”

He drank; and Mannering drank; and then he began to laugh. He had to exert great self-control to stop himself from laughing, and it was largely because he recalled how Bernard Yenn had laughed so hysterically that he finally checked himself.

“Josh,” he said, “I was laughing at myself.”

“Indeed, sir. Why?”

“Because it was only yesterday that I felt you were past this kind of exertion! Yet it was you on whom the whole affair turned.” He chuckled again. “I do believe that if I’d have known what Aristide was up to I would have simply fired him, and he and his precious friends would still be plotting against parents and collectors. Josh, you’ll outlive us all.”

Larraby finished his drink and put his glass down.

“I hope I’ve a few more years, sir, but—” he hesitated—”well, now you’ve brought the matter up, I really don’t think I should continue in the business.” He smiled gently at Mannering’s horrified exclamation. “Let me finish, sir, and I believe you will understand. I have had twenty very happy years with you, and I am now nearly eighty. Thanks to your generosity I can look back on my life without shame. Also thanks to you, I can afford to retire. I am sure it is time I did, sir, and I cannot think of a more appropriate occasion. I really cannot. I shall forever be able to look back on this as – may I use the phrase, sir? – as my day of triumph.”

After a long pause, Mannering said quietly: “You’re quite right, Josh. All this has been a day of triumph indeed. Your triumph. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

He stood up; and they shook hands.

 

“Oh dear,” said Lorna. “It was inevitable I suppose, but it’s hard to realise Josh won’t be at Quinns. He’s almost part of it.” They had finished a light supper and were sitting in the study, she on a pouffe with her head on Mannering’s knees. “You’ll never find a man half as trustworthy.” Neither of them spoke for a while, and when at last she did, she changed the subject. “What a lovely picture you drew of Bill Bristow and his wife! It looks as if he’ll have a thoroughly happy retirement, too. How old is he?”

“Sixty-ish,” Mannering said, “but this afternoon he looked in his middle forties. He—”

Mannering went absolutely still, and the word ‘he’ seemed to hover about the room. The easy, lazy mood was broken. Lorna shifted her position to look round. There was not so much tension as concentration on Mannering’s face. She did not question him, knowing at last that thoughts were racing through his mind.

“Lorna,” he said at last.

“Yes, darling?”

“I’ve just had an idea.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“We need someone to replace Josh. Someone wholly trustworthy, who will take risks, who is familiar with precious stones and objets d’art, whom we know, who—”

“Bill Bristow!” cried Lorna in a sudden trill of excitement. “Oh darling, do you think he would?”

“I think he might,” Mannering said. “Darling, you really should have seen him this afternoon. He’d no idea what had happened at Quinns, as far as he knew he’d be facing a charge of accepting bribes before the day was out – and he was defying Yenn and the whole wide world. If he had to go down then he’d go down fighting.” Mannering shifted his position and stretched out for the telephone, dialling Bristow’s number. Lorna looked up at him, her chin on her hands, and the buzz of Bristow’s telephone bell echoed clearly back across the wire.

It stopped.

“Bristow,” Bristow said.

“Bill,” said Mannering, “you were magnificent this afternoon.”

Bristow chuckled.

“I felt pretty good,” he said. “And everything went off perfectly. Your Aristide Smith and his friends are all charged with robbery, and we’ve picked up the elusive Mr. James Smith – it seems he’s Aristide’s brother – and charged him with the murder of Miss Kitt. After running the girl down he panicked and left his car with Miss Devon – damned sharp of you to recognise that M.G., John. It’s the one that Bruce Danizon used when he was watching my flat, by the way – just to make things even more confusing. Never mind, we seem to have got it all sorted out at last. And we’ll get a lot more sorted out, too. Yenn swears he wasn’t involved, but it’s pretty obvious that both he and Aristide know a hell of a lot more than they say – and they’ll admit it in the end. Yenn’s already admitted that his tape-recording was a frame-up. Incidentally, two of the parents have now told us that they were blackmailed into silence because their own children were involved. It’s nearly over, John.”

“And you’ll go out in a blaze of glory,” Mannering observed.

“I suppose I will, in a way,” agreed Bristow, and for the first time he sounded rueful. “I don’t know that I’m going to like it, though. Neither my wife nor I really want to leave London, as I told you. We’re used to it, and it suits us.” When Mannering didn’t answer, he went on: “I suppose I’ll settle for a security officer’s job in one of the big business corporations.”

“Bill,” Mannering said.

“Yes?”

“Josh Larraby is retiring.”

There was a pause.

“Do you see what I mean?” asked Mannering.

“Do you mean—you’re offering me the job?” Bristow’s voice sounded shrill in unbelief.

“I’m wondering if you would take it,” Mannering said.

“You mean—manager of Quinns?”

“Yes, Bill. Nothing would please me more.”

There was another pause, and then Bristow’s voice sounded, further away. He was saying: “He’s—he’s offering me the management of Quinns. I can’t—I can’t believe—” After a moment or two his voice grew louder. “John.”

“Yes?”

“You—you wouldn’t like to sleep on the offer?”

“No, Bill,” Mannering said. “The job is yours if you’d like it.”

“If I’d like it!” Bristow said, chokily. “It’s—it’s—John. John, I—er—I’d like to ring off. I’ll call you back. I—er— I’ve got something in my throat. I won’t—I won’t be long.”

Lorna looked anxiously at Mannering as he put down the receiver.

“Didn’t he like the idea?”

“Oh, he liked it,” Mannering said, smiling gently. “And he’s going to take it,” he said reassuringly. “He’s ringing back, but—he’s going to take it. Just at the moment he has a lump in his throat.”