Chapter Six

ULTIMATUM

MANNERING and Bristow were equally aware of the crisis. Mannering was not only well-known and liked in the better London circles but could count on influential friends—Lord Fauntley in particular. The bitterness of knowing that an ultimatum had been delivered because of a robbery which he hadn’t committed had to be forced out of Mannering’s mind; he had to face the emergency.

On Bristow’s side was the knowledge of support from the Assistant Commissioner, and a certainty that Mannering had succeeded in getting away from his flat under the eyes of the police, and raiding Collyn’s house.

The Honourable Gerald Collyn was being helped into a coat. Momentarily it took the Baron’s mind off his own problem, and made him wonder why the brunette had set out to make the youth drunk.

‘Well,’ said Bristow impatiently.

‘I said where,’ murmured Mannering.

‘At Great Marlborough Street.’

‘And Miss Fauntley?’

‘I’m not taking any chances.’

Collyn and the others went past the waiting detectives and into a taxi.

‘Well, you’ve asked for trouble so often that I’m not sorry it’s come to a head,’ Mannering said. ‘I’ll come to Great Marlborough Street with you …’

‘You won’t have a chance not to.’

‘No. A pity. And of course Miss Fauntley …’

‘She’s on the way,’ Bristow told him, without emotion. ‘I sent for her from the Oxford Street entrance. Your flat is being searched now. So is her studio.’

‘Quite a coup de force,’ Mannering said, holding back his anger. ‘I want Mr. Plender, my solicitor, at once. If you’re wise you’ll send in your resignation. It’ll be forced on you anyhow,’ he added grimly, and there was an assurance in his manner that made Bristow feel uneasy.

‘Getting a solicitor won’t help you.’

‘Oh yes it will,’ said the Baron. ‘And don’t tell me that you haven’t made a charge, that you’re simply holding me on suspicion. I’ll have the Press so busy on this that you’ll hate newspapers. What are you waiting for now?’

‘If Miss Fauntley is implicated, you know what it will mean?’

Mannering stared: and then for the first time he understood the underlying motive of Bristow’s visit. He gave a mirthless smile, and something in his manner worried Bristow.

‘I see,’ said Mannering. ‘That’s why we had this little conversation here. Blackmail.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense!’

‘It’s what it amounts to. You think that I’ll admit the robbery and save Miss Fauntley from an ordeal. You’ve made the mistake that you’ve made a hundred times. I’ve not been near Collyn’s house.’

‘Let’s go,’ said Bristow impatiently.

The Baron’s chief worry as he climbed into a taxi with Bristow was the result of this affair if it did get into the Press. Provided Bristow admitted he had no evidence, he could create an uproar, but one thing would have been done irrevocably: he would be associated with the Baron even if only by a discredited policeman. The dangers which he had felt close by in the past week had enveloped him.

He had to fight.

Mr. Tobias Plender was one of the best-known lawyers in London, despite his youth as solicitors go, for he was thirty-nine. He and Mannering had been together at Eton and Balliol, and had mutual interests – shooting and cricket especially – nearly all their lives. Four years earlier, when the Baron had been born and when Mannering’s resources had been at a low ebb, there had been an estrangement which for a time had threatened that long friendship. Mannering had appeared to be going wild: Plender had deplored the squandering of a large fortune on gaming and the chorus, and he had tried to exert a steadying influence, until the legend of Lucky John Mannering began to spread. Then the world had believed that Mannering plunged heavily on the Stock Exchange, at Tattersalls, and at the tables, to come out on top every time.

What the world, and Plender in particular, would have said had it been known that Mannering’s winnings had been imaginary, that the growing bank balance had been due to his successful operations as the Baron, was best forgotten. Under that alibi of successful gaming Mannering had made riches, and Plender had no idea that his friend was suspected of being the Baron.

The solicitor was an inch shorter than Mannering, thinner by far, and round-shouldered. His pale face held an expression of perpetual enquiry, heightened by a large hooked nose and a Punch of a chin. He had a deep voice, the effect of which was often counteracted by his staccato manner of speech. His one habit, famous throughout the Inns and the Law Courts, was to place the palm of his right hand over the bald patch on the top of his head: what hair he had was mousy.

He looked from Mannering to Bristow, Bristow to Detective Sergeant Tring, a gangling, melancholy man who always worked with Bristow and was reputed to be the most thorough and efficient searcher at the Yard, then back to Mannering.

‘Good God!’ he said. ‘Bristow, you must be mad.’

Bristow took exception to that even from a privileged person.

‘All right,’ agreed Plender with a quick smile which moved the whole of his lower jaw. ‘Unfortunately, it’s a serious mistake. You admit there is no trace of the Chentz diamonds at Mr. Mannering’s flat or at the Chelsea studio?’

‘I’ve already said so,’ growled Bristow.

Plender lifted white hands expressively.

‘No evidence that Mr. Mannering was out of his flat, or in the neighbourhood of James Street?’

‘No, but …’

‘On the face of it,’ said Plender, ‘Mr. Mannering and Miss Fauntley have an excellent case for official complaint. On the other hand, you are not one to make mistakes of that nature deliberately. The result would depend on the evidence of justification.’

‘There isn’t any justification,’ said Mannering.

The only change in the situation gave him a negative advantage: Bristow was worried. Confident that Mannering could not have disposed of the diamonds, sure that he had stolen them, he had applied for the search warrants. Now his one consolation was that he had acted with the full approval of the Assistant Commissioner.

Bristow drew a sharp, angry breath.

‘There was all the justification needed. You’ve managed to get rid of these diamonds.’

‘It’s a phobia,’ Mannering said to Plender, shrugging helplessly. ‘The suspicion rests on the fact that I’ve been nearby when the Baron has been active in the past, and Bristow has developed a theory. God knows how he persuaded Lynch and Ffoulkes that there was something in it, but he did. They’ve pestered me for years.’

‘Years?’ Even Plender was startled.

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll take action?’ asked Plender thoughtfully.

‘What would you like me to do? Apologise for not having the diamonds?’ Deliberately Mannering created the impression that he was in a foul temper, but in fact he was calmer than he had been since Bristow’s visit to the club. He had to throw a scare into Bristow, making the police tread more warily. He had them in an untenable position, he meant to drive the fact home to the fullest advantage, and in his tactics there was a clear understanding of the Yard’s predicament.

‘What about you, Bristow?’ Plender turned his inquisitive eyes on the Inspector. ‘Do you want to press a charge?’

‘I can’t,’ Bristow snapped. ‘You know that.’

Plender turned to Mannering.

‘Don’t you think, John, that an apology from the police—’

‘There is a principle at stake, and there is Lorna to be considered, as well as Lord Fauntley. It is a mockery of justice that Bristow or anyone official can act as he has done, and I’ll make him realise it.’

Plender’s palm beat a tattoo on his bald patch.

‘Supposing we have Ffoulkes here, or we go to him? I take it, Chief Inspector, that the Press knows nothing yet?’

‘He’d be too careful about that,’ said Mannering.

‘They don’t,’ admitted Bristow. ‘There weren’t any Pressmen in the foyer when I brought Mannering away.’

‘Will you talk to Ffoulkes, John?’ Plender asked.

Mannering looked at Bristow, and although the Inspector returned his gaze steadily there was apprehension in his grey eyes. Mannering felt sorry for him, although he spoke with reluctance.

‘If Ffoulkes cares to come to the flat I’ll see what he has to say. But it’s outrageous. It was a blind guess out of prejudice—’

‘We aren’t naming horses,’ protested Plender. ‘I’ll go and see Sir David. Where’s Miss Fauntley?’

‘In a cab outside,’ said Bristow unhappily.

As Mannering went out with Plender, Bristow recalled that when the robberies had first started he had opposed the idea that Mannering – or the Baron – was guilty of them. The disappearance of the Chentz diamonds had made him change his mind; he had seldom regretted a decision more.

Outside the station, by Lorna’s waiting taxi – Lorna sat back in the shadows – Plender stopped, and eyed Mannering steadily.

‘Was it you?’ His tone had hardened, and Mannering sensed the suspicion in the other’s mind.

‘What, you too?’

‘Was it you?’ persisted Plender, his chin more Punch-like than ever.

‘It was not,’ answered Mannering.

Plender seemed satisfied. He broke into a wide grin, gripped Mannering’s arm, and lifted a hand to a driver of a passing cab.

‘Right! I’ll go along to Ffoulkes.’

In the other cab Lorna’s eyes seemed more troubled because of the dim light from the street lamps. She gripped Mannering’s hand as he stepped in, but said nothing. Mannering opened the glass partition, told the driver to go to Brook Street, and closed it again. As she looked at him she saw the gallivanting smile on his strong face, the gleam in his eyes.

‘It’s working our way,’ he said.

‘You’re sure?’

‘As sure as we’re going to forget it for five minutes,’ said Mannering.

Sir David Ffoulkes looked sombrely from Mannering to Plender, missing Lorna, who was sitting in an easy chair farther away from him than either of the men.

‘Mannering has probably convinced you,’ he said. ‘But I know that he is the Baron. In the past week the Baron has committed seven very grave crimes. Bristow was perfectly right, and I personally approved the warrants.’

Plender’s palm and bald patch connected.

‘But, my dear chap, what is the use of saying you know it if you can’t take the case to court? Mannering and Miss Fauntley have a good case for wrongful detention. Mannering has an alibi provided by your own men!’

‘He’s avoided them before.’

‘Oh, nonsense!’ exclaimed Plender. ‘If you let Mannering bring his case it will do you infinitely more harm than it can do him. Do you know what a laughing stock is?’

‘If he brings a case it will ruin him.’

‘Exactly what are you driving at,’ interpolated Mannering. ‘It isn’t a question of a genuine mistake. It is a wilful attempt to malign my character and that of Miss Fauntley, but it would only be successful if I were the Baron. I am not. At last I’ve a chance of discrediting the police. Ffoulkes thinks that I’m too anxious to keep out of the headlines, and that I’ll give way. He is wrong.’

For the first time in half an hour Ffoulkes seemed perturbed.

‘You are the Baron. Miss Fauntley is well aware of it. Any court case would ruin you.’

‘I know that the police have suspected him,’ said Lorna gently, ‘but I’ve never seen any reason for it. Isn’t this perilously like persecution, Toby?’

‘Perilously like,’ agreed Plender, pushing out his jaw. ‘But as I see it, a case will do no one any good. It will start a scandal about you, John, even if you were vindicated. And that would go hard with the Yard, David. Be sensible. Apologise.’

‘He would have to do more than apologise,’ said Mannering softly. ‘He will have to undertake to stop this kind of persecution. For the past week I haven’t been able to move without a policeman cn my heels. Three times the Baron has been active out of London, while I’ve been followed by the police.’

Ffoulkes tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, and Mannering could imagine his feelings. The weight of circumstances was heavily against him. That quick coup, calculated to get at the Baron before he could possibly dispose of the stolen gems, had failed. It was a dilemma that could only end one way, a triumph for the Baron and a breathing space. Mannering’s heart was light with relief.

‘All right,’ Ffoulkes grunted. ‘What do you want me to do, Mannering? Go down on my knees?’

‘I think a letter of apology to Miss Fauntley and me would suit the case admirably,’ said Mannering gently. ‘And a withdrawal of your watchdogs.’

‘If I’ve reason to suspect you in future …’

‘Here and now I tell you that if I’m pestered with flat-foots in the near future I am going to raise the question of tonight’s outrage. The same applies to Miss Fauntley.’

“You’ll get your letter,’ said Ffoulkes. He did not shake hands with any of them, but went out of the flat amid a silence broken by the slamming of the door.

Mannering was smiling.

Lorna tried to keep a straight face, for Plender’s benefit, and the solicitor stood up, his large head jerked forward, his bright eyes moving from one to the other, and his hands deep in his pockets. He stepped forward so that he could eye them both at the same time, and said quietly: ‘How long have you been the Baron, John?’