Chapter Ten

RETURN VISIT

THE light went through the hole Mannering had cut, and the room beyond was illuminated for a second by a ghostly white glare, revealing the settees and easy chair, and the door, which was directly opposite the window. For that Mannering was thankful, but it was possible the driver could see the hole.

The car wheels crunched on the drive, came to a standstill outside. A door slammed. Light footsteps sounded, short and sharp, up the steps towards the porch.

‘Lady friend,’ murmured the Baron, and a picture of the brunette passed through his mind, to be broken by the sharp ringing of the front door bell. Silence followed, and from the front of the house a four-letter word, unpleasant on a woman’s lips. She rang again, and then a door banged inside. Mannering heard footsteps, through the open door of the lounge.

The open door.

If the caller was shown into that room the broken window would be seen at once, and the Baron’s position would be dangerous. But if it were not used he would have a chance of overhearing the greeting, if nothing more. Tensed and expectant he waited. He heard the pulling of bolts, the rattle of a chain, and then the woman’s voice.

‘Is Mr. Savoyan in?’

‘Yes, Miss.’ The speaker sounded sleepy, footsteps came, muffled by a carpet. ‘He is in his study, I will tell him you have called.’

‘Tell him nothing,’ snapped the woman, and Mannering caught the angry inflection in her voice. ‘I’ll go straight up.’

‘But, Miss …’

‘Shut up, Parker!’

‘Very good, Miss.’

The sharp footsteps echoed again, and then heavier ones, along the passage. Mannering’s heart jumped when, accustomed to the gloom now, he saw the lounge door move. It closed with a slam: Parker had noticed it was open.

Mannering, holding the wire-cutters, shone his torch to see the position of the wire correctly. Moving gently so that he did not shake the wire, he cut it, and the ends dropped down with a slight clatter against the window.

He satisfied himself that there was no other wire, and then pulled back the catch of the window. For a moment he waited, but the only sound was the hum of a car several streets away.

He pushed the window up, heedless of the sharp squeal, and then waited again.

No one appeared to have heard him.

The carpet on the floor of the lounge muffled the sound of his footsteps, and he crept across the room. Before he turned the handle of the door he listened for any sound from the hall but heard nothing. When he pulled the door open, a filter of light shone through, and for some seconds he was on tenterhooks lest Parker had waited in the hall.

The man was not there.

Mannering went through, hesitating for a moment on the foot of the stairs. He slipped on his scarf, and made sure that the gas-pistol was handy. Dark against the light furnishing and papering of the hall, he went upwards.

He heard nothing, and there was no light on the landing of the first floor. Two passages ran from it, one wide and spacious, probably leading to the best bedrooms, the other to a second flight of stairs. The floor was carpeted, he made no sound as he walked along, ears alert for the slightest alarm.

From the second door he saw a pin-prick of light, coming from the keyhole, and as he neared it the murmur of voices came clearly. Predominant was a man’s. Now and again a woman spoke, but was shouted down.

Mannering approached as closely as he dared, and he caught a sentence from the man, heard the suave yet threatening voice with which it was uttered.

‘I’ve told you before, you must make him do it.’

‘But, Leo, he …’

‘There is no alternative,’ said Leo, and Mannering knew that it was Savoyan. ‘A mere boy who won’t fall for your seductive charms! I can’t believe that you have exerted them all.’

Who else could they be talking about but Gerald Collyn?

‘Go back, and don’t come here again,’ Savoyan ordered. ‘I have told you before about that.’

‘But he’s raging! I daren’t keep a servant in, and if I don’t let him go soon …’

‘If he doesn’t see reason soon, he is going to regret it. Or perhaps I should say his relatives are.’ There was a menace in Savoyan’s words, and they were followed by a silence broken by the sharp creak of a chair. ‘Telephone me in an hour,’ he added.

The woman did not answer, and Mannering heard her close the door.

He moved towards the landing, reached it, and stood pressed against the wall, waiting for her to come. He knew that they had been discussing Collyn, that he was alive and at her home.

Her sharp footfalls drew near, after the door closed.

If she looked to the right she would see the Baron, and he had the gas-pistol in his hand, ready for immediate action. But the passage led directly to the stairs, and she was staring ahead of her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes angry. She was of medium height, and walked with an exaggerated sway that was natural, or habitual, for she was affecting nothing then; she was too angry.

It was the brunette; he saw her attractive, angry profile.

She went downstairs, and Mannering watched as the small hat perched on the side of her head disappeared. As she reached the hall he heard Parker’s voice: either Parker had guessed the time she would be down or Savoyan had rung for him.

‘Good night, Miss.’

The woman said nothing, the door closed, the chain rattled, and bolts were pushed home. Mannering stepped out of his cover towards the wide passage, and tried the handle of the first door, which yielded. It was dark inside, and he did not push the door right to as Parker came upstairs. The hesitant footsteps of the servant suggested weariness, and Mannering did not think Parker would be awake for long.

A door closed, on the floor above.

Mannering pressed the switch of his torch, and the thin pencil of light shone on the carpet of a bedroom. He went towards the wall separating him from Savoyan and as the light moved slowly along it he saw a communicating door. Savoyan’s bedroom and study were adjacent.

He went to the passage door, took out the key and slipped it into his pocket. Then he examined the communicating door more closely, seeing the comparatively simple lock, even if the key was turned he would have no trouble in getting into the study. He hesitated, wondering whether it was wiser to wait until Savoyan came to bed, and then decided that the quicker he acted the better. All the time the fate of young Collyn was in the balance.

He turned the handle of the communicating door, and pushed.

It made no sound, and a streamer of light came through. There was a gap just wide enough for him to see into the study, and he drew a short breath of relief when he saw that Savoyan’s back was turned towards him. Against the wall opposite him was an open safe.

Savoyan was leaning over something he held in both hands, and he seemed intent on his inspection. The Baron widened the gap, and slipped into the study. It was a large room, well lit from concealed wall lights, the furniture was ultra modern. On the steel desk at which Savoyan was sitting was a table lamp, small and of a brilliance that told the Baron it was there for the scrutiny of precious stones. As he drew nearer, approaching the unsuspecting man from the right, he saw that Savoyan had a watch-maker’s lens screwed into his right eye. And he saw the slender fingers playing with a necklace, the diamonds of which sparkled and scintillated.

The Chentz diamonds!

The Baron stood two yards from Savoyan, slightly behind him, and held his gas-pistol in sight. Only Savoyan’s breathing broke the silence, with the occasional sound as diamond touched diamond.

‘Well, Mr. Savoyan,’ said the Baron.

Those softly spoken words dropped into the silence seemed to hum about the room. As they came Savoyan swung round in his chair, the lens dropping from his eye, the necklace falling to the white blotting pad on the desk. The Baron saw that lean, handsome face, with the fine brown eyes filled just then with fear, and saw the thin, vicious mouth.

Both arms lifted, his body twisted, Savoyan gaped at the apparition in front of him. Mannering could understand the sight of the shock – of the Baron facing his impersonator. He missed nothing of the expression in the other’s eyes, nor of the make-up of the face; the high, intelligent forehead, the sensitive nose, the lantern jaw.

‘What—what …’ Savoyan started to speak, stopped, and stared again, aghast.

‘Haven’t you heard of me?’ asked the Baron gently.

‘I—who—I—who are you?’

After the first stupefaction, Savoyan started to move his hands, the right towards his pocket, the left towards a bell-push on his desk. At the Baron’s question he stopped, and his breathing came heavily.

‘Don’t you know?’

‘The—the Baron?’

‘A highly original comment,’ murmured the Baron. ‘Others have said the same. That looks a nice piece of glass you’ve got there. What is it?’

‘I—you mustn’t take it! It’s not mine!’

‘No?’ There was mockery in Mannering’s voice. ‘I hope you haven’t been guilty of theft, Savoyan, that would be deplorable. May I?’ He stretched out his left hand for the necklace, and Savoyan handed it to him with shaking fingers.

‘Thanks.’ Mannering dropped the diamonds into his pocket without looking at them, stepped forward, and sat on the edge of the desk. Savoyan’s breathing was easier, and the expression in his eyes suggested that the attack would not be long in coming. ‘Now I think we’ll see what else you’ve got.’

‘I haven’t anything else worth seeing!’

‘No? I wonder. Step over to the safe and empty it.’ Savoyan’s eyes narrowed, and he pushed his chair back. The Baron was waiting for the attempt, saw the way the other’s knuckles whitened, and anticipated the leap that Savoyan made at him. He slipped from the desk, and as Savoyan was carried past him with the impetus of his leap he brought his left fist round, catching the man behind the ear.

Propelled by the blow and his own rush, Savoyan went flying to the floor; there was a heavy thud and a rumble of furniture as he met it. He cried out, but the shout was stifled by the thick pile rug.

Mannering returned to the desk as Savoyan sat up and scrambled to his feet. The brown eyes, much darker than Mannering’s, showed anger mingled with fear.

‘Next time I shall hurt you,’ said the Baron. ‘Go and take everything out of the safe.’

Savoyan’s feet dragged as he went to the wall, pulled the door of the safe wider open, and thrust his hand inside for the contents. Before the attack the Baron had wondered whether there was a gun inside, but Savoyan would have bided his time had he known of a chance of getting a weapon. He drew out two small jewel-cases, a wad of bank notes, and several small trinkets; but Mannering saw the paper inside the safe.

‘Everything, I said.’

Savoyan’s lips twitched, but he tried again, bringing a notebook and two loose pieces of paper.

‘On the desk.’

Savoyan obeyed and stood looking at the Baron, his eyes showing his puzzlement.

‘Open the cases.’

‘I—I’ll have to get the keys from my pocket.’

‘That’s all right with me,’ said Mannering, moving from the desk.

‘Turn round.’

‘What …’

‘Turn round!’

The other obeyed. Mannering leaned forward, and patted his right coat pocket. He felt the hard lump, and drew out a .32 Webley automatic. He slipped it into his own pocket, patted the rest of Savoyan’s coat and satisfied himself there were no more weapons, and drew back.

‘Proceed,’ he said.

Savoyan pulled a key-case out, selected a small key, and unlocked the clasps of the cases. In one, the lustre of a small pearl necklace shone; in the other were pearl ear-rings and pendants. Mannering nodded, saw the other trinkets, and said:

‘Push them all towards me, the keys included.’

‘Listen, whoever you are …’

‘Time to talk later. Move!’

Savoyan obeyed. The notebook, keys, and loose pages he kept near him, until the Baron pointed towards them; and it was the notebook that Mannering picked up first. Studying Savoyan, he believed that the book was more important to the man than the jewels; that suggested it would be more important to the Baron. The loose sheets, he saw at a quick glance, contained names and addresses – two on each.

He pocketed them all, while Savoyan’s fingers worked, his eyes seemed to burn. Mannering laughed lightly.

‘Now’s the time for talking. You can sit down by the wall. Back towards the wall all the time – that’s right.’ Only his eyes showed the satisfaction he was feeling as he sat in the chair at the desk, took Savoyan’s automatic out, and rested it near his hand. Savoyan made a show of courage, and took out a cigarette-case. Mannering let him light a cigarette, was prepared for the case to come hurtling towards him.

‘Who was the girlfriend?’ Mannering asked.

Savoyan’s lips opened, the cigarette dropped from them and rested between his vest and the starched shirt front.

‘Sweet Chloe,’ said Mannering. ‘Don’t burn yourself, you’ve lost enough tonight without having to buy a new shirt. Who was she?’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Now that Savoyan had taken himself under control his voice held a coarseness that Chloe Renkle had heard several times.

‘I’m the Baron, didn’t you know?’

‘I know, but …’

‘On what might be termed an errand of vengeance,’ said Mannering gently. ‘I have been cleverly impersonated for too long. Who was the woman?’

‘A friend of mine.’ Savoyan’s hps were trembling.

‘I’d gathered that. Not that you appeared to be on friendly terms, but between thieves …’

‘Thieves! I like that, you …’

‘No bad language,’ implored the Baron, and he saw the other’s lips twitch and believed Savoyan was near a state of panic. ‘She seemed to think you were expecting too much of her, and I’m not sure she was wrong. From what I know of Gerry Collyn he’s a resourceful young man who might prove even more awkward than you expect.’ His eyes were mocking Savoyan, and the other seemed unable to force his gaze away. ‘Chloe’s other name, now,’ demanded Mannering.

‘Ren—Renkle.’

‘And her address?’

‘I’ll pay you …’

‘Oh, no,’ said the Baron, and for the first time his voice sounded angry. ‘This isn’t a moment for bargaining, and I don’t want to come in on a profit-sharing basis. Her address?’Savoyan put up less of a fight than he expected, giving the address without further argument, while his lips and hands trembled.

‘That’s better,’ Mannering said. ‘I’ll go over and see her soon and hear what young Collyn has to say. I don’t doubt it will be interesting to the police.’

‘The—police! You daren’t …’

‘They’ll be delighted to find you here with stolen jewels in your possession, and won’t ask too many questions. When they find you saying that the Baron came here – well, they’ll see the funny side. However, there is a chance for you.’

Savoyan was looking like a man who knew he could not escape the police, a man dreadfully afraid. Puzzled, he said more sharply: ‘You don’t work alone. I want the names of the others. Who are they?’

‘I—don’t know.’

‘No?’ murmured the Baron, a note of menace in his voice. ‘Perhaps I can jog your memory a little by mentioning Corbertes? Or Rentu?’

Savoyan stared as though he could not believe his ears. Mannering could see horror reflected in his smouldering eyes. For a few seconds there was a silence intensified by the ticking of a small clock and by Savoyan’s heavy breathing.

‘You—you know them?’ he gasped.

‘I’ve been making enquiries both sides of the Channel,’ Mannering said. ‘And I’ve reason to believe that you, Rentu, and Corbertes are only the operatives of the little organisation aiming to profit from the Baron’s reputation. Isn’t that so, Cartier?’

‘Oh, my God!’ Savoyan was sweating, his foot trembled so that it tapped irritatingly against the tubular steel of his chair. His lips gaped, and Mannering knew that he was facing a man on the point of collapse. Because of it he felt exuberant, and yet from Savoyan’s manner he was sure that he was right, that this man and Corbertes were operatives, and there were others more important to be found. He was about to enlarge on it when the interruption came.

The telephone bell rang harshly, and both men looked towards the desk.