Chapter Eighteen

LOOSE ENDS

MANNERING had telephoned Bristow from the first call-box – two miles from the Hall. As he drove along the London Road he pondered over the adventures of the night. He had taken all the tricks but the last and most important one, and by his escape with Collyn he had halved the loss. Perhaps more than halved, for he needed no telling that there would be a fast and disorderly flight from Welling Hall.

In his pockets were three articles of importance: the notebook so similar to that of Savoyan’s, the ‘second’ string of the Chentz diamonds, and Hawley’s automatic. In addition, he had several sets of keys.

Collyn had been too exhausted to speak for the first fifteen minutes after the rush from the Hall. Not until they were running through the dark streets of Reading did he break the silence. Then it was in a weary voice, holding a note of helplessness and exhaustion.

‘Well, what are we going to do now?’

‘You can answer my questions, Collyn, but let’s settle our relationship first. I’ve no desire to get in touch with the police about you, Hawley, or anyone. But since the theft at James Street that night you’ll understand why I was alarmed.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Collyn.

‘I found Savoyan, who burgled the house. Through others I discovered what they were planning with your son, and through a friend of a friend I found that you had more worry than the actual loss could be expected to cause. So when I found you at Welling Hall I wondered why. I hope you’ll tell me.’

Collyn’s voice held a steadier note.

‘Who are you?’

‘Forget that,’ said Mannering. ‘Before you start I’ll tell you that I know there are two sets of diamonds, both reputedly the Chentz string.’

Collyn started so violently that he banged against Mannering’s side and knocked his fingers from the steering-wheel. The car swerved towards the crown of the road. Mannering straightened the wheel quickly, preventing a skid.

‘Steady,’ he protested. ‘Well, what’s the story of the two necklaces?’

He heard Collyn’s sharp intake of breath, sensed the tautness of the man’s nerves. Collyn spoke slowly at first, but after the first admission, he gained confidence. As the car hummed steadily towards London, through the pitch darkness of the May night with the headlights making ghostly shapes of wayside cottages and tall trees, with telephone wires shining like silver threads against the sky, Collyn spoke.

‘One—one set was paste. A replica necklace, beautifully done, and yet almost valueless. The original stones were—were my wife’s.’

‘I see,’ said Mannering.

‘And held in trust for Brenda. A family heirloom, not a Collyn piece but my wife’s family’s, the Rogersons. It was a dreadful business! Everything went wrong. You may be aware how the Young Loan slumped. I suffered steady losses of all my holdings, nothing at all would do right. Two years ago I had the offer of a position on the Empire Insurance Board, I needed the salary, and I took it, later accepting the Managing Directorship, worth another two thousand a year. But – oh, you won’t understand – my life is inseparable from my horses. I had to sell one of my favourite three-year-olds, and reduce staff at the stables. One by one I took the horses out of training, ostensibly to rest them, actually to save every penny I could. Oh, I put up a big bluff,’ Collyn went on bitterly. ‘I don’t think anyone suspected the truth. But six months ago it meant selling practically all my stock, publicly admitting I could no longer afford to run the colours, or—finding thirty thousand pounds in a hurry.’

‘Yes.’ Mannering could understand the shattering blow that would have been to a man who had spent his life for his stables, whose colours were famous on every race-track in England.

‘I’d sold everything, or mortgaged it,’ Collyn went on, ‘except my wife’s jewels; and Brenda’s. I made an arrangement to sell the Chentz diamonds – oh, I know it was crazy, they weren’t mine to sell, but it was a friendly arrangement with a dealer from whom I’d bought a great deal of stuff in better days. He undertook to keep them for twelve months and to give an opportunity of buying them back at the original price, with a small interest. Everything was arranged secretly, and I hoped that my holdings would appreciate as things grew better in the foreign markets. I believe they will; but two things happened to drive me nearly mad. I’m not sure they won’t!’

‘Nothing’s as black as it might be,’ Mannering said. ‘What were the two disasters? The theft of the paste string was one, but the other …’

‘Harrison, the dealer, died. Ours was a private arrangement, and he had kept the jewels at his home. He died only a week ago, you may remember. I’ve been living in fear that the necklace would be found and the story come out. That seemed inevitable when the paste ones were lost. Well …’ He drew a deep breath. ‘That’s what happened. When my wife learns of it, I …’ He broke off, to go on dully: ‘They weren’t mine to sell. She won’t take action, of course, it’ll be a blow to her, but the Rogerson family executors will have to be satisfied. Can’t you see how desperate the situation is? And then to top it, Gerry is involved.’

He broke off again, and when Mannering glanced at him he saw his desperation. He was tempted to take the diamonds from his pocket and hand them to Collyn then.

‘I’ve good reason to believe that Harrison was robbed of the string before he died,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘By Savoyan and Hawley,’ went on the Baron.

‘They’ve been stolen? But, good God! I’ll never have a chance.’

‘They were at the house, tonight. I took them, you’re sitting within a foot of them, Collyn. Now, take it easy.’

But Collyn slumped down, and the Baron pulled up with an unconscious man beside him.

Brenda Collyn wished the police would come, and get the ordeal over.

Since Mannering had talked with her she had seen the impossibility of avoiding an interview, and with every minute she felt her resistance ebbing. One moment she was determined to say only what Mannering advised, the next she imagined the harsh, insistent questions of the police, doubted her powers of resistance.

Her father had not returned; since twelve o’clock, when she had gone to her room, she had been on her bed, fully dressed, with her door open in the hope of catching a sound. None came. A chiming clock downstairs struck the hours and half-hours monotonously, maddeningly.

One—two—three—four—five.

The first grey light of dawn was coming through the uncovered windows of her room. Wearily she climbed off the bed, stepped to the window, and stared out to the impassive bricks of the house next door. From the street came the clatter of milk bottles, the heavy stamp of the milkman’s feet. Somewhere near by an alarm clock went off, sharp and insistent. She sighed, pulled a chair to the window, and sat down. The cool morning air was refreshing, and then sleep claimed her.

Out of the depths of it she felt a hand shaking her shoulder. She opened heavy-lidded eyes, stared uncomprehendingly at the manservant bending over her.

‘Wake up, Miss Brenda. Please wake up!’

‘I—what is it, Parker?’

‘The telephone, Miss. Master Gerald …’

Sleep and weariness disappeared like a cloud in a high wind. Before Parker had moved his hand she was up, hurrying to the door. The nearest extension of the telephone was in her father’s room, and she thrust the door open, leapt to the table next to the bed, and lifted the receiver.

‘Gerry, what is it?’ She was frantic.

Then her body sagged, for the voice wasn’t Gerry’s. It was a slow voice and the man spoke broken English, although each word was easily understandable.

‘Zat eees Miss Collyn?’

‘Yes. Who …’

‘A moment please. I speak for your brother. He wishes badly to speak to you.’

‘Yes, yes! But where?’

‘At nine o’clock, please, at Hyde Park Corner. Inside the Park.’

‘But why doesn’t he come here?’

‘Please. I give only what he say.’

It was useless to rant at the man, and she felt a surge of relief at the possibility of seeing Gerry. Hyde Park Corner was surely a meeting-place where nothing could go wrong.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there.’

‘He ask you to bring the car, please.’

‘Very well.’ She replaced the receiver sharply, turned and saw Parker’s pale, anxious face close to hers. The possibility that he would suspect her fears for Gerry frightened her. ‘All right, Parker. I shall be meeting Master Gerald – what time is it?’

‘Half past eight, Miss.’

‘Then I’ve time for some tea. If his lordship comes back while I’m out, tell him I’ve gone to see Gerald. Don’t stand there gaping man, hurry!’

At eight-forty-five Brenda was getting her small Singer out of the garage. At two minutes to nine she pulled up alongside the railings of Hyde Park, her eyes searching the crowd feverishly for a sign of Gerry. So intent was she on the search that she did not see the man who walked from the railing towards the Singer. He was a short, thin-faced man whose swarthy skin was full of pock-marks, and whose narrowed eyes held all the cunning of a French apache.

‘Miss Collyn?’ asked Corbertes gently.

Brenda swung round, saw the man opening the door and slipping next to her. Before she could speak he had closed the door, and she saw what glinted in his right hand. Alarm seared through her, her lips parted.

‘I am most despairate,’ said Corbertes. ‘Please to understand. You will drive to Putney, if you please.’

‘I assure you,’ Lord Collyn told Mannering breathlessly, ‘that the man Hawley telephoned me to go to Welling Hall to see Gerald. He mentioned the Chentz diamonds, too; I imagined that Gerry had learned what I had done with them and, under pressure, talked about it. What else could have happened? But Hawley refused to talk when I got there, said that he wanted me to stay until the next day, when Gerry would come, and—and when I grew angry he forced a drink on me. It must have been drugged. I don’t remember anything more until I saw you.’

‘So all we want now is Gerry,’ said Mannering.

‘Yes – I don’t know how to thank you. Coming from you it’s incredible …’ As though to reassure himself Collyn touched the case in his pocket, where the Chentz diamonds were resting – a gift, as Mannering had said sardonically, from the Baron. ‘And now that Hawley can’t force me into anything, I feel better about my son. They can’t do him any injury, they could only be planning to use him as a lever against me. Couldn’t they?’

There was entreaty in his voice, and Mannering said: ‘Yes,’ although he felt more afraid for young Collyn than for himself. Corbertes would not take the reverses well, he might kill for the sake of killing.

‘As a matter of fact a friend of mine – named Mannering – is looking for Gerry, there may be news when I get back.’ The peer drew a deep breath as the Baron slowed down at one end of James Street, and extended his hand. ‘Baron or not, I’m very grateful.’

The Baron shook hands, smiled, and drove off, leaving Collyn standing and staring after him, and aware of the plain-clothes man who was looking curiously along the street. He knew by now that there was a detective there solely to report on visitors, and the peer had not been followed. At that angle the man could not have seen the number of the small car, nor had a good impression of the driver.

Thoughtfully Mannering drove towards Kensington. He pulled up outside a small hotel in a street off the Bayswater Road. He did not feel alarmed at the possibility of his disguise being penetrated, for he looked fresher-faced and apparently thinner than ‘Mellor’.

He arranged for a room quickly and without trouble, asking for breakfast in half an hour, and was shown to his room by a red-haired lift-boy. As soon as the door had closed he lifted the telephone and dialled Toby Plender’s flat.

Mary answered him, and sounded puzzled.

‘Yes, he’s in. Who is that?’

‘It’s a business call,’ said the Baron.

‘Yes, but—oh, very well.’

She must have recognised his voice, but he had not wanted to talk with Mary, for he fancied that Plender would have told her the astonishing story of the episode at Great Marlborough Street.

Plender came on the other end.

‘So it is you! Why you damned idiot …’

‘Listen, Toby,’ Mannering said urgently. ‘I’m in a spot. I’ll need your help …’

‘I’ll say you’re in a spot!’ exclaimed Plender. ‘What are you aiming at? Suicide? Do you know they’re looking for you about the Savoyan murder? Do you know that Lorna’s been almost frantic because you haven’t been in touch with her? What is this, a new game? I’ll stand for a lot, but if you start playing the fool with Lorna …’

As out of a mist, Mannering said: ‘Lorna has?’

‘She tells me there was some damn-fool argument and you went off in a huff. She is almost out of her mind.’

Mannering said: ‘Toby, tell her I’ll be through as soon as I can, but …’ He forced himself back to the immediate problem with difficulty. ‘The Savoyan business. What gun was he shot with, do you know?’

‘Yes, a Colt point-twenty-two.’

‘I’ve found a Colt point-twenty-two,’ said Mannering. ‘It may be the one Bristow wants. Has he been to see you about the case?’

‘I went to see him when I saw they were after the Baron.’

‘Is there anything to worry me?’

‘Not yet, unless they can get back to you through the Mellor angle.’

‘They can’t hold me as Mannering?’

‘Not unless they’ve got something more than they had last night.’

‘Find out and ring me here.’ Mannering gave the number and Plender promised to work quickly. As he replaced the receiver Mannering sat slowly on the bed and stared at the wall. Even while talking to Plender, Lorna’s face had been hovering in his mind’s eye.

He should have realised that directly there was the threat of real danger Lorna could forget their differences. But supposing he contacted her, supposing she joined forces while the threat was in the air, what would come afterwards?

Forsyth had been at Chelsea.

Mannering sat up sharply, and his expression hardened. For a moment he did not move, and then his lips curved, and he laughed, a deep laugh that held a serious note in it, a note almost of menace. He had been a blind fool in two respects. Two respects …

‘Well, well, well!’ exclaimed the Baron, and he bathed quickly without damaging his disguise, dressed, and went downstairs to breakfast, more cheerful than he had been for weeks.

Two hours later he walked rapidly along Brook Street, saw with interest the police-watchers near by, and laughed inwardly as one of them hurried away, intent on getting word through to the Yard quickly.

Plender had telephoned him an assurance that Ffoulkes had said there was no case against Mannering as matters stood – and Plender had wanted to know just what had happened the previous night. Bristow and Ffoulkes had suffered a mild reversal of feeling towards the Baron. Mannering consequently had made a packet of the .22 automatic and sent it by messenger to the Yard for Bristow’s attention, with a statement, written in pencilled block lettering, of the way it had been found.

Hawley’s prints would be on the gun – there were prints, Mannering had ascertained – and if Bristow found Hawley, the linkup with the Savoyan murder might well be established. The remaining anxiety was Gerry Collyn.

The harsh ringing of the telephone bell greeted him as he opened the door of his flat. When he lifted it he heard Lord Collyn’s frantic voice.