Chapter Fifteen

Police Pressure

Mannering felt as if the ground had given way beneath him.

He should have checked; should have found some way of avoiding this confrontation. He had taken it for granted that only the men in the street were watching; and if that had been so, he could have fooled them easily enough, by pretending that he had slipped in unobserved; for a dozen things could have distracted their attention. But up here nothing could.

He said: “I’ve been in since lunch.”

“You can’t have been, you—” The man broke off as if suddenly aware that he might be wrong.

“You know, both you and Mr. Gordon have developed a passion for calling me a liar,” he said. “I shouldn’t carry it too far.”

The man said stiffly: “I would like to know the exact time you came here, sir.”

“What is more important is that I have to be at Quinns in fifteen minutes,” Mannering said. He went to the lift half expecting to be stopped, but the other was not sure enough of himself. Mannering pressed the button and the doors opened at once. “Have the grace not to frighten the wits out of my wife,” he said coldly.

The doors closed behind him.

He was sweating when he reached the street, and the fresh air struck cold. He turned towards the Bristol, seeing the Yard men stare at him and hearing one mutter in a bewildered way: “But he didn’t go in!”

Mannering pretended not to hear.

He took the wheel of the Bristol and drove towards King’s Road, seeing the faces of two men in his driving mirror. He was over the shock now, but more worried than ever. Bristow under arrest and the police so suspicious of him that both Quinns and the flat were being watched closely: the police couldn’t concentrate much more if they had indisputable proof that he was guilty.

But they must have more than a suspicion about the missing silver.

He drove rather more slowly than usual, watching the policemen as he passed. Each one who saw him immediately spoke into his radio; so there was a general instruction out for him, and whenever he was seen a report was flashed to the Yard. These days it was easy to keep watch on a man without having to follow him.

He reached Quinns at twenty-past five, parked outside the shop, ignored the watching police, and raised a hand to Rupert, who was near the window. Rupert opened the door immediately and Mannering slipped quickly inside.

“Thank God you’re safe, sir!”

“Shouldn’t I be?” asked Mannering.

“The way the police have been behaving I expected them to arrest you too. Gordon was here half-an-hour ago and he insisted on searching the place to make sure you weren’t hiding – and he had a warrant.”

“Was he looking for anything else?” asked Mannering.

“Just you as far as I could judge. He didn’t open any drawers, anyhow. I had to let him look into the office.”

“Quite right,” Mannering said, and glanced round as Brian Wilberforce, the second of his assistants, came from the back of the shop. “I owe you two an explanation,” he went on.

“Nonsense,” interrupted Brian, unexpectedly.

“We’re with you,” said Rupert smilingly. “Right or wrong, sir!”

Mannering looked from one to the other, warming to them, and said very quietly: “Now that really does my heart good. But I don’t want you to end up where Mr. Bristow is.”

“Sir—” Brian began.

“If we needed anything to make us willing to snap our fingers at the police it was the way they behaved over Mr. Bristow,” said Rupert, with quiet emphasis. “I don’t think I would trust Gordon round the corner.”

Mannering found himself laughing.

“That’s a pretty sound policy! Now – three or four facts. An acquaintance of mine named Mayhew took Prince Hamid of Taria to your flat. He tells me it’s quite a flat! Hamid may be in danger from the police and is certainly in acute danger from some fellow Tarians.”

“Assassination?” breathed Rupert.

“Some could try. Hide him well. Your flat as such might not be a good place for long, the police may decide that you’re too loyal to me.”

“Don’t worry about the Prince,” said Brian with complete assurance. “There is always a floating population at the house, and we’ll see that he’s all right. He’s a Malay, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’d be easily absorbed in the background,” said Rupert. “Bunoventi houses the most heterogeneous collection of races you’ll ever run across. You can trust them absolutely to mind their own business. Does the Prince need any help, as distinct from protection?”

“He appears to be trying to locate a collection of treasures which have been smuggled out of his country over a period of years,” Mannering said. “He told Mayhew he had located some of them.” After a moment’s hesitation Mannering went on: “His father seems to want the treasures for himself, while the Prince plans to sell them and give the proceeds to a revolutionary group whose object is to overthrow the present regime.”

“Sounds like a great chap,” said Rupert.

“You want us to find out whether he’s telling the truth?” suggested Brian shrewdly.

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Rupert.

“Well, yes,” Mannering said. “I’ll give you a note telling him he can rely on you, and I’ll telephone and tell him the same thing. Report to me when you can, here or at my flat. Don’t let anyone know who Hamid is – but look after him.”

“You know,” remarked Rupert, after a few moments, “I find this quite exciting.”

Mannering was smiling somewhat grimly when, only ten minutes afterwards, the two young men went out. The watching police took no apparent notice of them, but were interested only in him and the Bristol. By now Gordon must surely have been told he was back, and if the Yard man had been so anxious to see him earlier, he was probably no less anxious now.

He could go and beard the lion in his den, or—

He saw the watching police stiffen, and then a dark-coloured Rover pulled up beyond the Bristol, the door opening before the car stopped. Chief Inspector Gordon had arrived. Gordon put a finger on the bell push and left it there. Mannering, neither hurrying nor dallying, reached and opened the door with great deliberation. Gordon thrust a foot into the opening.

Mannering said coldly: “What makes the situation so urgent, Chief Inspector?”

“I haven’t come to bandy words,” Gordon said, his voice thick with anger. “I want to know where Prince Hamid of Taria is, and I want to know now.”

Mannering could not recall a time when he had come up against the unexpected and the damaging so often. He did not seem to be able to move without running into danger; and nothing had been more acute than the danger inherent in Gordon’s question. He simply did not know how to answer.

“I want to know where Prince Hamid of Taria is, and I want to know now.”

Mannering could be evasive; but Gordon was behaving too ruthlessly for evasion to be effective. He could deny any knowledge, but Gordon seemed completely sure of himself.

He said, quietly: “What makes you think I know?”

“You know!”

Mannering hesitated, and then said quietly: “Yes, I know.”

“You admit it!” Gordon almost screamed.

“Chief Inspector,” Mannering said. “I don’t know what’s got under your skin in this affair but I do know you’re asking for trouble.”

“Where is he?”

“Why do you want him?”

“That is none of your business. Where is he?” “He came to me for help because he thought he was in danger of being assassinated and he didn’t think the police could help him,” said Mannering. “I’ve helped him, and he is now in a place of safety.”

“You can’t refuse to tell me where he is.”

“Has he committed any crime?” Mannering demanded sharply. “Never mind, we want—”

“Is there a warrant out for his arrest?” When Gordon didn’t answer, Mannering swung further into the attack: “Is there? If not, what do you want him for?”

“He has been abducted!”

“Who says so?”

“I won’t bandy words. Either you tell me where he is or I shall charge you with abducting him.”

“And when was this interesting event supposed to take place?” Mannering asked.

“This afternoon.”

“I was in my apartment and your own officers can prove it.”

“You must have been a party to—” began Gordon.

“Chief Inspector,” Mannering said, mildly. “I can believe that His Highness escaped from the Consulate where he was being held prisoner, but he wasn’t kidnapped. Not this afternoon. Did Kam Kohari tell you he’d been kidnapped?”

“That doesn’t matter. He is missing.”

“He is hiding from Kam Kohari,” Mannering said, “and I don’t blame him.”

“Mannering, are you or are you not going to tell me where to find His Highness Prince Hamid?”

“I am not,” Mannering said. “If I did he would be in even more danger, and I won’t risk it.”

“The police will protect him!”

“By taking him back to the Consulate?”

“He must go back! If he doesn’t, there will be an international incident. There could even be a revolution in Taria.”

“Ah,” Mannering said. “I never was a political animal, and I don’t propose to start being one now. I—” He broke off, as the telephone bell rang, glad of the interruption but immediately anxious to know who this caller was. He lifted the receiver and announced quietly: “John Mannering.”

“John.” It was Lorna, and his expression brightened because of it. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing but I do know that there seems to be a posse of policemen outside the flat door and a nearly-demented young woman inside. All she seems able to say is that she must see you, it’s a matter of life and death.”

“I’ll be there just as soon as I can,” Mannering said. “Certainly within the hour.” He watched Gordon as he replaced the receiver, saw the man’s eyes flash and his lips tighten into a thin line. Gordon came towards him with cat-like tread, as if getting ready to pounce.

Mannering had a flash thought: “He’s a sick man.”

Gordon stopped a yard away and demanded: “Who was that?”

“My wife,” Mannering said. “Apparently I’ve a visitor who—”

“What visitor?”

Mannering hesitated, watching the way the other’s face worked, the jaws actually moving, and seeing how he clenched and unclenched his hands. Now that the idea had come he felt quite sure he was right: Gordon was sick. Every time a question was evaded or he thought he had been told a lie, the strain on his nerves grew worse.

“I think, the girl from the Tarian Consulate,” Mannering said.

“You mean Rachel Guise?”

So he even knew her name: how much more did he and the police know about Taria and what had been happening between the Consulate and Quinns?

“Yes,” Mannering said.

“If you tell her where the Prince is you will have signed his death warrant,” Gordon declared. “I don’t know what she’s told you and I don’t know what she’s told the Prince, but I do know she’s rumoured to have murdered the old Sultan – the boy’s father. And Hamid is the Sultan now – did you know you had been playing with the life of a reigning monarch? They’re waiting to acclaim him in Taria. There is a Royal Air Force plane waiting to fly him back to his country, and you, the great John Mannering”—how Gordon sneered the word ‘great’—“have hidden him away and refuse to say where he is. Now – tell me, Mannering. If you don’t I’ll put you on a charge just as I did Bristow.”

When Mannering did not answer he drew a deep breath and went on in a higher-pitched voice. “Do you think I liked doing that to Bristow? Take it from me I hated doing it, but I had to isolate you. You’ve been protected far too long. Now – where is the Prince of Taria. Tell me—now.”

Mannering shook his head very slowly.

“You’ve got to tell me!” Gordon cried.

“I’ll make a deal with you—” Mannering began.

“You’ll do what I say or you’ll come with me under charge.”

“I’m prepared to make a deal with you,” Mannering repeated quietly. “Show me the official bulletin about the old Sultan’s death and the fact that the people are waiting for the Prince in Taria, and I’ll go and see him and talk to him.”

“Oh, no,” Gordon said, shrilly. “That won’t work. You aren’t a king-maker yet, even in Taria.”

Mannering barked: “King-maker? Who suggested—”

“Mannering, you listen to me,” said Gordon, coming forward and pointing the forefinger of his right hand at Mannering. “I know all about you, I know about your past. I know Bristow couldn’t prove you were the Baron: but I can. I’ve been through your career with a fine-toothed comb. There was a time when I thought the past ought to be buried but not now. You’ve never stopped working as the Baron, you’ve got so clever in your estimation that you can’t be brought down.

“Well, you can.

“You made a mistake when you bought the Sultan’s treasures for a paltry sum and pretended it was all you could get from other buyers. You hid them away—”

“This is utter nonsense,” Mannering said, half-amused, half-horrified.

“Nonsense, is it?” demanded Gordon. “Well, your part in it certainly is. Dangerous nonsense. Now you plan to give the treasures back to the rebels in Taria and finance a revolution. Do you think I don’t know why you’ve hidden the Prince away? You want him missing until it’s too late for him to claim the throne. You’ve done a deal with the rebels. You keep the best items – the Tarian regalia and all the treasures of the Sultan’s household – and they get the power. Well – you can’t play fast and loose with the law. I want His Highness Prince Hamid now. If you don’t take me to him I shall charge you with conspiracy and theft and I’ll throw the book at you. Everything I can get my hands on, past and present. And that will be the end of Baron John Mannering, past, present and future.”