Colonel George Belton Had offered his house to the Overndons for the wedding, and he had helped the Wagnalls to make a good job of it. The old place looked positively lively where, a few months before, it had been comparatively deserted. The servants, many imported for the occasion, were resplendent in livery, and they knew how to smile. To Mannering there seemed as many menservants as there were guests, and he knew that there were over a thousand guests.
It was what the Wagnalls called a “little” crowd, and what Marie Overndon termed “just a few of my closer friends.” It was a success. Every one seemed happy, no one was too hilarious, and the calmness of the bride, exquisite as only youth and Molyneux could make her, and very lovely in her own right, created admiration that few dared try to put into words. There were the usual speeches, the usual toasts, the usual jokes, and a refreshing contribution from Gerry Long, who, when called upon for his best-man’s oration, coloured furiously, cleared his throat, raised his glass, and said, “Here’s how!” Mannering warmed to Long; the man was completely unaffected.
The library had been given up to the gifts, and Mannering was more interested in it than in anything else.
He looked round it, soon after the bride and groom had left for Paris and thence to the South. The room was admirably situated, he knew. For one thing, there were no windows, but two glass skylights set slantwise in the ceiling afforded ample light.
There was only one door, which led into the hall, and that was guarded day and night by a regular plain-clothes man who had been pointed out to Mannering by Bristow, and a stocky little man, far too polite to be a guest, who was actually from Dorman’s Detective Agency.
There were other policemen in the house too, and a guard outside. The chances of a burglary were literally nil, but the possibility of an inside job was there, however, and no chances were being taken by the Wagnalls.
But Mannering had his plan worked out. He had examined the gifts thoroughly, and found that very few of them were practicable objects for a robbery. There were three things, however, which the Baron wanted, although he was going to be satisfied if he contrived to get one of them.
The Wagnall diamonds, a necklace of rare beauty, were a present from the groom’s father to the bride. In the open market they would have been worth thirty thousand pounds. In the Baron’s market they were worth about five or six thousand, and they were a prize worth gaining, although they would be difficult to sell.
The Wagnall necklace was placed in the centre of the long table and surrounded by other gifts, as though accepting their homage. At the far ends two other gifts of precious stones held places of honour. The Rennel sapphires – bought by Frank Wagnall for his wife from under the very purse of Lord Fauntley, who had been deliberating on their purchase for months – were the nearest the door, and therefore the most likely prize. At the other end was the pearl necklace that Lady Kenton had presented. Lady Kenton had taken the Wagnalls under her wing from their first day in London and she had been constrained to make an imposing show.
She had succeeded, for the pearls had been as much admired as any of the gifts, and she almost haunted the library to hear the world commend her.
When Mannering drifted in after the reception he found Lady Kenton with Gerry Long and two or three other acquaintances. The Dowager was exclaiming in delight at this gift and that gift but all she said led up to her pearls and she longed for comment. Gerry Long saw it, and obliged. Lady Kenton’s gratification was such that she voted the Americans the most courteous race on earth. Mannering looked at the pearls for three full minutes, and then said, in a voice of awe: “That is the most perfect graduation I’ve seen.”
Lady Kenton immediately relieved America of the crown of courtesy and gave it to England. Mannering and Long smiled at each other.
And then Lady Kenton took a step forward, intent on examining a pair of gold-backed brushes presented by a distinguished gentleman from America. She stubbed her foot against a table-leg or chair, or the carpet – she was never sure which - she was too startled - and after a single gasp she began to hop on one foot, pressing her lips together to prevent herself from crying out in pain.
Mannering and Long leapt to her rescue. Neither of them could explain afterwards how it happened, but Lady Kenton’s leg was swept from under her, and she went sprawling across the table. The cry she uttered brought the two detectives from outside flying into the room. Two men actually on the spot jumped up in alarm. Lady Kenton was still clawing at the table; Mannering and Long were doing their best to help and to restore her outraged dignity.
Twenty or thirty of the precious gifts to the now happily married couple were spread about the floor, and the table, so orderly a few minutes before, was in confusion. The plain-clothes men were completely bewildered. The little private detective from Dorman’s Agency was hopping from one foot to the other in an effort to count everything at once; but he failed, and Mannering was smiling contentedly to himself.
Lady Kenton had stumbled across the table some six inches away from the pearls she had presented to Marie.
It was the moment for which Mannering had been waiting. He had slipped them from the table and into his pocket while he had appeared to be concerning himself only with rescuing her. Not for a moment had the expression on his face altered. No one had seen him; no one would have guessed that in those few seconds the haul had been made. The ease of it almost made him laugh aloud.
The Dowager’s body had hidden the little manoeuvre from every one else in the room, and as at last he managed to steady her he felt like hugging her in sheer jubilation. Instead: “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I wouldn’t - ”
“It was as much my fault as yours,” protested Long.
Lady Kenton was firmly convinced that it had been neither of them. She was breathing rather heavily, and surveying the mess about her. The gold-backed hairbrushes were at her feet, next to a set of carvers and a cut-glass bowl, which, happily, was not damaged.
“I slipped,” she said, regaining her self-control and breathing more freely. “I really can’t have you taking the blame . . .”
Lorna Fauntley, one of many attracted by the Dowager’s cry of alarm, entered the room. A look from Mannering told her that he was anxious to get the Countess out of the way. Lorna managed it, without any fuss. The excitement waned when it was discovered that there had been a slight accident, and no burglary, so far as was known.
It was Mannering who made the suggestion to Bristow’s man.
“You’d better check the presents, and make sure everything’s here,” he suggested, and the man grimaced, but nodded in agreement.
“I don’t suppose anything will be missing, sir, but if anything does happen it’d be safest. There have been several people in and out.”
“That’s just it,” said Mannering. He offered the other a cigarette, and smiled to himself as his hand inside his pocket brushed against the pearls. “Do you need any help?”
The Yard man was beginning to wonder whether the other was not a colleague. Then he remembered Mannering’s reputation, and decided against it.
“No, thanks,” he said, refusing both the help and the cigarette; “we’ll manage all right. Be best to shut the room for half an hour, though. Would you mind.”
“I’ll see Colonel Belton,” promised Mannering.
The Colonel, a little worried at first, was so pleased at Mannering’s assurance that it was just a precautionary measure that he insisted on locking the door of the library himself. Mannering strolled with him towards the reception room. The gaiety of the earlier afternoon was dimming a little, although the younger spirits were still laughing and talking together. Lady Mary Overndon was yawning. The Wagnalls were thinking of getting away.
Frank Wagnall Senior, a tall, white-haired man who had made a fortune from motor-cars, contrasted remarkably with his wife. He was thin, pale-faced, and tired looking, while Daisy Wagnall was inclined to be fat, genial, rosy-faced, and possessed of surprising reserves of energy. Mannering found himself surprised that she ad a son of Frank’s age.
But Mannering had little time to be astonished, for he was anxious for the party to break up quickly. He judged that the checking of the gifts would take three-quarters of an hour, and already ten minutes had passed. Before the discovery of the missing pearls was made he wanted at least a dozen of the guests to be away from the house. If that happened the police could not make a proper check, and he was anxious that they should not have the chance.
He was with Lady Mary when he stifled a yawn and then smiled apologetically.
“For a young man,” she said laughingly, “you can’t stand the pace very well, John.”
“It’s my usual good habits,” said Mannering, with a lazy smile. “You seem to be standing up to it well enough.”
Lady Mary’s smile was turned suddenly into a yawn, and they both laughed.
“To tell you the truth,” said Lady Mary, laughing again, “I’m missing my afternoon nap. I’m so tired I could fall asleep any minute.”
“I’ve strong arms,” said Mannering.
“Don’t be a fool,” said Lady Mary. “But let’s get back. If I stay here for another five minutes I swear I’ll faint.”
“I doubt if you’ve ever fainted in your life,” said Mannering.
They moved towards the Wagnalls and Colonel Belton, who was making an old Guard’s effort not to look as bored as he felt. Daisy Wagnall laughed.
“He’s brave, but I’m not, Frankie. Say - might we hint at going?”
“Do; I’ll be sweet and take it,” said Lady Mary. “I’m sure half of us are absolutely tired out.”
“Weddings - or the after-effects - are such a strain,” said Daisy Wagnall.
“Darned lot of unnecessary fuss and bother,” opined Colonel Belton, who had taken more pleasure than anyone in the preparations for the event.
“Don’t say,” said Mrs Wagnall, with refreshing directness, “that you believe in free love, Colonel? I’ve always told Frankie that”
The Colonel suddenly realized the construction she had put on his remark, and his face was redder than Mannering had ever seen it. Lady Mary laughed gently, and took the other woman by the arm. The little party broke up, and several others followed it. Within half an hour of the excitement in the library the necessary dozen were away from Park Square.
Mannering was standing in the hall with Lorna when Colonel Belton came up. The Colonel’s face was purple now, and it was obvious that something was the matter. But Mannering affected to notice nothing, and his smile was as cheerful as ever; he had schooled himself for the announcement that was coming.
“We’re just off,” he said, “but we’d like - - ”
He stopped, no longer able to ignore Belton’s obvious distress, and there was concern in Lorna’s eyes. Mannering spoke for her as well as himself
“What’s the trouble, Colonel?”
“I’ve had the shock of my life,” said Belton, breathing hard. “Er - could you spare me a minute? I won t keep him long, Miss Fauntley.”
Lorna nodded, and Mannering went a few yards away with the Colonel. He was still schooling himself to make the necessary reaction and to show surprise, and the delay was unnerving. But no amount of schooling could have prepared him for the words that came.
“It’s about young Long,” said Belton.”
Mannering’s eyes narrowed, but it was the only evidence of surprise he showed; so far, of course, there was no reason for it. He waited, on the alert.
“Ye-es,” said Belton, who seemed to have a great deal of difficulty in controlling his voice. “Gerry Long has - er …Hang it, Mannering, the pearls that Lady Kenton gave to Marie . . . They’ve gone. Long’s been arrested.”
“Gerry Long?” The thing came with a suddenness that made Mannering gasp, but at least he had reason enough for the stupefaction in his eyes as he stared at Belton, hardly able to believe his ears.
“Arrested - but that’s damned silly. On what grounds, Colonel?”
George Belton looked very grim indeed.
“The only grounds I’d believe in,” he said. “He had the pearls in his pocket, Mannering, in his pocket!”
Mannering stared blankly at the soldier; the thing was impossible, he told himself He had the pearls. Gerry Long could not possibly have them. Yet - the police would not have acted, Belton would not have been so sure, unless it was true - which was absurd.
“I really can’t believe it,” he said slowly. Then he stopped and offered cigarettes, and the Colonel accepted one thankfully.
“I’ll get Miss Fauntley to go along with her people,” Mannering said a moment later, and at any other time Colonel Belton would have noticed the strange hardness in his companion’s voice. “I won’t keep you a moment, Colonel.”
He reached the girl quickly and explained that he was wanted. Lorna nodded when he suggested that she should go with the others. “Something serious?” she asked, as she saw his grimace.
For a moment Mannering thought that she had asked the question anxiously. He brushed the idea on one side; her dark eyes were laughing at him now.
“It might be worse,” he said, with an effort.
He saw Lorna into the car, and then turned back towards the Colonel, who was talking to the older Wagnall. The stocky little private detective came towards them as Mannering drew up.
“They would like to see you, Colonel Belton,” he said importantly.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said Belton testily. “You, Wagnall? Mannering?”
“There’s some absurd mistake,” said Mannering, in an effort to restore something of the good spirits that seemed to have left the Colonel completely. The effort fell flat, as he had half expected; in some ways he was not sorry, for he was still utterly bewildered. The pearls which had been on the table were in his pocket; he could feel them now.
“Absolutely caught red-handed,” muttered the Colonel.
“But Gerry Long!” grunted Frank Wagnall. “I just can’t believe it, Colonel. Why, I’ve known the boy all his life. It’s some silly practical joke; it must be.”
No one responded; no one felt like speaking.
The four men reached the library, and the private detective tapped on the door, which was opened by the Yard man to whom Mannering had been speaking earlier in the evening. He looked pleased with himself, and greeted Mannering cheerfully, but in an undertone.
“Rather a funny thing, eh, sir? Lucky you suggested checking up on the goods.”
Mannering grunted non-committally, and stared at Gerry Long. There was something about Long’s boyish face at the moment that made Mannering desperately sorry for him. Gerry looked as if he had had the biggest shock of his life. There was a smile on his face, but it was a set, almost stupid smile.
On a small table in front of him were the pearls.
For the fifth time in as many minutes Mannering felt the string in his own pocket. They were there all right, yet, if so, there were two lots of the same pearls, which was absurd. He checked the laugh that sprang to his lips, and scowled. This whole affair was bordering on the ridiculous, but it was also perilously close to a nightmare. Mannering hated the desperation in Long’s eyes.
Wagnall broke the silence that threatened to develop.
“This is a silly business, Gerry,” he said, and Mannering was glad that he sounded friendly enough.
“What’s happened? You must have some kind of explanation. Let’s have it, and clear the thing up.”
Long wearily pushed his hand through his light hair.
“I haven’t,” he said rather helplessly. “Only that I didn’t touch the pearls on the table.”
He broke off with a shrug of resignation, and for the life of him Mannering could not guess why. If ever a man looked guilty the young American did at that moment; yet . . .
“Then what the devil’s the meaning of these?” began Wagnall, and then relapsed into silence. All the men present looked at one another awkwardly, and it was Mannering who moved first. He picked up the necklace and held it close to his eyes for a moment; then he rolled the stones in his fingers thoughtfully. He had guessed what they were, even though he still could not understand how Long had come by them. But at least, he told himself, he could ease the tension.
“They’re fakes,” he said quietly.
In the silence that followed a pin dropping would have made a clatter. Only Mannering was fully under control, and his lips were twitching. The next man to recover himself was the Yard detective.
“Fakes?” His voice cracked. “Duds! But, hang it, Mr Mannering, the real stones are missing!”
“Possibly they had dummies made for the show,” said Mannering easily.
Wagnall and the Colonel shook their heads decisively.
“Never! It might have caused a scandal,” Wagnall assured him.
“All the same, these are dummies - culture pearls at their best,” said Mannering, throwing the pearls into the air and catching them. “I’ll wager my opinion against anyone you care to bring, Mr Wagnall.”
He looked inquisitively at the American, who seemed completely bewildered.
“But - but why the dummies?” Wagnall was staring at Gerry Long, who was still looking uncertain, and creating an impression that he knew something, that there was at least some truth in this accusation. “Tarnation, Gerry, say something! You didn’t come by these things by accident. Where’d you get them?”
Wagnall’s voice had hardened, and his aggressive tone seemed to be the stimulant that Long wanted. The younger man’s eyes flashed, and he squared his shoulders, as though preparing for a physical effort.
“I don’t know where I got them,” he said slowly.
“They were in my pocket; they must have been put there - ”
The man from Dorman’s Agency laughed across the words.
“A fine story! With all respect to you, Mr Wagnall, it’s as plain as the nose on my face. Mr Long took the original pearls, hoping to slip the dummies in their place later.”
“When I’m needing your opinion,” said Wagnall coldly, “I’II advise you.”
The man from Dorman’s dropped back a pace. Every expression went from his face, saving a mask-like smile.
“Very good, Mr Wagnall.”
“And that,” thought Mannering, “is a fair specimen of the private detective.” He tried to remember the name of the Yard man, who was still inspecting the pearls, looking as though he was thoroughly pleased with himself - a remarkable thing, now that the situation was fogged instead of clear.
Tring - Sergeant Tring, Mannering remembered, and he was glad to have even so small a thing to hold on to in this nightmare development.
Sergeant Jacob Tring, or Tanker, was thoroughly enjoying himself. The pearls were undoubtedly missing, the obvious suspect was Long, a friend of Wagnall’s, and the whole affair presented complications that would have made the average policeman savage; Tanker was accordingly happy.
“I’m thinking,” he said, after noting with malicious pleasure that the Dorman Agency man had been rapped over the knuckles, “that Mr Mannering’s correct, Mr Wagnall. These are dummies all right.”
The American’s eyes glittered.
“Surely,” he snapped, “you’ve reached a most important decision, officer? Perhaps you’ll tell me now what you propose to do to find the real pearls?”
Tanker was used to outbursts of all kinds, and he took them with a kind of gloomy joy.
“Yes,” he said, and he said it with relish, “I propose to send for help, and make a thorough search, sir. I’ve telephoned for the Inspector.”
“Bristow?” snapped Wagnall.
“Yes, sir,” said Tanker.
Colonel Belton, who had been standing by and showing remarkable restraint, took a step forward, as though the limit had been passed.
“But it’s impossible, impossible! We can’t search - these - these people.”
“The law’s the law, sir,” said Tanker, still with relish.
Belton cleared his throat and glowered. Mannering knew that he was thinking of the celebrities still in the house, of the commotion and sensation a general search would cause. He felt sorry for the Colonel at that moment, because Belton was a man who believed in the thing being the thing, and whose sense of obligation to his guests was very strong. By no stretch of the imagination could this be blamed on to him, but he took it as a personal responsibility, ignoring the fact that the police barely troubled to consult him.
“It’s unthinkable,” he muttered; “it’s - it’s not done!”
Apparently Wagnall did not agree.
“Why?” he said laconically. “What other choice have we?”
There was a pause; conflicting emotions in the room were very strong. The only man of whom Mannering was not sure was Gerry Long. Gerry was leaning against the table, smiling a little, and now thoroughly at ease. Where a few minutes before he had looked guilty and afraid of consequences, he now created the impression that he hadn’t a care in the world. Belton was very red in the face, worried and annoyed. Wagnall was making the best of a bad job, and taking the thing well. Sergeant Tanker Tring and the other police constable seemed to be looking forward to their task with considerable pleasure, while Mason, the agency man was also pleased - maliciously.
Mannering was disappointed in Sergeant Tring. The obvious thing, if a general search was needed, was to make sure that no one in the house was allowed to leave. The fact that the damage was done in this direction should have made the policeman realize at once the futility of his suggestion. He had underestimated Tring. The Yard man believed, reasonably enough, that Long had arranged to slip the false pearls into the place of the originals and to hide or pass on to an associate the genuine string. It was the obvious solution to the mystery, and if the associate was in the house a search would reveal him - or her. On the other hand, Tring knew that the guests had already started to leave. He doubted whether Long, who had not been in the reception room, knew that, and, by proposing a general search, hoped to trap the young American into an admission of sorts.
Long refused the bait, but he broke the silence.
“I’m sorry that you don’t feel you can take my word for it,” he said. “But I’m telling you that the first time I saw those pearls” - he pointed to the string in Tring’s hand - “was when they were taken from my pocket. The only time.”
“Nons-- ” started Belton, and thought better of it.
“Is that true, Gerry?” asked Wagnall evenly.
Gerry Long flushed a little, but his voice was steady.
“I’m saying it is,” he said.
Wagnall took a deep breath. Mannering, watching him, could easily understand why the man had risen to considerable heights in the commercial world. He had a way with him that created the impression that his word was the obvious law, and no one could have taken the theft more coolly.
“That’s good enough for me,” he said.
“But not for me, I’m afraid,” said Tring respectfully.
Wagnall looked at the sergeant as though he was non-existent.
“I’ll talk with the Inspector,” he said.
Tring coloured, and muttered under his breath. Mannering, now that he felt that there was little or no likelihood of trouble arising for Gerry Long, felt easier in his mind, and more able to appreciate the humours of the situation.
“Meanwhile - the search?” he suggested.
Tring’s respect for him suffered a reverse, but the sergeant was used to the reactions of the untrained mind, and certainly he did not appreciate the depth of Mannering’s remarks.
“Now we think of it,” said the sergeant quietly, “it won’t be much good, gentlemen. Half the guests are away by now.”
Mannering whistled, and his surprise seemed perfectly real.
“The devil! So they are!”
Colonel George Belton looked his relief, but had wits enough left not to speak of it. Frank Wagnall shrugged his shoulders, and Gerry Long seemed to realize that the storm had blown over for him. He was smiling in real amusement now.
It was in this atmosphere that Detective-Inspector William Bristow found himself when he arrived in response to Tring’s telephone call. The detective heard the story, briefly outlined by Tring. The accident to Lady Kenton - how he hated the sound of that woman’s name! - the check-up on the gifts, suggested by Mannering, the discovery that the pearls were missing, the finding of the fakes on Gerry Long a few minutes later. Tring was very brisk and official throughout his recital.
“What made you think Long had them?” Bristow demanded pertinently.
Tanker shrugged his shoulders.
“He happened to be just outside, sir, when I opened the door. ‘Trouble?’ he asked. ‘Pearls gone,’ ses I and he moved his hand towards his pocket, sir. I just slipped mine in after he’d stopped thinking about it and found em.
It was a little unorthodox, Bristow thought, but the end had justified the means, and he took the situation in hand immediately. He left Tring and the other Yard man to watch the library, asked Mason to guard the door against the unlikely eventuality of a further raid, and suggested to the Colonel that they should have a quiet talk.
Ten minutes after the detective had arrived all five men were sitting in the Colonel’s study, one of the few rooms in the house which had not been delivered up to the celebrations.
The Colonel, much more cheerful now that the possibility of a scandal had disappeared, rang for whisky. Mannering watched the reactions of Gerry Long very carefully, and he was more puzzled than ever.
He told himself that Long had been eager for that stimulant. The American knew something. What was it?
They didn’t find out that evening. Bristow asked a dozen catch questions, but Long stuck to his story. The dummy necklace, he maintained, must have been slipped into his pocket. It was possible, of course, that it had been inserted after Lady Kenton’s fall, but it might have been before that. From his knowledge of precious stones he was inclined to believe that the pearls he had commented upon to Lady Kenton had been genuine, but the light had been poor, and he had not touched them; he couldn’t be certain.
“You’re sure you didn’t touch them?” asked Bristow.
“Ask Mannering,” said Long, with a quick smile.
Mannering smiled and nodded.
“That’s beyond doubt,” he said. “Neither of them touched the pearls - nor did I, for that matter. We were too anxious to rescue Lady Kenton.”
Bristow managed a smile, but his expression was sour.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “we’ve no real proof that the pearls were stolen during that little episode. They might have disappeared any time during the day:”
“It looks,” he added thoughtfully, “as if some one exchanged the real pearls for dummies, and afterwards slipped the dummies into Mr Long’s pocket.”
“Thanks,” drawled Gerry.
“But why remove the dummies at all?” demanded. Mannering.
Bristow shrugged his shoulders.
“I just can’t say,” he said. “I will do everything I can, Mr Wagnall, to recover the pearls, but I can promise nothing. It’s been cleverly done - very cleverly.”
Mannering smiled a little, but his satisfaction at the success of the haul was marred by the discovery of the dummies. Some one else had had their eyes on the pearls, and he would have liked to know who it was; but there was one thing that helped him: the trail was so hopelessly confused that no one was likely to get near the genuine string; certainly he had nothing of which to complain.