Chapter Nineteen

Grim Morning

“Not—not Leo!” gasped Abel.

Mannering said: “Didn’t you guess?”

“Not Leo!” repeated Abel in a strained voice. “No, it can’t—”

“It’s Leo. I saw him yesterday. He’s got a wound, caused by a bullet—and someone had attended to it,” said Mannering sharply.

“I—I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe that Leo would—” Abel broke off.

Mannering said: “You can’t believe that he would have kept away from you in the thicket, can you? I find it hard to believe, too.”

Abel cleared his throat.

“Mr. Mannering, I tell you truly, I didn’t know. I still can’t believe that it’s true, that Leo was that dog. You say you saw the wound?”

“Yes. No doubt about it.”

“What wound are you talking about, sir?” asked Higby.

“I wounded the dog which scared Lady Gloria,” said Mannering. “It was at the end of the drive not long ago—see whether you can find any trace of it, but be careful. The man with it had a gun.”

“We could take shotguns,” said the lodge-keeper.

“Take what you like, but find it,” said Mannering.

He turned to the open door, and went into the house.

Was Abel as shocked by the news as he made out? Was Higby as calm inwardly as he appeared outwardly?

If the kidnappers had taken Mary by mistake, wasn’t it practically proof that they’d had no help from the inside?

He couldn’t be absolutely sure that it had been Mary in the car.

He hurried up to her room – and when he saw the empty bed, hurried to tell Longley. Shock brought the sergeant out of his drowsiness – shock to a policeman and a lover. The policeman was uppermost; he was soon on the telephone, ordered the door to be locked, refused to be panicked; but there was a cold glitter in his eyes as he worked.

Next morning, just after nine o’clock, Longley sent a message asking Mannering to see him in the library. The sergeant’s eyes were clear, he had recovered from his shock – but there was a cold, accusing aloofness in his manner. This seemed to take away something of his good looks, making him look older.

He had asked Mannering few questions the previous night. Now he looked at Mannering’s grave face, as if he detested the sight of him. Mannering showed no outward sign of his two late nights, and was determined not to let the sergeant rile him.

“What were you doing out at two o’clock in the morning?” Longley asked abruptly.

“Didn’t I tell you? I was worried about Lady Gloria and drove over to the cottage.”

“That’s a fine story,” said Longley, in a tone not far removed from a sneer.

“I saw several of Gadden’s men there. She was all right. Coming back, I saw a car on the road and the gates closed. I gave chase, they put a bullet in my front wheel.”

Longley said: “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t be a fool. I know you’re upset, but don’t pick on me as a scapegoat.”

“I don’t like the way you’ve been going on,” growled Longley. “Why are you so interested? How did you really get to see Fenner the first time? How was it they let you get away if they really shot at you? And if they stopped you last night, why didn’t they come back and finish you off—can you tell me that?”

“Yes. I had a gun.”

“You’re pretty slick,” said Longley, “but I don’t trust you—can you get that into your head?”

Mannering said: “You’ll find that Bristow does, and that should encourage you. There’s just a chance that because I was out last night, the St. Malden people will trace that car. If I hadn’t been out, there wouldn’t have been any chance at all. There are other things, too. The dog was in the grounds. I set Abel, Higby and the lodge-keeper on to look for it, but they tell me that they didn’t have any luck. Do you know anything more about Abel?”

“He seems all right,” said Longley grudgingly. “Does he know which dog it was?”

“Yes.”

“You could have saved that, to spring on him,” said Longley.

“I sprang it when I thought best,” said Mannering. “I’m going down to have some breakfast. I’ve been on to Gadden and there’s no news of the car yet, but there’s a general call out for it. He promised to ring up if there’s the slightest news.”

Longley nodded, and seemed to be finished.

Mannering turned and went towards the door, but before he went out, Longley called: “Mannering.” His voice lacked the sarcastic tone, but when Mannering turned to look at him he saw nothing to suggest that Longley had overcome his suspicions. The sergeant’s face was drawn and strained.

“Yes?”

“Do you know why they took Mary?”

“By mistake, presumably.”

“They couldn’t mix her up with Lady Gloria—they aren’t a bit alike.”

“Can you think of any other reason?”

“I’m damned if I can!” Longley’s voice was hoarse.

There were other possibilities, thought Mannering; he’d jumped to conclusions the night before, he mustn’t again. Supposing Mary had stumbled upon something important in the library. Possible. And if so, Higby or Abel might have learned of it and told Fenner. That would do away with the mistaken identity theory and bring Abel and Higby well into the limelight again.

Could Mary have learned anything which Longley hadn’t?

Lorna was already at the table.

“What did Longley want?” she asked.

“He thinks I’m the villain of the piece.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“He knows he can’t do much.”

“Was Mary mistaken for Gloria?” Lorna asked.

“The question on everyone’s lips,” said Mannering. “Darling, we don’t know much about Fenner, but—”

“I know everything about Fenner,” said Lorna, with unexpected sharpness.

“Oh. Everything?”

“Everything that matters. He’s bad.”

“I’ll grant you that.”

“Please don’t jest,” said Lorna. “I can’t help it, John, but—I hate that man. He’s been so devilishly successful. He’s nearly driven Gloria mad, he has everyone on tenterhooks, and—”

“Steady, my sweet!”

“I can’t be steady, John. The man frightens me. He’s pulling strings and we’re the puppets. We haven’t any idea what he’s after, he’s even kept that secret safe. He ignores burglar alarms and all precautions, he—”

Mannering interrupted.

“He’s a man who’s made mistakes and will make others.”

Lorna threw up her hands.

She wasn’t often affected like this; and Mannering could understand the influence which Fenner exerted – understand and hate it.

The door opened, and Lady Bream came in.

“Good morning!” She seemed much more cheerful. “Isn’t it a lovely morning again, I think we’re going to have a really beautiful summer. John, have you heard from the cottage?”

“Yes, all’s well,” said Mannering.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, wonderful!” cried Lady Bream. “Sending her there was a stroke of genius on your part, John. I admit that I wasn’t very happy about it when you first made the suggestion, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it—I’m sure that it’s just the thing for her. Be a good soul, and give me some bacon and an egg—no, two eggs. I feel so hungry this morning, I suppose it’s because I’m not so worried as I was.”

“Grapefruit?” asked Mannering, getting up.

“You can keep the things,” snapped Lady Bream. “In my young days we had porridge or nothing for the first course, I’ve no time for these new-fangled ideas. Grapefruit—oh, are there any grilled tomatoes?”

“Heaps.”

“I’ll have some of those. John, what are those two young people doing in the library all day? I don’t mind if they’re working, but if they’re billing and cooing, well, I think it’s going a little too far. A couple like that would have had a chaperon in my young days, and there was a lot of good in the old ideas.”

“I’m sure there was,” murmured Mannering.

“Well, be a bit more cheerful about it,” said Lady Bream. She looked at him narrowly, as he studied her thoughtfully. She looked better and younger – as if a great worry had been lifted off her shoulders. It surprised him that she should feel quite so secure about Gloria now. “And you, Lorna, you look as if you’ve been up all night.”

Mannering said: “Lorna was awake a long time, I was out. Maggie—”

She looked up from her plate.

“Now what is the matter?”

“There was more trouble. It looks as if Fenner mistook Mary Scott for Gloria. She’s been kidnapped—”

A fork clattered to the table.

“No!” cried Lady Bream. “No!”

Mannering said: “It’s true, and—”

“No, no, it can’t be true!” cried Lady Bream. “Not that charming girl, no harm can have come to her! John! You’re trying to frighten me, that’s what you’re doing! Tell me it isn’t true!”

She was almost screaming.

Lorna went to her side.

“She’ll be all right,’ she said reassuringly. “If they’d intended to hurt her, they wouldn’t have kidnapped her—they wouldn’t have taken the trouble. She’ll be all right.”

Lady Bream clutched the edge of the table, and stood up, her eyes blazing.

“It’s true—it’s really true?”

“Yes,” said Mannering.

“Sit down, dear,” said Lorna.

“Sit down? Now? When I thought everything was over, and this happens. We’re none of us safe, we can’t be safe, we—”

She broke off, and sat down heavily.

Lorna moved into a chair next to her.

After a few minutes, she picked up her cup and drank a little coffee, complaining in an undertone that she was cold, and the coffee was only lukewarm. Gradually she perked up, and was soon eating her breakfast, grumbling, fretful, looking out of the window as if she were frightened of what she might see.

Mannering left the two women together.

He went up to the library, but it was empty – Longley might be at the telephone, telling Bristow of his latest reasons for suspecting Mannering. Mannering went downstairs again, but heard nothing from the switchboard. Higby came out of the passage near it, and stopped in the middle of a step when he saw Mannering, as if he were startled.

“Good-morning, sir.”

“You had no luck last night, I’m told,” said Mannering.

“I’m afraid not, sir.” The footman slipped past quietly.

Mannering had never heard him raise his voice, and last night he had shown admirable self-control.

Mannering pushed the door of the cubby-hole containing the switchboard, but it opened only an inch or two. When he pushed hard, the door was still jammed.

He called: “Anyone there?”

There was no answer.

He put his head round the door.

Longley was sitting in front of the switchboard, his head resting on the little ledge in front of it, his fingers touching the keys, his feet pressing against the door. Blood turned his fair hair to crimson, and dropped on to his hand and on to the keys.

Mannering telephoned Gadden, then gave first aid. Longley wasn’t dead, but the wound was serious. It had been caused by a heavy, sharp weapon, and had obviously been made as Longley was about to telephone someone – probably Bristow.

Bristow was on his way to Lithom Hall.

A sergeant, not ungainly Wilkinson, but a smooth-tongued man, arrived from St. Malden with a detective-officer. Gadden was in court, and would come later. The search for the weapon was started, the switchboard thoroughly examined for prints and clues, but none was found.

The great library was deserted when Mannering went in an hourand-a-half after finding Longley, and seemed emptier because of what had happened to Mary and Longley. The new crime increased the possibility that they had made a fateful discovery. Most of the books mentioned on the list were on or near the library desk at which Longley had been working. Four were open, and had slips of paper at other pages. Mannering looked at each marked page. Some of the paper was thick and yellowish; there were coloured illustrations. The books were German, Dutch and Italian, and one or two were old English. None of the titles was important; they were all of value to a collector, but not one appeared to be worth big money; the same story. Longley had marked different pages; Mannering could not see any connection between one and another. An expert might be able to see something which he couldn’t detect.

Should he send for Jeremiah Caldecott?

Or take the books to him?

The secret was in these books. The secret – and the danger.

Could Fenner still hope to get them? Would he dare to try again? Had Fenner ordered the attack on Longley? If so, how had he sent instructions?

There was a tap on the door, and Higby appeared. It wasn’t usual for a footman to tap, but he didn’t look normal. He was pale, had lost his poise, and came forward hesitantly.

“What is it?” asked Mannering sharply.

“Superintendent Bristow is downstairs, sir, asking for you.”

“Show him up.”

“Very good, sir, but—can you spare me a moment, please?” Higby’s hands were clenching and unclenching.

“What about?” Mannering was still sharp.

Higby said: “Well, sir, I feel that you might suspect—that is, that I might be suspected of—of injuring Mr. Longley. But I swear it wasn’t me, sir, I give you my word on it!”

Mannering said coldly: “What makes you think that anyone suspects you?”

“Well—well, Abel White does! He as good as said so, not long ago. And you passed me near the telephone switchboard, just before you found Mr. Longley. I was upset at the time, I’d just come away from Abel White, and—I must have looked upset. But it wasn’t I who attacked Mr. Longley.” Higby’s voice was humble, pleading.

“I hope it wasn’t,” said Mannering still coldly.

“I swear it wasn’t! Things might look black against me, sir, but—but—I—I wanted to make—” he blurted that out, but stopped.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to make a confession, sir?”

“But you say you didn’t attack Longley.”

“Not about that. About—about my post here, sir. When his lordship took me on, I produced false references, sir. And I know how black that might look.”

He stood rigidly to attention, his face pale and his eyes very bright; and he looked very much like Gloria. Remorse hadn’t spurred him on to this; fear had. The problem was how to deal with him now. Harshly? Or would that drive him back into a shell hardened by fear?

“What was the trouble, Higby?” Mannering asked, and his voice changed, became gentle and almost friendly. He leaned against the desk, determined to reassure the man and perhaps gain his full confidence. “Hadn’t you satisfactory references?”

“Not—for this kind of work, sir, and I spent my childhood in this part of the world. You—you know how it is. You remember a place, and you just long to come back. I left when I was quite a boy, sir, some friends brought me up, I did fairly well for myself until the war, but after I was demobbed I had a bad time, sir. I took a job as a waiter, because I wasn’t skilled in anything and—and then I saw the advertisement. I felt that I had to try to get the post, and—and I forged the references.”

“That doesn’t seem very serious. The police weren’t after you, were they?”

“Of course not! Oh, no, there wasn’t any trouble of that kind! I just felt that I had to get the job, and—well, I’d heard about Lord Lithom, I didn’t think he would take on a waiter from a second-rate restaurant, and—and I wrote two references for myself, giving the names of men I knew were dead—officers in my regiment, sir. His lordship didn’t question them, and I’m sure I’ve given every satisfaction.”

“Apparently you have. But what about this business, Higby? What has Abel been saying?”

“He—he’s never liked me,” said Higby, trembling. “I don’t know why, but he took a dislike to me from the first. Now he says there’s someone in the house who’s been helping these—these criminals, sir. All the rest of the staff has been here for years, except one or two of the girls and they don’t count in this. I can deal with Abel White, sir, but if he should say anything to the police, they might—”

He broke off again; a really frightened man.

Mannering said smoothly: “If that’s all the trouble, I shouldn’t worry about it. I’ll have a word with the police.”

“Thank you very much, sir!”

“That’s all right. Now bring Mr. Bristow up here, will you?”

Higby disappeared, as if anxious to hide his face.

Mannering lit a cigarette, and contrasted Higby’s manner with Abel’s – Abel’s apparent disbelief that Leo could be the dog concerned, with Higby’s frightened denial. He thought of a third thing. Maggie’s reaction to the news about Mary.

Maggie was an unpredictable old woman. She hadn’t really approved of Mary and Longley, had shown no great liking for the girl, yet had seemed as upset when Mary was kidnapped, as if it had been Gloria – well, not quite so upset, perhaps; it was doubtful whether she would have recovered so quickly and eaten a hearty breakfast, knowing Gloria to be in Fenner’s hands.

Bristow was a long time.

Mannering went into the passage but did not see him. He crossed to a small window and looked out over the parkland. At least a dozen men were moving about the grass, eight or nine of them in a line, their hands almost touching. Most were policemen, but some were in plain clothes. He recognized Abel and the groom’s assistant.

They were searching for the weapon, of course.

They were near the thicket now.

Abel and two policemen went into it – they were not in the line of men who were searching the grass. Mannering recalled what had happened in the thicket; the second indication that Gloria hadn’t seen a dead man in a nightmare.

He heard a shrill sound – a whistle, blown some way off. Next moment, one of the police came out of the thicket with his whistle at his lips, and the others turned and hurried towards him.

Mannering moved from the window and looked into the hall. Bristow was there, talking to Lorna. The Yard man seemed about to come upstairs, but stopped when he saw Mannering.

“John—”

“Come on, they’ve made a find,” said Mannering, running downstairs. He passed Bristow quickly, opened the door and went out into the drive. Bristow’s car, a green Morris, was just outside. He got into the driving seat and Bristow slid in beside him.

Lorna stood on the steps, watching them as they neared the thicket.

Only two policemen remained in sight, the others were hidden by the trees.

Mannering and Bristow got out of the car and thrust their way forward, saw a little group of men – and through a gap, saw one man on his knees beside a dog.

The man was Abel; the dog Leo.