Chapter Twenty-One

A Pile of Books

Out of the quiet room came a soft ticking – the small clock by the side of the bed. Mannering could see its illuminated dial; the time was eight minutes past one. He hurried back to his own room, and found Lorna by the fire-place. She jumped round, as if expecting Bristow; or disaster.

“What—” she began.

“Maggie’s missing. Cut down my time to half an hour. Keep the door locked, and shout out of the window when it’s time to call the police.”

“Have you seen anyone else?”

“Not yet,” lied Mannering. He went across and gripped her hands tightly. “You must keep out of it. If things go wrong, only you can get help. You’ve only half an hour to wait.”

She said: “Only!”

Outside, he heard her turn the key in the lock.

He went straight to the library. A light was on in the great room, he could see the faint glow at the sides of the door and the top and bottom. He turned the handle and pushed – and the door yielded, so whoever was inside had been able to cope with the burglar-alarm; further evidence that it was someone who lived here.

He opened the door a little wider.

“Come in, Mannering,” a man said. “And don’t be rash, I’ve got a gun.”

Mannering stepped into the library.

Higby leaned negligently against a table, with an automatic in his hand. Tied to a chair, and with a scarf round her mouth to prevent her from crying out, was Lady Bream. On the floor, dead or unconscious, was Abel White.

“Close the door and lock it,” ordered Higby.

Mannering half-turned, conscious of the growing tension, knowing that if he made a false move now, the footman would shoot. He turned the key and it clicked noisily – but he didn’t turn it fully, the door wasn’t locked. He moved round, wondering whether Higby had seen through the trick or whether the noise had convinced him.

Apparently it had.

Mannering said: “True colours?”

“My little piece this afternoon was just to gain time,” said Higby, and grinned; he looked – vicious. “I was assured that you had a lot of influence with the police. Now I’ve proved it. You must have pleaded with them very strongly to stop them from arresting me.”

Mannering said: “Oh, very. I was almost in tears.”

“You’ll be in tears before you’ve finished. Now I’ve got you, Abel and the old woman, that about finishes the job.”

“One or two trifles still outstanding,” said Mannering. He went nearer to the footman, who stiffened. Mannering actually stopped by the side of the desk, with Higby swivelling slowly round, keeping him covered.

Lady Bream moved on her chair but Mannering couldn’t see her now.

“What’s Abel done to deserve this?” asked Mannering.

“Tried to trap me,” said Higby. “So I sent him a message—from you! Another pencilled note, telling him to come here. He didn’t see who hit him, Mannering. If you don’t do as you’re told, I’ll make him believe it was you.”

“So I am to obey orders,” murmured Mannering.

“You’d better. First, you’ll help me. Then you’ll take the papers we’ll find here, to Fenner—or Fenner’s agent. Your influence with the dicks had better be good, if you were to be caught with those papers, you’d be in bad. My worry’s keeping away from them. I wouldn’t like to risk taking the papers out of the house, but I don’t mind taking a chance with you.” He slid his left hand into his pocket and drew out an instrument, like a large, chromium-plated knife. It was a patent knife, disguising a razor blade. Higby put it on the desk, and took out another. In every movement there was menace. His lips were twisted back, giving him a set sneer; ugly, threatening.

Mannering was wary; probing. Higby wanted him to do the job, but wouldn’t risk letting him leave the house alive.

“Pull up a chair and sit down,” ordered Higby.

Mannering hesitated.

“Need Lady Bream be so uncomfortable?”

“Leave the old besom where she is,” said Higby harshly. “The two-faced bitch.” He didn’t glance at Lady Bream. “Sit down!”

Mannering pulled up a chair. At the other end of the table there were the now familiar piles of books; the books.

‘You’re going to examine those books for me,” gloated Higby. “I can’t do it myself and watch you, and I prefer a lazy life, anyway. I’ve waited on you enough—too much.” Hatred hummed in his voice. “This is how to work: slit the edge of the spine at one side, and slit it top and bottom. The leather or the cloth and board binding will come away. In some you’ll find some paper—flimsy paper. Very precious, that paper. Each time you find a piece, put it on the table, and then get on with the next book. I’m in a hurry.”

Mannering picked up a book.

“It’s criminal,” he said, “these are precious.”

“Some have been cut before,” said Higby, “or else they’re in a new binding, and haven’t any money value. Don’t argue, hurry. And don’t get any ideas about that knife. You could throw it—but a bullet would travel about six times as fast, and I’d put it where it hurt.”

Mannering picked up the first book.

His hand was steady, and he examined the book, to see the best way to set about it. Jeremiah Caldecott had reported that some of the spines had been cut.

He cut at the leather of a copy of Valerius Maximus.

It was surprisingly easy; soon the spine moved back, like a door opening, but there was nothing inside. He picked up a second book and repeated the work, and as he did so, he said: “All murderers get hanged.”

“This one won’t.”

“Which particular victim did you kill?” asked Mannering.

“Wilberforce—with one of these knives,” said Higby, and picked up the second knife. There was a glitter in his eyes – of a man who was hardly sane. “I had to make the blade a bit bigger, by adjusting a screw or two. It did very well—one slash, and Wilberforce was out. He’s buried in a hill several miles from here, and one day an archaeologist will probably find the skeleton, and call him prehistoric.” Higby leaned forward; the gun didn’t waver. “And I hit you, Mannering. I didn’t know how much you’d seen. I’d have killed you and made you prehistoric, too.” The sneer and the glittering eyes made him vicious, brutal. “You tell yourself that all murderers have to confess to someone? You’re dead right, I want to boast about this. It can’t do any harm telling you because—”

He broke off abruptly.

“When my job’s done, I get bumped off,” said Mannering. “Slave labour—new version.”

“Get on with the job!” rasped Higby.

The second book contained nothing, and Mannering picked up a third. He had to look at what he was doing all the time, did not glance at Higby. He heard Lady Bream move again, and calculated that ten minutes or more had passed since he had left Lorna. He would not be half-way through these books when her half-hour was up. He wished he’d let it stay at the hour. Higby might talk freely; Higby was gloating and triumphant – and careless.

“Slave labour’s right, and it’s time you did some,” said Higby. “I’m sick and tired of licking the boots of swine like you. You stick your noses in the air and think you’re God’s Own People. You’re no better than I am—why, by your own standards, you’re not so good!”

“I wouldn’t question that,” murmured Mannering. “A Lithom, aren’t you?”

Higby started violently.

Mannering said: “Ashamed to admit it?”

“Who—who told you?” Surprise took the glitter out of his eyes.

“You did.” Mannering glanced up, and saw Higby shoot a glance at Lady Bream.

“That’s a lie—she did, the cold-blooded shrew. She confessed—” he broke off, and Mannering looked back at his ‘work’, but he knew the truth now; he hardly needed Higby’s confirming words. “I’m her son and Lithom’s. Just a little peccadillo, the wrong side of the blanket. Lithom was married, so he couldn’t make an honest woman of her. She went off and had her baby—that was me—and farmed me out. But someone knew, someone kept an eye on me—a certain Mr. Wilberforce, you see. He was my foster-father.”

“Need we go into all this?” Mannering opened the spine of a fourth book.

He saw a fold of paper, paper so white and thin that it looked like tissue; and through it he could see writing. He put the book with the others, which had contained nothing, but placed it so that he could pick it out at a glance.

Higby didn’t see the paper.

“We’ll go on my way,” said Higby, and gave a little laugh, sure sign of tension. “Wilberforce dragged me up, and she didn’t care a tinker’s curse for me. Lithom had forgotten I existed. Until I came for a job—or rather, after he’d taken me on. My precious foster-father had blackmailed Lithom for the librarian’s job. Know why he blackmailed him?”

“Presumably because Fenner told him to.”

Higby said slowly: “You’re no fool. Yes, Fenner wanted these books—or what’s in ’em. Wilberforce took ’em out, one by one—but he wasn’t quick enough. Then Lithom got mad and sacked him, but he hadn’t reckoned on me. You hadn’t reckoned on me, had you, Mannering? You were thinking about Abel—I framed him nicely. I’ve always been able to do what I like with dogs—all animals, but especially dogs. There was a savage streak in Leo. I brought it out when he was with me. I made him jump at Lithom’s grey, and throw him. I didn’t think he’d break his neck, though, but it didn’t make much difference.

“Everything would have been easy if the girl hadn’t suspected the truth. I had to lie low for a bit. Then I had an idea. My dear sister—I hated her guts, Mannering, she’d had everything I ought to have had, and I’d nothing. Nothing! I had to wait on her. Yes, my lady, no, my lady, certainly, my lady—and my own sister! I could have murdered her a dozen times, but—I didn’t. I drove her crazy. Nice revenge, Mannering—don’t you agree?” His lips were quivering and his voice was unsteady.

“Very,” said Mannering.

He was on the sixth book, and twenty minutes must have passed. If Lorna raised the alarm on time, and Higby hadn’t finished, he might never know the whole truth. But he had these papers. It was over – except for two things. First, the chance of losing his own life; second – the risk that Mary would never be found. This man wasn’t as dangerous as Fenner. Higby couldn’t stop talking.

“And then Fenner and I saw a way of getting what we wanted without taking the books out—not easy to get those books; you can’t slip them under your coat. We brought Wilberforce back at night. I let him in. We had the list of books, but knew only some had the papers—we didn’t know which ones. Wilberforce worked on some of the books, cut them to try to find if the papers were hidden there. He found one. Then he got restive, and wanted more money than we were paying him. Started talking about giving us away. We couldn’t risk a traitor, could we, Mannering? He went to the study one night, to get one of the books which was there, and tried to throw his weight about. So I knocked him out, put him on the rug and cut his throat. Then that damned girl—”

“Pity you drove her crazy,” murmured Mannering.

“Cut that out,” said Higby harshly. “You know what happened. Fenner and one of the other boys was with me. We got the body and the bloodstained rug away, and we took the books, too. I thought Gloria might have seen me, and so I had another go at her, using the dog. Pity you weren’t driving a little faster. Did she know anything?”

“You wasted your time,” said Mannering. “But why did you kidnap Mary, when—”

“You thought it was a case of mistaken identity, didn’t you?” Higby laughed again. “Your mistake. We had to get rid of anyone who’d examined those books, in case they discovered where the secret was. First the girl, and then Longley. I hoped I’d killed Longley.”

“You haven’t a strong right arm.”

“I was in a hurry,” growled Higby. “Then I went out, and that damned dog was waiting in the thicket. He wasn’t easy to control, and Abel was near. So I killed him. I never did like the brute.”

“You took a lot of chances.”

Higby said: “You forced the pace too much. But the prize was worth it. When I’ve got those papers, Mannering, I’ve got something worth a million! Fenner can get that any time he wants—he might find a higher bidder. Know what’s in them?”

“Does it matter? Haven’t you gloated enough?”

“Nothing like enough,” sneered Higby. “I like gloating over your type—the way I gloated over Lithom when I told him who I was. And the way I gloated over my dear mother. And my precious sister. Those papers, Mannering, contain priceless secrets which the great Earl of Lithom was allowed to have in his possession when he was this country’s accredited representative to certain nations. Trusted! Proper swine, Lithom, wasn’t he? He had a hatred of Communism that turned him into a Fascist. He thought that one day he might find these secrets useful. Armament secrets. Atomic bomb information. Bacteria warfare details—oh, a fine lot, carefully and cleverly collected by the great earl, and put in the backs of those books. But he made a mistake. He trusted a secretary who knew a lot about book-binding, and Fenner got the secretary and extorted a confession. So he learned the titles of some of the books and where the papers were hidden. Beginning to see, Mannering?”

Mannering said: “Yes, I see.” He put aside another book – the second with a slip of paper in, and this time Higby saw it.

Higby said softly: “Mannering, don’t try to fool me. Take that paper out.”

Mannering smiled faintly.

“What’s the hurry? Fenner’s had the books since Wilberforce died, he had plenty of time before.”

“Don’t talk so much!”

“But why didn’t he open the books?” Mannering sounded curious – no more. “The papers would have been easier to handle.”

Higby said. “We didn’t know that the papers were in the spines; Fenner had a look through them himself—he wouldn’t trust anyone else. Then you got the books away but you left one behind. He found the paper in the spine. Satisfied?”

“You don’t think you’re going to get away with this, do you?”

“I’ll get away with it, with you helping. Get on with the job. And—”

Then Mannering thought he heard a footfall, outside.

It was soft but distinct enough – and Higby heard it too. He moved away from the table and backed to the book-lined wall, from where he could cover both the door and Mannering,

“Keep quiet! If you call out, I’ll drill you.”

Mannering went on with his task as if nothing had happened. The sound wasn’t repeated. Higby relaxed, but looked more often at the door than at Mannering. Mannering might now be able to get at his own gun, to shoot the weapon out of Higby’s hand. But Higby kept glancing at him, he was at point-blank range and couldn’t miss.

Lady Bream kept shifting in her chair and sniffing. Mannering didn’t look towards her.

Abel hadn’t moved.

Mannering said: “Where’s Mary Scott, Higby? You haven’t hurt her, have you?”

“She’ll be all right, if you get the papers out of the grounds,” said Higby. “If you don’t—I’ll see that her throat’s cut. You needn’t think you can double-cross me, I’ve got the girl as a trump card. You’re a fine gentleman, aren’t you, Mannering?” he sneered. “Gentlemen can’t allow sweet young things to die, can they? But if you don’t get those papers out, she’s had it. No half measures about Fenner and me.”

He seemed reassured about the noise outside.

Mannering said: “He lets you take the risk.”

“He takes plenty,” said Higby. “Fenner wouldn’t put anything across me—I know too much, and he knows I could give him away even if I were dead. When you have the kind of upbringing I had, Mannering, you learn to take care of yourself. But Fenner’s all right. He’s got a little band of playmates with him. Not Communists—just mercenaries. He pays high and looks after all who work for him, and they do exactly what he wants them to do. He’s got a dozen houses up and down the country. You’ve driven him out of two, but it won’t make any difference to him.”

“I—see,” said Mannering.

He had found three pieces of paper now; and only twenty-two or -three books were done. The job would take another hour – and Lorna’s time was up. He couldn’t be sure whether he had heard a footfall, whether she had come to listen at the door and gone off again, or whether the police had been warned. Not knowing was the worst part of it all – and the fact that if Higby thought he had been trapped, he would shoot to kill.

Why had he brought Lady Bream here?

Why—

No, he mustn’t let his mind run on that, it wasn’t relevant. So much was easy to understand, including the warped mind of the man who still covered him with the gun, and was still wary.

The whole story was out; there were really two – Fenner’s greed, Higby’s passionate hatred. That hatred had done much evil but served one good purpose. It had driven Higby to tormenting Gloria, to gloat over her agony of mind; but for that, he could have stolen the books, one at a time.

And now?

Mannering saw the handle of the door turn.

He spoke quickly.

“Higby, how do I know you’re going to let me go? What guarantee have I got—”

It wasn’t any use.

Higby looked at the door, saw the handle moving, then swivelled his gun round. Mannering flung himself backwards in his chair. The shot rang out, the bullet passed between his waving legs. He saw nothing, but heard the door burst open, heard three ringing shots. He didn’t know whether Higby had been hurt or not; didn’t even know whether the police had come. It might be Lorna, she might be—

“He’s not here!” cried Lorna.

She meant Mannering.

He was behind the desk; they couldn’t see him from the door.

“Bill!” She cried Bristow’s name.

“All right,” called Mannering, and struggled up to a sitting position. “Careful with Higby, he—”

“He’s all right,” said Bristow. “We’ve got him in the arm, and have taken his gun. All over, John.”

Lorna rounded the desk.

Mannering could see Higby reeling back against the bookcases. Gadden was here, too, and the room was filling up with detectives. Higby was between two of them, and holding up his right wrist; blood dripped from it. His face held a wild, venomous look and his eyes were blazing.

“Have you found out where the girl is?” Bristow asked Mannering.

Higby shouted: “No, damn him, and he never will! I warned him if he wanted to see her alive he shouldn’t try any tricks. He won’t see her again, none of you’ll see her—you won’t find Fenner, either!” His voice was rasping on a high-pitched note and his eyes still blazed. Once he put out his tongue and licked his lips. “But Fenner will find him. Fenner won’t take this lying down, you haven’t much longer to live, Mannering. Understand?” He was shrieking now. “You think you’ve been clever but you’ll pay for it.” He threw back his head and laughed, and they let him go on. Suddenly he broke off and thrust his head forward. He seemed only able to look at Mannering, behaved as if no one else were in the room. “You interfering, blue-blooded fool! You wouldn’t have left here alive. I’d have killed the three of you, made it look as if you’d committed suicide, I’d have ‘discovered’ you and sent for the police, and I would have got the papers clear. But I couldn’t get the papers and keep watch. I—”

“Now that’s enough—” Bristow began.

“Enough?” screeched Higby. “I haven’t properly started yet. You—”

“John, keep him quiet and listen to me,” said Lady Bream.

Her voice startled everyone.

Mannering hadn’t even noticed that a man had released her and helped her to her feet, and that another was kneeling over Abel. Now all looked towards her, and her voice was quiet although it carried well.

“You keep your mouth shut, you—” snarled Higby.

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” said Lady Bream. “John, it’s true, I am his mother. God forgive me for bringing such a creature into the world. I’ve known who he is ever since he came here. I’ve watched him. Of late, I’ve told him that I knew, that I wanted to help him, and to make amends. But I didn’t trust him, John—”

“You slut!” screamed Higby. “You’re no better than—”

A detective shook him. “Quiet!”

Lady Bream went on: “I wasn’t sure until yesterday that he was responsible for much that has happened here. Had I known, I would have told the police. But because I’ve been watching him, I know several things he didn’t realize anyone knew. For instance, where his friend Fenner is now.”

Higby cried: “You don’t know, no one knows!”

“When Dr. Halsted was here, I heard him speak to you,” said Lady Bream. “I didn’t understand what you meant at the time—I realize it now. He said that if there were trouble here, you should go to the nursing-home where Gloria was to have been taken. It is in Putney.”

The Flying Squad raided several Putney nursing-homes, and found the right one at the third attempt. Halsted, Fenner and seven men were taken to Cannon Row, and Bristow was informed by telephone. Mary was quite safe. At Lithom Hall, Abel wasn’t badly hurt.

The trial of Fenner, Halsted, Higby and their accomplices was over.

Mannering’s part in the affair had been prominent in the Press, and Bristow had delivered what amounted to a little homily. Gadden was reconciled. Longley who had been about to tell Bristow why he suspected that Mannering knew something about Mary’s disappearance, when he was attacked, had fully recovered.

Mary had been back at Jeremiah Caldecott’s shop for five months. Gloria was quite herself again – younger and gayer and with many young friends. Sunlight, on a Spring day.

Mannering learned other things.

That Lithom, for instance, had been asked to resign when it was known that he had strong Fascist sympathies. That Fenner was in the pay of a foreign government. That none of the really valuable books at Lithom Hall had been damaged, and that a capable librarian was now installed there.

Derek Peacock sat by the side of Mannering in the big car, surfeited with delight, ice-cream and speed. Mannering turned the corner of his street, saw Mrs. Peacock waiting and chuckled as Derek climbed out of the car.

“Had a good time, old chap?”

“Wonderful!” breathed Derek.

“You’ve been ever so good,” said Mrs. Peacock. “Fancy you thinking of it.”

“I’ll remember Derek for a long time,” said Mannering. He took a box out of the back of the car. “Here’s a souvenir, old chap—not a real one, but an exact model.”

With unsteady hands, Derek drew out a shiny automatic from the box.

“Darling,” called Lorna, from the kitchen, as Mannering went in that evening.

“Yes, sweet.”

“Longley and Mary Scott are getting married.”

“Nice work!”

“We’ll have to get a really good wedding present,” said Lorna. “Oh—and Stella’s been told she ought to have her voice trained professionally.”

“Oh, lor’,” groaned Mannering.