John Creasey - Meet The Baron

“And you don’t think he is?” Mannering asked.

“No,” said Bristow. Then he added more warily: “That is, I’ve my doubts, but if he is seriously concerned about the affair it’s funny.”

Mannering broke in, with some warmth.

“He wouldn’t be the first man to be worried by an accusation which was unjust, would he?”

“No-o,” admitted Bristow. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curling towards the ceiling. “When all’s said and done, Mannering, the business is darned complicated. We are stopped because we don’t know whether the real pearls or the dummies were on that table all day. It’s quite possible that the actual theft took place before the wedding, and the little affair yesterday isn’t connected with it.”

“Then bust goes your case against Lady Kenton.”

“I haven’t got a case against Lady Kenton,” said Bristow bluntly. “I’ve just got an idea that she might be more than she seems, and it will be worth your while to watch her. Er — that is, if you’re still anxious to carry on.”

Mannering laughed, to the Inspector’s obvious pleasure.

“I’m enjoying it,” he said, “although I’m annoyed about the pearls. I suppose” — his eyes were fixed on Bristow curiously — “there’s no doubt but that there were genuine pearls. I mean, if only dummies were given — and Gerry Long had the dummies . . .”

Bristow shook his head and smiled.

“That won’t wash,” he said. “We’re not altogether mugs here, Mannering. We’ve had that purchase checked up. Lady Kenton actually bought the pearls and paid for them by cheque. She had them delivered by special messenger, and they reached the Park Square house the day before yesterday. They cost four thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds, and they were supplied by Daulby and Co., of Piccadilly.”

Mannering chuckled with genuine humour.

“A complete history, eh? That certainly disposes of my hunch. So we’re faced with the fact that the real pearls disappeared between yesterday morning and yesterday afternoon. The incident when I was there with Lady Kenton might mean something or might not.”

“That’s it,” said Bristow, with a worried smile. “It’s a ticklish job, I’ll admit. I can’t really make head-or-tail of it. Your friend Long makes another complication, and I can’t get it out of my head that he’s in it, somewhere.”

“I wish we could clean it up, if only to clear him,” said Mannering.

“I’ve got different motives, but I’d give a lot to catch our man,” said Bristow. “Well — excuse me a minute, will you ?”

The telephone-bell rang out as he spoke. Mannering nodded and studied the ceiling, hearing Bristow’s snapped words into the mouthpiece, but not gathering the drift of them.

He knew, however, that the message had concerned the affair of the pearls, for Bristow turned round and was frowning as he replaced the receiver. Again that ridiculous feeling of panic swept through Mannering. Was it possible that he had been suspected all the time, and that the pearls had been found in the service-flat? The police weren’t fools. . . .

Bristow’s first words relieved him on that score, but worried him on another unexpectedly.

“It rather looks,” admitted the detective, “as though we had our man, first time; or, at least, Tanker did . . .”

“Tanker?” Mannering spoke more to gain time than for any other reason. So they were back at Gerry Long.

Bristow smiled frostily.

“Sergeant Tring, or Tanker,” he explained. “But the point is, Mannering, that Long has apparently done this kind of thing before . . .”

For the second time Mannering stared at the detective as if he was seeing a ghost. The statement seemed ridiculous, but Bristow had made it in all seriousness. Gerry Long had done this kind of thing before! God! Where would this end?

“This is getting beyond me,” he admitted, after a pause. He lit a cigarette from the butt of his first, trying to picture Long in the role of a cracksman. Damn it, the idea was absurd!

Bristow pressed his lips together.

“The position’s clarified now,” he said. “You know Long’s a collector of precious stones?”

“We’ve often compared notes,” said Mannering.

“He doesn’t seem to mind much how he collects them,” said Bristow grimly. “We sent to New York for a report as soon as we heard of the trouble last night. They radioed back at once. Long has twice been mixed up in a scandal of this nature, and twice he’s been able to buy his way out of trouble.”

“ Buy his way?” muttered Mannering.

“It can be done,” said Bristow. “Over here they’d plead that he suffered from kleptomania and . . . Well, being in his position, he might get off with a warning. Over there they’ve another way out. Anyhow, Long’s committed similar crimes on two separate occasions, and it’s pretty obvious what’s happened this time.”

“Yes,” murmured Mannering. He felt very hot and very uncertain. The complications were beginning to worry him. Whatever else happened, Long must not be victimised for this robbery.

“He slipped the genuine pearls away,” said Bristow, “but didn’t have a chance to put the dummies in their place. He had ample time, afterwards, to dispose of the genuine pearls and . . .”

Mannering shook his head, and Bristow stopped, very vividly aware of the other s aggressive tone.

“No,” said Mannering. “I’m sorry, Bristow, but I just don’t believe that Long took those pearls. If any man’s innocent Long is.”

“Then why is he worried?” snapped Bristow. “And what of the previous affairs in America?”

Mannering shrugged his shoulders.

“They fit in together,” he said. “Long feels that he is under suspicion. Remembering these other jobs, he’s worried, because he realises they’ll be connected. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”

“It’s possible,” admitted Bristow. His eyes narrowed, and he was silent for several minutes. “You seem very friendly with Long,” he added at last, but the tone of his voice robbed the words of any offence.

Mannering smiled, and nodded his agreement.

“H’m,” said Bristow, a little heavily. “Well — I don’t need to ask you not to mention this American message to him.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Mannering evasively.

“See Long again.”

“When?”

“At once,” said Bristow, eyeing his companion uncertainly, and searching for the reasons for the questions.

Mannering’s smile was enigmatical.

“Let me tackle him,” he said. “You — or your men — can be listening in the next room. You’ll get the genuine story — if Long’s had anything to do with it.”

Bristow looked doubtful still.

“You think I’ll warn him?” Mannering laughed.

Bristow coloured a little at the thrust.

“I wouldn’t put it beyond you,” he admitted. “I’ll do that, though, if you like. But why?”

“It’ll be rough on him if he bangs right into you,” said Mannering. “He’s worried already. I’d like to let him down as easily as possible.”

Bristow laughed, but without much humour.

“Have it your own way,” he said. “Where are you thinking of talking with him?”

“My flat?” suggested Mannering.

“I’ll get there just after six,” said the detective, looking at his watch. “It’s just turned sour now. That should give you plenty of time.”

Mannering nodded, well satisfied with the concession, and shook hands with his companion.

But although his smile when he left the Yard was as wide as it had been when he had entered, he was inwardly feeling the strain. He had known that something serious had been at the back of Gerry Long’s mind that morning. Now he knew just what it was. The old scandals in which the other had been involved were bound to be revealed, and the young American had realised it.