“And all,” murmured the cracksman to himself, “for Lady Kenton’s pearls.”
There was a sardonic smile on his lips as he unlocked the small desk against the wall and took the pearls from their hiding-place.
His words to Lady Kenton on the previous night had not been entirely empty. The string was beautifully graduated, worth every penny of five thousand pounds, and he wondered at the Dowager’s extravagance. It had been an exceptional present, and there seemed no real reason for it. Certainly he was half wishing now that she had chosen something more modest.
He slipped it back into the hiding-place, lit his cigarette, prepared himself a small lunch, and then went to see Bristow. He had intended to call at the Yard in any case, but his talk with Gerry Long had made him precipitate the visit. He was worried about Long, and it was possible that he could clear the situation after a talk with Bristow.
Bristow was his usual cheerful self, and Sergeant Tring, looking rather pleased with life, touched his forehead and hoped that Mannering wasn’t feeling tired after the previous day’s exertions.
“No,” said Mannering, “and I’ve never seen anyone exert himself less than you do. Why didn’t you order the doors to be shut?”
“Too late when we discovered the stuff missing,” said Tring briefly.
When the sergeant had gone, closing the door quietly behind him, the detective offered cigarettes, and smiled grimly.
“We didn’t have much luck on our first job together,” he said, as Mannering struck a match.
Mannering laughed, a little uncertainly.
“You seem confoundedly happy about it,” he countered.
Bristow shrugged. Mannering gained another insight into the character of the man whom he was rapidly beginning to like and to admire.
“There isn’t much use in getting all het up,” said the detective. “It doesn’t help us, nor anyone else. Besides, we always get our man in the long run.”
“Always?” Mannering’s brows went up.
“Ninety-nine times in a hundred, anyhow,” said Bristow cheerfully.
“That suggests,” Mannering said slowly, “that you believe last night’s job was another one from your man - the Baron?”
Bristow nodded, and the other noticed the glint of admiration in the detective’s eyes. Bristow was so used to finding himself dealing with men of very moderate intellect that it was a pleasure to talk with some one who grasped the essentials quickly.
“I mean just that,” he said. “I think Baron - or the Baron; call him what you like - did the job. The dummies were slipped into Long’s pocket to make him seem - ”
“Guilty?” asked Mannering.
“Well, to give that impression at first sight,” said Bristow. “You don’t have to look far before you realize Long was there for the other man to hang a hat on. While Tring and the others were worrying about the American, off goes the real thief.”
“A servant or a guest?”
Bristow rubbed his chin. He looked at Mannering thoughtfully, as though wondering just how far he could trust his amateur helper. Apparently his decision was favourable.
“Well,” he said, “I’m not really sure, of course. But there’s one guest who’s being watched very carefully, Mannering, and whose bank balance might not be quite so high as we think . . .”
Mannering felt just the same fear as he had when he had been with Gerry Long. This time he managed to control himself, and he did not change colour; but he took another cigarette from his case and stuck it between his lips, glad of the cover it gave. It was disconcerting to be faced with a statement like that, and he did not enjoy it. His heart was beating fast, and several seconds passed before he spoke.
“Yes?” he said, and he was surprised that his voice sounded natural.
“Yes,” said Bristow heavily. “It seems fantastic, of course, but have you noticed, Mannering, that Lady Kenton has been present at every robbery?”
“Lady Kenton?”
Mannering stared at his man, completely dumbfounded; there was no need at all for the simulation of surprise; Long, then Bristow, with the same fantastic notion!
“Look at it through plain glasses,” said Bristow, a little disgruntled by Mannering’s obvious astonishment, “and you can see what I mean, can’t you? There was that paltry brooch. She worried the life out of me about the thing, and it doesn’t need a very long stretch of imagination to believe that she did it to keep me worrying about her as a victim. And she has been at every robbery.”
Mannering took a deep breath, and forced himself make the obvious rejoinder.
“So have I,” he said.
Bristow grinned.
“Yes,” he admitted, “I’m not forgetting you, but I’m hoping for the best. Seriously, though, why did she fall on that table last night? Did you see anything in the way for her to stumble over?”
Mannering shook his head. There was more relish in these conversations with the detective than in any thing else he could remember, and he was beginning to enjoy himself thoroughly.
“There you are,” said Bristow triumphantly. “She says that she doesn’t know what caused her to slip, but she knows that something was in her way. Well - it’s a tall story.”
Mannering remembered, very vividly, how he had stretched his foot for the Countess to fall over.
“It is,” he admitted. “But, damn it, Bristow - the Dowager Countess of Kenton . . .”
“Why not?” demanded Bristow, with vigour. “There’s another thing, Mannering. That necklace, according to reports, was worth about five thousand pounds. Now, Lady Kenton hardly knew Marie Overndon. True, she knew the Wagnalls in America; but a five-thousand-pound wedding-gift!”
“That had occurred to me,” said Mannering, very seriously.
“It shouts suspicion,” said Bristow grimly, “and that’s one reason why I’m wary of it. I don’t like things shouting at me. They call the wrong tune too often.”
“There’s one thing,” said Mannering thoughtfully. “The first robbery the Baron was concerned in was of her own brooch, wasn’t it? And it included a bang over the head for the housekeeper. I can imagine Lady Kenton doing all kinds of things, but not that.”
“It might have given her the idea,” said Bristow. He was obviously pleased with the theory, and it would take a lot to shake him from it. Mannering felt that things could not have gone better. Lady Kenton wasn’t in the slightest danger, for her reputation and her behaviour would stand the strictest examination. And while Bristow was barking up the wrong tree Mannering felt that he would be able to do a great many things.
Of course, Bristow would be forced away from the suspicion soon. He would realize from the reports he had heard that the Baron’s activities - for instance, the lessons in lock-picking - were beyond the scope of the Dowager; but, while Bristow was chasing his hare, well and good.
But Mannering was still concerned about Gerry Long.
“The only reason Long can have for worrying,” said Bristow, when Mannering mentioned the fact, “is a knowledge of the job. If he’s not guilty - ”
“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 realizes 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.
“Hm,” 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 four now. That should give you plenty of time.”
Mannering nodded, well satisfied with the concession, and shook hands with his companion.