Meet The Baron

Fauntley broke the silence at last.

“There you are, Mannering — the Gabrienne collection, reckoned the purest stones found during the early nineteenth century. It’s my prize piece. I’ve others, of course, but in ones and twos; there’s no collection to match this. I’m talking of diamonds, of course. The Karenz rubies are matchless too, and the Deveral sapphires. Let me see . . .” The peer rubbed his forehead and frowned. “You must see the rubies — I think they’re in the third safe.”

Mannering saw them, and a dozen other examples of the jewel-setter’s art that made his eyes agate-hard. He could take gems from this room worth ten or twenty thousand pounds, and Fauntley would hardly notice they were gone. In the safe where the Gabrienne collection was kept there were half a dozen other cases of smaller stones; and he knew the combination! If he managed to get them it might be months before Fauntley missed what had been taken.

He was nearing the end of his run, he knew. The Black-jack-Feodora double helped a little, but unless he stopped gambling his resources would last another month, perhaps; two at the outside. It was absurd, he admitted, to rely on winning enough to keep going; he would soon touch bottom.

What did that mean ?

It meant absolute poverty, the loss of position, the loss of friends, the loss of pleasures. It meant going without clothes — real clothes — and perhaps without food. He had realised all that before, of course, but he had not faced it. He had determined to strain the flesh-pots of indulgence to their utmost, and then let Fate make of him what it wanted. In fact, he admitted, he had never faced what would happen after the crash; he had only known that the crash would come, and that anything was better than the life he had been leading over the past five years. Until the month at Overndon he had been contented enough. He admitted it. But the Overndon month had split him asunder.

What followed had been an interesting experiment.

Mimi Rayford, Madaline Sayer, Alice Vavasour, all had been interesting, up to a point. They had been amusing, up to the same point. Betting was at once interesting, amusing, and occasionally exciting, and consequently was a point above Mimi, Madaline, and Alice; and, of course, there were other people and other things.

They had all been intriguing and amusing and had made life pleasantly varied; occasionally they had even given a notable kick to the business of living. But there had been nothing vital. Vital!

Mannering looked away from the Karenz rubies, and saw Lorna Fauntley’s eyes quizzing his. His lips curved, and hers responded. The mutiny, the mockery, the boredom, in her eyes were lost for a moment, and her teeth flashed.

“Impressed, Mr Mannering?”

“Overwhelmed,” said Mannering truthfully.

“Not the first nor the last,” said Lord Fauntley, locking his precious rubies in their safe. “Well, that’s the lot. Just a minute, Lucy, my dear; you’re in the way. Ha! Well, Mannering? Not many people would like to try conclusions with that strong-room, and an armed man on guard while the best stones are inside. Lucy! Don’t unlock the library door until the strong-room’s closed. All right now, my dear.”

They walked slowly across the library, and Mannering’s mind was humming with the words “and an armed man”. That was something he hadn’t expected. He looked about him, and caught sight of the man sitting unobtrusively in a corner of the room. He was reading, and didn’t look up, even when Fauntley went to a bureau near him, unlocked it, and dropped a key into a drawer. Then he locked the drawer and turned towards the others.

But Mannering knew what had happened, and he could scarcely believe that luck was breaking his way so much. Fauntley kept the key of the strong-room in that bureau. Of course, in many ways it was safe; few people would look for it there, unless they knew it could be found.

Mannering knew; and he was telling himself that the bureau-drawer could be prised open in a few seconds.

He glanced again at the guard, a short, stocky fellow who would be difficult to get past; difficult, but not impossible by any means. . . .

“What are you going to do after that?” asked Lorna.

Mannering, leaning against the marble mantelpiece of the lounge, surveyed his companion silently for several seconds. Lord and Lady Fauntley, abruptly conscious of the duties of parenthood, had disappeared on some mysterious errand, and Mannering had been with their daughter for several minutes. Neither had spoken until that question.

Mannering shrugged his shoulders at last.

“Do I satisfy?” Lorna asked suddenly.

“Y’know, you shouldn’t have said that,” said Mannering. “You’re not made for peddling the obvious.”

“Isn’t this isolation of the young with the eligible just as obvious?” demanded Lorna, her eyes smouldering. “Or do you still preserve your innocence in a world of matchmaking parents?”

“Sometimes it’s folly to be wise,” said Mannering, and took a deep breath. “I like your mother.”

“Poor Dad!”

“Rich, I thought the better word. In more ways than one.”

A tinge of colour flooded the girl’s cheeks. In the soft light of the lounge she had a loveliness that a harsher light might have mocked.

“And are you considering your verdict?” she asked with an effort. “While mother’s saying, “I wonder if” and Dad’s grunting, “Not a chance, m’dear; the little fool’s got no sense.”

“It’s a regular performance, then?”

“Almost a vicious habit. But lately it’s been . . . I’ve been away more often. You may have heard” — her eyes danced — “that I paint.”