Meet The Baron

Long looked very grim; Mannering watched him and wondered at the set expression on his face, but he was not prepared for the bombshell that followed.

“But I have,” Long said.

Just for a moment Mannering’s face turned colour. They were walking along the Mall, and Mannering had been enjoying the walk and the conversation. He was sorry for Gerry Long, and he proposed making sure as soon as it was possible that the American suffered no consequences from the suspicion that had fallen on him. Apart from that little matter he had felt thoroughly happy and at peace with the world. Success was coming easily, and he was still unsuspected — or at least so He had thought.

But Long had an idea who’d taken the pearls!

To cover his momentary confusion Mannering coughed. He straightened up with a smile that cost him a great effort.

“Sorry,” he said. “Er — so you have an idea, have you? Well . . .”

“I’ve no objection to telling you,” said Long, and Mannering’s heart stopped thumping. “It seems absurd, but . . .”

“Who are you getting at?” demanded Mannering, intrigued, yet sure that Long’s suspicion was not very close to the mark.

The other’s words made him gasp. They came quickly, as though the American was afraid of ridicule, but there was no doubting their sincerity.

“Lady Kenton,” said Gerry Long.

Lady Kenton! For a moment Mannering felt beyond the power of speech. He stared at the American, and only the grimness of the other’s eyes and the obvious sincerity of the words stopped him from laughing.

“But why ?” he demanded helplessly.

“It’s pretty clear,” said Long, rather more nasal than he was usually, “that the old dame’s fall and the disappearance of the pearls coincided . . .”

“Not necessarily,” said Mannering quickly.

“But they sure did,” persisted Long. “Look — I know I didn’t take them. You know you didn’t. Who else? She was the only one in the room, apart from the policeman . . .”

“What about Mason, the agency man ?” asked Mannering quickly.

“I’ve thought of him,” said Long. “He wasn’t near the table. In fact, I think he was actually outside the door just then.”

Mannering nodded.

“So it was you, I, or Lady Kenton,” said Long. “We know it wasn’t either of us . . .”

“So it must cancel out to her ladyship,” murmured Mannering.

He was on the alert now, for Long was being very persistent on the “it wasn’t either of us” note. Was it possible that the American did suspect him, and was playing him subtly ?

“That’s as I see it,” said Long.

Was he being sincere, or was he hinting? Mannering would have given a great deal to have known that, but he could only wait until Long had given him a further lead.

“Well,” he said, after a short pause, “that’s all right from our point of view. But the police will suspect you as much as Lady Kenton, if they suspect any of us.”

“You don’t have to tell me what they think about me,” said Long.

There was such bitterness in the words that Mannering looked at the other sharply. In that moment he realised that Gerry Long, for all his apparent ease of manner, for all his carelessness, was taking the affair to heart. The American felt the suspicion keenly. Just for a moment he looked desperate, and the fact came as something of a shock to Mannering.

He had not known the other many weeks, but he had told himself that Gerry Long was the last man in the world to worry much about being under suspicion. He told himself, too, that the young American’s financial position was such that it made that suspicion absurd. But the fact remained that Gerry Long was suffering keenly, and Mannering was worried. He changed his mind about going to the club.

“Let’s get along to my flat,” he suggested. “We can talk this out, Gerry.”

Long agreed. He did not speak during the walk to the flat, and the impression of desperation that Mannering had gathered on the previous night and which he had seen that morning was heightened. There was something on Gerry Long’s mind that was worrying him a great deal more than seemed justifiable.

An hour later Mannering told himself that the American left the flat in a more cheerful frame of mind than when he had reached it. But Mannering was still worried. Long had discussed the theft thoroughly, but he had given Mannering no clue to the reason for his anxiety; yet that anxiety was very real, Mannering was sure.

“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