Meet The Baron

“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 realise 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.