more than a knot of wood, but as his podgy fingers pressed on it a narrow slot was revealed in the side-panel. Grayson stuffed the pearls into it quickly, and released the pressure. The slot closed up, and in spite of his anxiety Mannering was intrigued by its neatness. The cunningness of that hiding-place was increased by the fact that no one could have seen that the desk was anything but solid wood unless they knew of the button-control.
He had little time for thinking, however.
The other seemed to have forgotten him, and hurried across the room, pulled open the door of a small Chubb safe, bundled the packet of notes which he had brought back into it, and slammed the door to.
“Get into that chair,” he snapped. “You’re after a job, understand? The police . . .”
Mannering nodded, and dropped into the seat that was opposite Grayson. The latter slipped into his chair, spread his hands on the desk in front of him, and smiled thinly. Mannering told himself that he had never seen a man act so swiftly and so surely. His opinion of the receiver went up by leaps and bounds.
“So you’ve been waiting for me, eh?” said Grayson, his deep voice filling the office. “Well, I don’t know if I’ve got anything in your line, mate. I . . . Come in,”
He broke off, looking towards the door. It opened, after the merest apology of a knock, and Sergeant Tanker Tring moved into the room, a gloomy smile on his face, his hands deep in his pockets.
“Well ?” Grayson looked puzzled, and Mannering clenched his teeth.
“Don’t waste my time like that,” protested Tanker, a little forlornly. “You know me, Mr Grayson. . . .”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. And then he smiled. It was beautifully done, and Mannering felt his panic leaving him.
“Tring,” he said, “the policeman. I thought I’d seen you before,”
“I’ll have to dye my hair red,” said Tanker, “and then you’ll be sure,” He seemed completely at his ease as he sat on the corner of the desk, less than a yard from Mannering. He looked down on that big-muscled man with interest.
Mannering’s nerves were stretched to breaking-point. He knew that the slightest slip might give him away, and he was afraid of what would happen if Tanker looked at his eyes too closely. The eyes couldn’t be disguised: they were the danger-spot.
The policeman shrugged his shoulders, as though dis-appointed.
“What’s your name ?” he demanded.
Mannering knew that there was only one attitude he could adopt to be in keeping with his appearance, and never in his life had he been so grateful to Mr Karl Seltzer’s voice-training.
“What the “ell’s that got ter do with you?” he growled.
For a moment his eyes met Tanker’s, but there was no gleam of recognition in the policeman’s. Tanker grinned, and shrugged his shoulders.
“No offence,” he said, “but don’t come it, mate,” He turned to Grayson, who was leaning back in his chair and smiling. “Sorry to disturb you, Mr Grayson” — there was a wealth of sarcasm in that opening — “but I’ve got to look round,”
“Look round ?” Grayson’s eyes widened. “I don’t know . . .”
“No one ever does know what I mean,” said Tanker sadly. “Don’t come it, Mr Grayson. Try and think of a reply to the beak — he might listen.”
Grayson kept his temper admirably, or at least he gave the impression that he was doing so.
“I suppose you mean magistrate ?” he said. “If you think there’s any reason for talking like that, Tring . . .”
Tring looked at him admiringly.
“Would you believe it,” he said, “but someone’s suggested that a gentleman like you might be a fence ? Don’t ask me what that is. I know you’ve never heard it before, so I’ll tell you. It’s a receiver of stolen goods.”
For the first time Grayson seemed rattled and a little apprehensive.
“Don’t talk nonsense,” he snapped. “If you’ve anything to ask me, get it over, Tring. I haven’t time to waste,”
Tm going to have a look round,” said Tring simply.
“Not without permission,” snapped Grayson.
Tring swung his legs and grinned.
“You don’t think I’d be silly enough to come without a warrant, do you?” he asked. “Open up, Grayson — or life’s going to turn awkward for you.”
Grayson gave a helpless little laugh.
“There’s no reason why I should make it awkward if you’ve really got a search-warrant,” he said; “but it’s an infernal impudence, Tring.”
“I wouldn’t pull your leg,” said Tanker.
He took the document from his pocket, and pushed it in front of Grayson’s nose. The latter glanced down it, shrugged, and waved his hands expressively.
“All right,” he said. “Go ahead. But let me tell you, you’ll hear more of this.”
Tanker clapped his hands. The door opened quickly, and two of the men whom Mannering had seen in the yard entered. The sergeant told them to get to it, and they started quickly.
