circumstances. And when I read about the burglary last night” — she motioned to the paper as she went on — “I realised that I’d known it was you all along.”
“Yet you stayed here last night?”
“I think I was more — amused — than anything else,” said Lorna very softly. “It
“I’ve never heard that one,” said Mannering, a little ruefully, and with a sudden light-heartedness.
“It’s quite a general one,” she said. “And I can see how cleverly you’ve created the impression, my dear. It’s almost fool proof. Even Dad has no idea . . .”
“But you knew?”
Lorna nodded, and there was an expression in her eyes which tormented him.
“I know
“Damn the breakfast!” said Mannering. There’s something else you wanted to say, but which you’ve kept back. What is it?”
Lorna’s smiled disappeared as he stared into her eyes. The anxiety he had seen in her eyes before returned. Her lips parted a little, and she looked —
“Isn’t there?” he persisted, very quietly.
Lorna nodded slowly. She tried to speak, but the words would not come. Mannering’s mind was in a whirl as he waited. For the life of him he could understand nothing, could conceive of no reason for this sudden change in her manner. Yet he knew that she had been worried months ago. That time when they had talked of marriage — and had postponed it at her wish — came very vividly to him. The same something that had forced her to ask him to forget it was worrying her now, and was in some way connected with her need for money a few days before.
“Take your time,” he said.
“It’s so difficult,” began Lorna. . . .
And then someone tapped on the front-door.
The sound seemed to echo through the flat like a revolver-shot. The colour drained from Lorna’s face, and Mannering paled. Instinctively they looked towards the papers, with their glaring headlines, and the same fear was in each mind.
Mannering broke the tense silence as the knock came again more imperatively.
“I’ll go,” he said. “Keep out of sight.”
Lorna nodded, and turned away. Walking with his right arm stiff at his side, Mannering went to the door. His colour had returned, and he was laughing at himself. The knock might be from any casual caller — from a tradesman, from a friend. . . .
He opened the door, convinced that his fears were groundless; and the next moment he was facing the sprucely dressed Detective-Inspector Bristow!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MANNERING FELT THE SHOCK RUN THROUGH HIM, AND HE believed he had betrayed himself. He could not repress the fear that came back, while he wondered whether it was possible that this call had nothing to do with the burglary. He told himself that it wasn’t, and felt the blood drain from his cheeks. There was a sudden change of expression on Bristow’s face, which had been creased in a pleasant enough smile.
Then Mannering sneezed.
He was used to the need for quick action, and he knew that suspicion would be sown in Bristow’s mind unless he explained the sudden change of expression. So the sneeze came quickly, and seemed natural. He had recovered by the time he looked up, and grinned an apology.
“Sorry, Inspector, sorry. That’s not much of a greeting.”
Bristow smiled, and offered his hand. Mannering was forced to respond. He felt the muscles of his shoulder tearing as he gripped the other’s hand, and he kept back a wince of pain. But if that was all there was to worry him he was safe enough.
Bristow stepped into the first room, making no immediate comment. Mannering felt completely at a loss, but he motioned to a chair, and pushed a box of cigarettes towards the detective.
Bristow took one with a nod, and lit it
“Thanks,” he said. Then he smiled a little, and half shrugged his shoulders. “Can you guess why I’ve come ?” he asked.
“I can’t,” confessed Mannering, sitting down at the table. He realised suddenly that it was laid for two, and that the detective would be bound to notice it, but he couldn’t worry about that now. “Unless it’s this . . .”
He tapped a paper lying front-page upward on the table, next to Lorna’s knife and fork.
Bristow nodded, and his expression was grim. Mannering streamed smoke towards the ceiling, trying to look unconcerned, and wondering whether he succeeded. The suspense of this meeting was getting unbearable, but Bristow was apparently waiting for him to speak again. He made an effort.
“You think it’s another Baron job ?”
“Not much doubt about it,” said Bristow. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, looking at Mannering thoughtfully. Mannering was on edge; at any moment the policeman would see that second place at the table, a thought he could not get out of his mind. It affected Lorna, and Mannering meant to keep her name out of anything
