Held At Bay (4 page)

Chapter Six

Messages And Action

It was just after one o'clock when Mannering left Salmonson's office. It was impossible to start work until the evening, and he had to be patient. He amused himself with an early evening paper's account of the Baron's latest robbery, finding more than a hint of sympathy with the cracksman. More than once, by a characteristic bold and generous gesture, the Baron had gained sympathy rather than opprobrium.

Lorna's train was not due at Dover until twelve-thirty, and there was hardly time for a message. He walked to his Club, the Barton in the Mall, and was in the middle of an excellent grill when he heard his name called. He looked up, to see the youthful figure of the man who had first started him on the chase for the five Jewels of Castilla.

Juan de Castilla was older than he seemed. He had been at Cambridge when John Mannering was up, and their friendship had lasted. De Castilla had all the flashing good looks of the
hidalgo,
and Mannering knew that when he had been driven out of Spain, with his father and sister, it had been a blow that would never be altogether healed unless there was a political upheaval. But he was outwardly as exuberant as ever he had been, and gripped Mannering's hand.

“Am I interfering, my friend, or may I join you?”

“I'm in no hurry, and I'm hungry,” said Mannering. “I can recommend this extremely appetising grill.”

“I have just half an hour,” said de Castilla. “My tease of a sister has made me promise to go shopping with her this afternoon.”

“I can't imagine a better way of spending an afternoon than with Anita,” said Mannering. “How is she?”

“As restless and worried as ever.” Juan de Castilla frowned, “It is a bad business, Mannering. Those jewels! How absurd that men and women should worry so much about little things. But they are part of us, in our blood. We would rather have lost everything than those.”

“Juan, did you see that Price was burgled last night?”

“Yes, yes, but it was not the Sea of Fire that was taken.”

“According to the measurements Price gave the Press, it was the Sea of Fire,” said Mannering.

Juan's expression changed, he looked appalled. Obviously he had had no idea that the robbery at Price's house had been
because
of the Sea of Fire.

He finished the lamb, new potatoes and
petits pois
too quickly, obviously upset. When Mannering went with him to the lounge, Anita de Castilla was waiting. She stood up quickly, a slim, lovely little creature dressed in black trimmed with red, with her flawless, creamy skin, dark eyes that could flash from anger or merriment, black hair that would never be properly controlled, and full, generous lips. She held Mannering's hand.

“It is John, what a pleasure to see you. How are you? You have been feeding Juan to make him as fat as you, yes?”

Mannering chuckled, Juan said: “Steady!” and Anita suddenly realised her
gaffe
and tumbled apology after apology.

Mannering felt cheerful when he watched them leave. Juan had been right when he had said that the Crown of Castilla was part of them. None of the family would rest happily unless the five stones were found. What he knew of the Isabella Diamond made it easy to understand. The gem had seen so many wars and so many adventures, had been part of the royal sceptre of the court of Spain in the days of the Armada. Isabella had threatened to sell it to enable Columbus to start his voyage of exploration.

There was history, romance, blood and fire in the five Jewels of Castilla. Mannering knew them all, and could understand the passionate desire to regain them.

That night, if the Baron's luck held, the Diamond of Desire would be in his possession. And if Granette was able to work quickly, Kelworthy's syndicate would have the Sea of Fire, and Panneraude's Crown of Castile. Mannering would have to fly that weekend to get the biggest of the stones from van Royten, in New York.

It was three o'clock when he reached Clarges Street, and saw a small Morris car parked some fifty yards from his flat. He also saw the driver. It was a temptation to talk to the Yard man but the keen-eyed youngster who had lost him at Charing Cross would probably not appreciate it.

He opened the door of the flat, and kicked the telegraph envelope lying on the mat. News from Lorna already! He ripped it open and read the cryptic message quickly.

OLL RETURNED LONDON GEE STAYING HOTEL RIVOL RUE DE RIVOLI OVERHEARD APPOINTMENT PIERRE PANNERAUDE TOMORROW MIDDAY L.

So Granette was going to see Panneraude, making an effort to buy the Crown of Castile before he attempted to steal it!

The pace was hot. He had to tackle Salmonson's place that night: in a little more than four hours.

Salmonson's shop and offices were on the comer of the junction of Hatton Garden and Liber Street. The bottom windows were barred and shuttered. The police patrolled that quarter of London more zealously than any other, most of the houses had armed guards inside, with burglar alarms rigged up to the last degree of ingeniousness. Mannering might know the way into Salmonson's vault, but he could not know what he was likely to meet as he went towards it.

He did not need to study the lock of Salmonson's door too well that night, for he had seen the type when he had called there in the morning. He knew that he needed the most powerful cutter made for the grill inside. There were plenty of such cutters, and the chief difficulty had been to get one to Hatton Garden without attracting the attention of the police.

Normally he would have started a town robbery after midnight, but his knowledge of the care with which Hatton Garden was watched stopped him. He knew, as no one else could, that the actual chances of success were a hundred to one against, and most men would have thought he was lengthening the odds during the early evening. He believed otherwise.

It was dark when he walked towards the corner from the Strand, carrying a small suitcase in his hands, and dressed in a ready-made lounge suit that changed his appearance remarkably. The few lines at his mouth, the darkening of his skin, and rubber pads in his cheeks made him very different from John Mannering. A policeman could look at him for five minutes, face to face, and not recognise him as Mannering.

At eight o'clock, Hatton Garden and the precious stone market of London was only half-asleep. Several shops and offices were open, although the regular trading hours were past. Mannering, who had been in and out of the district a great deal as John Mannering, knew that artisans were cutting and polishing stones for prompt delivery, that he was passing stolen goods and legitimate ones, that behind most of the shutters armed guards were waiting.

But it would be some time before the police watch was concentrated for the night. Mannering passed a policeman, who seemed to size him up and pass him as presentable.

The lights were few and far between, excepting where they shone between the shop windows. Only a few people were passing to and fro, most of them from the buildings nearby. There was no regular thoroughfare, and Liber Street offered no short cut to anywhere in London. Few people were likely to use it.

The premises of Messrs. Salmonson & Grey, on the corner, had two separate entrances. One was to the shop, the other to the offices above. Mannering might have decided to pick the lock of the offices, but he believed there was only one entrance to Salmonson's room, and one way to the vault; through the shop itself. Despite the thick bars of the gate the front door was his safest bet, but the small porch by the office entrance in Liber Street would be useful for shelter.

Mannering reached the corner and turned it, without pausing in his stride but glancing sharply up and down the street. There was no one in sight but the policeman, whose back was turned towards him. The man was not due to pass this corner again for half an hour.

Mannering slipped into the porch and opened his case. His tools were in it, together with the blue mask and his gas-pistol. Except for the heavy steel cutter, he put everything in his pockets. He did not propose to put on the blue mask until he was inside.

He stepped to the corner again, with the cutter under his coat. It was as weighty as two jemmies tied together, and shaped like a pair of pincers. The powerful maw could cut through inch thick steel in seconds, the leverage power of the tool was so great. Mannering had not believed what it could do until he had actually operated the tool. That maw could snap inch steel as easily as he could cut barbed wire with ordinary cutters, with even less effort.

He reached the corner from the shadows of the porch, his heart beating fast now, every sense alert. No one was in sight, and there were no lights within fifty feet of him. No one farther away than twenty yards could see him clearly.

The door of Salmonson & Grey's was locked for the night, and to the outward eye seemed impenetrable. Mannering was thinking about the chief obstacle, the iron-barred gate inside. The lock of this door should be child's play. As he began to work, the personality of the Baron gradually took over.

He used a pick-lock which was second nature now, but he hardly had it in the keyhole before he heard the sound of footsteps from somewhere close by.

The sound came without a moment's warning, right in his ears. He went rigid, then realised that someone was coming down the stairs of the premises next door, close enough to be dangerous and yet out of sight. He pushed the pick-lock into his pocket and stepped to the edge of the pavement. The footsteps sounded, sharp and incisive.

A glance over his shoulder showed the Baron that the door looked normal enough. No one could know that a pick-lock had been in it a few seconds before. He took a cigarette from his pocket, and stood lounging on the corner. A moment later a short, dry-faced man with side-whiskers came out of the next-door building.

He looked sharply, almost suspiciously at Mannering, never dreaming how the lounger's heart was thumping, and then turned right, away from Liber Street. Mannering watched him out of his sight, his pulse steadying, but still on edge. The suddenness of those footsteps had jolted him badly.

The man with the side-whiskers had not locked his door, which suggested there was someone else to follow. To Mannering the waiting seemed interminable. He was tempted to try again when suddenly he heard the sound of heavier footsteps. He went round the corner this time, still able to hear the second man coming downstairs. The key of the door was turned, and he knew the place was shut up for the night.

He slipped into the shadows of the doorway where he had left his case. A moment later the fellow passed him, without suspecting his presence. Mannering watched the second man disappear before slipping to the corner again.

Five precious minutes had gone, but there was no one else in sight and the first door would soon be open. He pushed the pick-lock in with steady fingers. Suddenly there was a sharp click! and the Baron stood there, with the door swinging open. Ahead of him, across the passage, was the barred gate he had seen that afternoon.

The streets were empty, although from a distant room came the sound of a man's voice, bawling
Yeah, yeah, yeah
with a drunken gaiety. Mannering cursed the singer, for he was straining his ears to catch the slightest sound of approach.

Now was the testing time for the cutters.

The darkness was complete, but he flashed his lamp to make sure of his position. Then he took the cutters from under his coat, and put the maw about one of the inch thick iron bars. He levered the handles slowly, feeling the sudden pressure as the jaws began to bite through the steel. Almost before he realised it had happened the two jaws met together with a faint click.

The first bar was in two parts!

Mannering was breathing hard as he started on the second bar, but it was as easy as the first. In less than three minutes the lock had been cut away from the grille-gates, and he pushed it slowly.

He pushed it wider, stepped across the threshold, into the small shop, and turned to pull the grille behind him. He worked very fast, following a preconceived plan without a pause. He ran two pieces of sticking plaster on the door edge and the framework, making sure the door would not open accidentally with a rush of wind. The silence was profound, not even the voice of the singer penetrated into the shop.

The Baron slipped inside, closing the shop door behind him without locking it. His mind felt very clear. Salmonson's office was on the ground floor, just behind the workroom, and he knew just which door he had to pass through. He did not use a light, except one flash from his torch to show the direction.

The door leading from the shop to the passage beyond was locked, but Mannering made a quick job of it with the pick-lock. Then he stood in the passage, in utter darkness, hardly breathing. One more door and he was in Salmonson's room, the way to the vault was open.

He slipped the blue handkerchief over his chin, and stepped to Salmonson's door. With the shop door closed, no one could possibly see him from outside, but Mannering worked with the light of his torch all the time, deciding not to switch on the electric light.

The lock was a perfect example of the locksmith's art. No pick-lock in the world could open it, but the Baron had seen the type when he had visited Salmonson, and had known how to prepare. He had two well greased keys, made for similar locks, among his tools. He pushed them into the double-locks, after dusting them with a fine white powder. When he withdrew them, making no sound at all, the edges where the locks had come up against the keys and prevented them from turning showed clearly in the light of his torch.

Time was flying, but he had to be patient. He used a sharp file, working on the edges steadily. In sixty seconds one key was altered enough to fit, in two minutes they were both effective. He turned them together without a sound.

The lock yielded, and the Baron pushed at the door. It opened, slowly at first, and he drew a sharp breath as he pushed it wider.