The Blood Diamond (15 page)

She knew that it wouldn't.

 

 

Mannering woke up feeling low and sorry for himself, but the pain in his knee was much easier, although the swelling was worse and the compress about it was uncomfortably tight. He yawned – then suddenly stretched out and felt inside the pocket of a waistcoat, on the bedside chair. He found what he wanted.

He brooded for a while.

Lorna and Judy re-bandaged the swollen knee before breakfast. Judy went off to cook breakfast, and Mannering lay and looked at Lorna, who was in a dark blue dressing-gown; beautiful, serene. He forced a twisted grin.

‘Knock out drops for Hero Number One,' he said.

Lorna laughed. ‘Darling, you needed them!'

‘Now let's be serious,' said Mannering.

She sat on the side of the bed and took his hands. Her eyes were shadowed with fear she'd tried to fight away. Neither of them spoke. Suddenly she leaned forward and kissed him passionately. When she drew back, she said:

‘Thank you, darling.'

‘Thank
me?
Why, you—'

‘Don't talk about it yet.' Lorna got up quickly, and went to the dressing-table. ‘It's time I dressed. Everything's all right with Bristow. He's guessed the truth, of course, but there isn't much he can do about it, and not much that he wants to do, if I judged him aright'

‘That was last night. What did you tell him?'

Lorna explained.

Mannering nodded with satisfaction. ‘It's nice and simple, and it answers everything,' he said. ‘I can tell him how I went to Guildford ready to kill. His trouble will be the fat-faced stranger who rescued you!'

Judy brought in breakfast.

Lorna said: ‘Forsythe told me about Flick.'

‘Oh.'

‘You know he died trying to help us, don't you?'

‘Trying to help me, to be correct. Yes.'

Suddenly, breakfast didn't appeal to either of them.

‘There isn't much doubt that he was given the paste gems knowing he'd tell me, and that Lopez wanted to do a deal – the other stones in exchange for the Adalgo. When you turned up instead of me, they switched their plans.'

‘Why kill Flick?'

‘Because he recognised Lopey,' said Mannering.

‘There isn't any proof that it
was
Lopey. It could have been someone else.'

‘I doubt it.'

The front door bell rang; it seemed always to be ringing.

‘That'll be Larraby,' Lorna said, ‘and it's nine o'clock, and I'm not ready. I don't think I can work this morning, anyhow.'

‘You won't have the chance,' said Mannering. ‘Larraby won't turn up.'

Lorna stared. ‘Why not?'

‘He was one of the men who surprised us at Guildford,' said Mannering, quietly. ‘I saw him. We know he's a pretty cool customer, but coming here will be too much for him.'

Lorna drew in her breath. ‘Josh,' she said. ‘Oh, Josh.'

‘I know. But I saw him in the light of the torch, and I also saw him about to crack that policeman's skull, At least we know where we stand.'

‘Does Bristow know?'

‘I doubt it.'

‘Will you tell him?'

‘I can't, without giving too much away.'

They were silent, until Judy tapped at the door. When Lorna called out: ‘Come in,' she opened it and poked her head inside and said:

‘I'm sorry to worry you, ma'am, but it's the tra—I mean, it's your
model.
Mr. Larraby, I mean,' she added, and stared at Mannering's expression in astonishment ‘It's—it's all right to let him in, isn't it?'

‘Tell him to wait,' Lorna said, and added as the door was closing: ‘John, you were wrong.'

‘I can't believe it,' Mannering said.

‘I suppose he doesn't realise that you saw him. What are you going to do?'

‘You dress, I'll think.'

She went to the wardrobe and took out her clothes. He looked at her as she stepped out of a silk nightdress, and didn't smile. Ten minutes later, she was ready.

‘Well?'

‘I'll see him,' said Mannering.

Lorna went out, leaving the door ajar. Larraby's voice was soothing, gentle. He was extremely sorry to hear that Mr. Mannering was hurt, and hoped that it was not serious. He was delighted that Mrs. Mannering—

Lorna said: ‘Not really serious. He'd like to see you.'

‘He's well enough for that? Good!'

Larraby came in, greying hair untidy about his ears and neck, but wearing a new suit; well, a different suit, which wasn't patched. It was too large for him, of sandy-coloured tweed, baggy at knees and elbows, dropping round his insteps; it made him look smaller, almost wizened.

‘Good morning, Mr. Mannering. I'm sorry—'

Mannering said harshly: ‘The joke's over, you don't have to be sorry.'

He missed nothing; the sudden change in Larraby's expression, the almost pathetic droop of his lips, the way his hands raised, then flopped to his side. After that, Larraby stood quite still.

‘Where were you last night, Larraby?'

‘I—'

‘I asked you to stay here. You agreed. Where did you go?'

‘The police made me leave,' said Larraby, in a taut voice. ‘They called soon after you'd left – it was the man Tring. I told him you'd asked me to stay but he didn't believe me, said he'd charge me with being on enclosed premises if I didn't leave – he may do that, yet. I persuaded him not to, until he had talked to you.'

That couldn't be a lie; Larraby wouldn't use Tring's name if it were.

‘And then?'

Larraby said: ‘Mr. Mannering, I don't believe you would start this again unless you thought you had a good reason. Will you please tell me why you think it necessary?'

It was difficult to believe that this man had smashed a weapon against a policeman's head; or lied, tricked, cheated and fooled him time and time again.

‘Last night, an acquaintance of mine was at a house in Guildford – a house called
Green Ways,
Bingham Street.'

There was no sign on Larraby's face that the name of the house or the mention of Guildford meant anything to him.

‘There was a burglary there,' Mannering went on. ‘You were seen.'

Larraby started. ‘It's impossible!'

‘He is prepared to say so in Court.'

‘In—Court!' sighed Larraby. He advanced a step, with his hands outstretched. ‘Mr. Mannering, it isn't true! I was in London all last night. I—' he drew in a sharp breath.

‘You've just remembered that you weren't, have you?'

Larraby said in a low-pitched voice:

‘What time was this, Mr. Mannering?'

‘About eleven o'clock.'

‘About—eleven.' Larraby began to speak in broken phrases. ‘I was travelling from my wife's house, at that time. I went over to see her. Fortified by your—your promise of help, I thought that it might be my lucky day, I went out to Harrow, where she lives. She wasn't at home. I waited until half past ten, and then a neighbour told me that she had gone away for a few days. My luck wasn't in, after all. No, my luck wasn't in.'

Mannering said slowly:

‘So you've no alibi.'

‘I spoke to this neighbour. It was in the dark street – a woman who turned into the next door gate. She would not have seen me clearly, and I was anxious not to be seen.' Larraby licked his lips. ‘You—you've scared me, Mr. Mannering.'

‘You've reason to be scared. Do you know that Leverson was murdered?'

‘I have read about it. But I was
here,
then.'

‘You left here when young Harding came,' said Mannering, ‘and you hurried away from me. The next time I heard of you, you were outside Leverson's house. The police saw you there, too. You had time to kill Leverson, and—'

‘Mannering!' Not even a ‘Mister.'

Mannering said evenly: ‘You served time, Larraby, and the police will want to know what you were doing at the house.'

‘Yes – I know. Immediately I read of Leverson's murder, I knew that I would be questioned. But that didn't scare me. I didn't enter the house, I was waiting for you. I know nothing about what happened there, except what I read in the newspapers. That doesn't worry me, Mr. Mannering, but, this man who was seen—'

‘Well?'

‘Will—will your acquaintance tell the police?'

‘If you weren't at Guildford, what harm can it do?'

Larraby said: ‘A great deal of harm, Mr. Mannering. A man – with my record, my love of jewels – if it is even suspected that I was near there, the police will—' Larraby broke off, clenched his hands and shook them at the ceiling. ‘I wasn't there! I swear to God that I was not in Guildford. Your friend was mistaken!' After a pause he lowered his hands and dropped his voice. ‘Mr. Mannering, I wasn't there. I was not seen. Someone like me was seen, Mr. Mannering. And – this is what I have never told you. I have never told anyone, it seemed so useless. I did steal once and was justly sentenced, but I was supposed to have been seen at the scene of another robbery about the same time; I was arrested as a result of that, not as a result of the one which I committed. They charged me with the real crime, they couldn't prove the other. The man who was mistaken for me—'

‘Turned up again last night?' Mannering laughed bitterly. ‘Try another.'

Larraby said. ‘Of course, it's unbelievable. Of course. Well, tell the police, Mr. Mannering. I would rather get it over with.'

Was this a
guilty
man? If he were, would he gaze so desperately into Mannering's eyes?

‘Did you speak to this neighbour last night?'

‘You—believe me?'

‘If you spoke to someone at Harrow at half past ten, you couldn't have been at Guildford? If the Harrow witness will take the stand, you should be all right.'

‘I did speak to this woman,' Larraby insisted. ‘There was nothing criminal about it. I didn't want my wife to be told I'd been there, just wanted to see her. If it could have been said that I hung about the house when she was out, it might have had the wrong effect. I must go to see that woman! I think she was next door when I lived there,' He swung round.

As he did so, the door opened.

Bristow stepped in, with a nervous Judy behind him.

‘The Superintendent wouldn't let me tell you he was here, sir!' Judy cried. ‘Mrs. Mannering's in the studio, I was cleaning the letter-box, and he came in. He wouldn't—'

‘All right, Judy, no harm done.'

Bristow pushed the door to and glanced at Mannering, but was more interested in Larraby. The beggar moved away, gulping, his hands trembling; the big suit seemed to shake.

‘Well, Bill?' Mannering spoke sharply. ‘Do you know you're breaking the law by forcing entry and intimidating a girl who—'

‘Forget it, I haven't come for you. Tring!'

Tring came in, carrying his bowler.

‘I'm going to charge him,' Bristow said, and touched Larraby's shoulder. Larraby stood like stone, staring at Mannering. ‘Joshua Larraby, I charge you with wilful bodily harm to Police Constable Higson in the garden of Green Ways, Bingham Road, Guildford, Surrey, on the night of . . .'

‘No!' cried Larraby in a strangled voice.

‘. . . and warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence. Take him away, Inspector.'

Tring actually licked his lips.

Mannering said: ‘Wait a minute. Tanker, did you come here last night and compel Larraby to leave the apartment?'

‘Supposing—'

‘Did you?'

‘Yes, I did. He was on enclosed premises—'

‘With the owner's permission. A nice piece of evidence of

police malice and persecution,' said Mannering. ‘Take it easy, Josh, this isn't the first mistake they've made.'

 

 

The door closed on Tring and Larraby, and Bristow moved to the side of the bed, sat down and rested a hand slightly on the covered cage above Mannering's knee, He lit a cigarette.

‘Are you mobile?'

‘Not yet.'

‘You don't know it, but that's your good luck. What makes you take Larraby's side?'

‘I think he's more honest than you or Tring. He admits his mistakes.'

‘He was there,' Bristow said, confidently. ‘You're slipping, you shouldn't have trusted him. Cigarette?'

‘Thanks.'

Bristow flicked his lighter and held it out.

‘That's if you did trust him,' he went on. ‘I wouldn't put it past you to pretend to fall for him simply to fool us. We aren't so easily fooled. He's a stool-pigeon, here to snatch the Adalgo when you think everything's all right. Where is the Adalgo? If it's not at Quinn's.'

‘I removed it last night. It's here now.'

‘Not before its time,' said Bristow. ‘How did you find
Green Ways?'

‘That was easy. I had a telephone call asking me to meet a man at Guildford, under the clock. I went, but preferred to look for Lorna myself. I saw a man with a small high-bridged nose, and recognised him from Lorna's description. I followed him to Bingham Street, went to look round—'

‘You went away to disguise yourself.'

‘What an imagination! I wanted time to reconnoitre, my knee wasn't too good even then, and I couldn't do much. Believe it or not, I was going to call you when I had another look at the house – and Lorna came out. Enough being as good as a feast, we left. The local police were about by then, and I slipped off the kerb, busting my knee properly.'

‘I suppose I'll have to accept that until I can disprove it,' said Bristow. ‘Let's get back to your original story about the search for gems like the Adalgo. What's the truth about that?'

‘I've told you the truth.' Mannering hitched himself up. ‘Bill, listen to me. Larraby's story has to be checked. He says he was near his old home, and spoke to the neighbour.'

‘He even makes you dumb! What would be easier than to arrange for a friend to visit his wife's house and speak to anyone who came along? A neat way to establish an alibi. He didn't reckon on being seen at Guildford.'

‘He could have a double.'

‘You're not so good this morning.'

‘It was dark. He was seen in a poorish light, and the policeman who was attacked certainly couldn't have got a good view of him. I hold no special brief for Larraby,' Mannering said, ‘But I don't want him blamed for a job he didn't do.'

‘It's an open and shut case. The rest of it will be, before long, including your part. I've seen that window at the house. It was a perfect Baron job. I don't know that anyone could blame you for doing what you did, and you had the sense not to mask yourself and put up the usual Barn smokescreen. If you're worried because an admission would make it obvious that you can force entry with any known cracksman, you needn't—'

‘I didn't force my way in.'

‘That lock was beautifully forced,' Bristow said, and stifled a yawn.

Mannering grinned. ‘Lock?'

‘That's right, lock. Any objection?'

‘No objection, I don't know whether he went in at the window, the door or down the chimney. Try again, Bill!'

Bristow laughed.

‘I wish you'd put your mind out, for a change. I've brought you some news.'

‘Murderer in your hands?'

‘All but. We caught the man known as Lopey.'

Mannering said softly: ‘Did you, then. That's a pity. I hoped he'd stay free just long enough for me to get my hands on him. If ever I do that, he'll remember it.'

Bristow said: ‘I hand it to you. Last night you could have smashed his face to putty!' He stood up. ‘If you change your mind and decide to come across, give me a call. Larraby will squeal as soon as we've talked to him, he may have noticed more than you think.'

‘Everywhere I go, a yawning pit,' said Mannering. ‘Why don't you go and talk to some bad men?'

‘I will,' said Bristow.

There was a lilt in his voice and a spring in his step – and it wasn't because of Larraby's arrest. When he'd announced the capture of Lopey, he'd been in high fettle. Why? Because Lopey was known to be the murderer? Or was Bristow full of the joys for another reason?

 

Mannering's mind seethed.

Was he being a sentimental fool about Larraby? Why had Bristow admitted having Lopey with such glee? Why were there so many diamonds like the real one, as well as so many fakes? Why had Leverson and Bray been killed – and why choose Gray's shop for the murder? Bray had certainly been lured there, to his death. Had that been connected with the Harding-Bray quarrel? Why had Bray been killed? Was Lopey working for himself or for someone else? If for himself, who were the second lot of thieves at
Green Ways?
That led to another puzzle: why had Lopey wanted Marjorie Addel a prisoner, taking the risk of kidnapping a girl who was watched by the police? Evading the police was one thing, carrying a girl from under their nose another. There was a different angle that couldn't be overlooked – the release of Marjorie Addel, Zara and the Hardings.

Lorna brought in some coffee and the early evening papers. All carried the story of Leverson's minder and an account of the affair at Guildford, but there was nothing new. Both Mannering and Lorna were mentioned in passing.

Mannering found himself thinking of Larraby, and Lorna said: ‘Are we wrong about Josh?'

‘We'll learn. Out of about ten thousand questions, one emerges as the most significant.'

‘What?'

‘Why all those Adalgo imitations, and who is really behind it? What should the name Lopey mean to us?'

‘Lopey or dopey?' Lorna asked. ‘Darling, I'll scream if I don't get some fresh air.'

‘Don't scream,' Mannering said.

She laughed and went out; but he knew she was heavy- hearted, because of Larraby, not for herself or him.

She looked in, five minutes later, with her hat on.

‘I won't be long.'

‘Don't go far, and keep your eye on policemen.'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘John, do you think it possible that Bristow has always known or suspected the real mystery behind the Adalgo?'

Mannering frowned. ‘It could be. He's acted like an oaf half the time, and he isn't one. Also—'

‘He's seriously suspected you, and he gave up thinking you were still a-Baroning years ago,' Lorna said. ‘So he doesn't really think you've been cracking cribs for the sake of the loot, darling. He may think – especially if he knows the real reason – that you consider this a just cause for risking a long visit to His Majesty's rest homes. I mean, how do you spell Lopey? With a ‘z'?'

Mannering said: ‘Well, well, you picked that up fast.'

‘I have a mind,' said Lorna. ‘I know it's only a pale imitation of yours, but that idea's worth thinking about. What would be a sufficient cause?'

‘If I were a secret supporter of the claims of the Adalgo family to the Spanish throne, as advanced by a certain Senor Pedro Lopez—'

‘That's it,' said Lorna. ‘You aren't, are you?'

‘No. I'd weighed this up, and decided it wasn't a royalist campaign. At first I thought it might be, but when the killings came I ruled that out. This kind of skull-duggery wouldn't win the Adalgos any support anywhere, it would more likely make them lose some.'

‘Well, think again,' said Lorna. ‘Where is the Adalgo?'

‘Here.'

‘Where?'

‘In my waistcoat pocket.'

‘Oh, you fool!' She hurried to the waistcoat which hung beneath a coat, over a chairback. ‘Are you sure—'

‘I feel it every two minutes, for fear of ghosts. Incidentally, the Larraby at Guildford might have been a kind of ghost, Larraby looks four-dimensional. If you mean, don't I think it s time that diamond wasn't here—'

‘I do!'

Mannering said: ‘Take it to Bristow, will you? Ask him to have it put away safely, tell him I've a feeling that the bad men are worked up about it and they might try to break into Scotland Yard in order to get it. That'll make him laugh like anything.'

Lorna said: ‘Are you serious?'

‘About taking it, yes. Ask a policeman to go with you – one will be following you, anyhow, you may as well keep him alert with chatty conversation. You might ask Bristow if he's checked Larraby's Harrow story, too.'

Lorna took out a wadge of cotton-wool, felt the diamond inside it, laughed a little wildly, and said:

‘Was it here all night?'

‘Yes, I forgot the damned thing. That was almost the last thing I tried to say as I went under. I was ready to suspect even the good doctor.'

‘I hope I never see it again,' said Lorna. ‘John—'

‘Yes, I love you!'

‘Then help Larraby.' Lorna turned, and went out.

 

Mannering dozed; and that was not a thing he liked to boast about after lunch. The newspapers were spread out over the bed, when Lorna looked, and still Mannering dozed. It was nearly three o'clock, and the flat was quiet, little sound came through the window.

A faint noise disturbed Mannering. When he roused himself it was more than faint, it was a voice just outside the door.

‘Mr. Mannering will always see me, my pet, that's one of the cardinal rules of his life. He knows that I am one of his best friends – and what a friend!' There was excitement in the caller's voice, and that cheered Mannering.

Judy opened the door and said:

‘Mr. Forsythe, sir.'

Forsythe strode in, eyes aglow. He stood at the foot of the bed, and then made a clownish face.

‘You
have
done something for yourself!'

‘The question is, what are you going to do for me?'

‘My dear chap, I'm going to be your right-leg man, as it were,' declared Forsythe. ‘You do the thinking, I'll do the acting. This business is going to break all records before it's over. Bless your heart, I always knew that if I stuck to you like a leech, the day would come when I would stop regretting it.'

Mannering nodded to a chair. Forsythe sat astride it, leaning on the back, took out cigarettes and tossed one to Mannering.

‘Thanks,' said Mannering. ‘And have you stopped regretting it?'

‘Have I! But you're an old so-and-so for sitting on dynamite. Even a whisper would have done me a world of good. Background and off the record, you know.'

‘There's nothing I could have whispered about.'

‘Ha-ha! He hugs his secret to the last!'

‘No secret. I'm prepared to believe I've been the world's blindest bat.'

‘Great Scott and little Hamishes!' gasped Forsythe. ‘I would never have believed it!' He got up and stepped towards Mannering. ‘You
are
serious? You mean it? You didn't know the truth all along? And I thought you were being really cunning over this. John, I apologise.'

‘You might even tell me what you're so excited about,' said Mannering.

‘Oh, yes, I will. The big Adalgo, the little Adalgos and the fakes which would have impersonated the Adalgo. And you really don't know the story behind it? I've got it out of Tring, which reminds me. Beware Tanker, he's spiteful. He thinks you're backing Lopez – oh, you do know that Pedro Lopez has been arrested, don't you?'

‘Pedro
Lopey,' Mannering said softly.

‘Lopay, L-O-P-E-Z. With a Z, old chap. Once warrior-in-chief for the restoration of a Spanish throne. Remember?'

Mannering said: ‘Well, well!'

‘Go on, concentrate,' urged Forsythe. ‘Of course, Lopez's English accent is fairly good, few people realise he's as Spanish as he looks. The accent isn't surprising, as he's been in England for ten years and more – and he came here after the first brush between the monarchists in Spain and the people. Remember? Pedro Lopez my dear chap? Firebrand Spanish Royalist. Down with Negrin, down with Giral, down with Franco, down with everyone except the Royal Family and his particular branch of the Spanish Royal Family, too. No truck with the exiled monarch, only the Adalgo branch interested our friend Lopez. He made a song and dance about it – the Adalgo family was really
the
Royal Family. He once even tried to take the throne for the Duke of Adalgo, and his little game was neady stopped by Franco. I see that the truth's dawning on you,' added Forsythe, gently.

So it was not just crime; it went deeper – and he'd rejected the obvious because it was too obvious.'

‘I see a gleam of understanding in the pain-wracked eyes,' said Forsythe. ‘Can you bear more?'

‘Much more,' said Mannering, heavily.

‘Stout heart ne're lost the last battle,' said Forsythe. ‘It's really quite simple.'

Mannering said: ‘Yes. Let me have a stab now. It all fits in, but I didn't want to believe that this was a royalist racket. Oh, I knew the Adalgo belonged originally to the ducal family, who wanted money. I suppose Lopez saw this as the easiest way of getting some. He or someone else of warped brilliance of mind, thought up a winning idea, once they accepted murder and violence as proper means to the end. The Adalgo was stolen once before, long before the Royal Family recovered it and put it on the market openly. Everyone who owned it ran into trouble. That gave the diamond a legendary value, put a kind of spell on to it, and for some people, increased its cash value.'

‘Why did you first buy it?' Forsythe asked.

‘I had a notion to find out what would happen.'

‘I won't tell your wife,' promised Forsythe. ‘Go on.'