The Blood Diamond (16 page)

‘While it was missing, other rose-tinted diamonds were cut to resemble it. Lopez, for the Adalgo family, sponsored this faking and imitating, wanting cash and getting plenty above face value for each supposed Adalgo. The copies were sold to various collectors at fantastic prices, and each collector thought he had the real one. As it was known to have been stolen, no one could admit possession of it.'

‘Then the real one turned up,' Forsythe broke in. ‘No one who had bought a pup dared say so. They unloaded the pups on the undercover market, until
you
bought the real one. Lopez was after it – just why I don't know, but possibly old friend greed. He wasn't quite sure whether yours was the real one, so traced everyone who had a diamond that was blood-brother to the Adalgo, and finally reached you, at last learning that you were the legal owner of the one and only Adalgo. The owners of the other real diamonds boasted, as collectors do, of owning
the
Adalgo. That made him laugh, I presume. Shall I go on?

‘You deserve to.'

‘Thanks. Lopez made a number of imitations in paste. These he planned to substitute for the real stones, by a series of burglaries about which no one could complain, as each possessed a stolen stone. He did that, until he had all the stones except the genuine antique. Everything was hunkey-dorey until he himself was robbed of them all, some six months ago.'

Mannering rubbed his nose.

‘Too strong for you?' asked Forsythe, sympathetically.

‘Rub it in,' said Mannering.

‘There isn't much more. When Lopez was robbed, he couldn't do much about it at first. Biter bit. He waited his chance. These stones and fakes were spread about and sold – all under cover. Several of them were lodged with fences or in the collections of people who, knowing they had no legal right to them, began to worry when so much interest was shown. Then the world was told that you had the real McCoy. You found yourself with an embarrassment of riches, so to speak – and small wonder, as they were undercover stuff and the owners were anxious to unload.' Forsythe rounded his eyes. ‘My, my!' he exclaimed. ‘What will the police think of the owner of Quinn's buying doubtful jewels?'

‘I wonder,' said Mannering, heavily.

‘Well, there's the story as far as Tring and I know it. Don Lopez is now comfortably in jail, the story is unfolded. Not much doubt of the truth. Why didn't you want to believe that the Adalgo family was behind it? That must have stuck out a mile.'

Mannering said slowly: ‘I've read the family history, and they seem a good crowd. There's still something we don't know.'

‘Face-saving,' murmured Forsythe. ‘Can't say I blame you. Well, one of Lopez's boyfriends talked, so all is over – except one little thing, the second parcel of booty-hunters at the Guildford house last night. By the way, the police have pinched Josh Larraby, I'm told.'

‘Yes.'

‘You haven't any idea who this rival bunch is, I suppose? It's rather odd, isn't it, if Larraby's one of them and you should make a point of befriending Larraby? Odd to the police, I mean.'

Mannering contemplated him in silence,

‘Sorry if you're sore,' Forsythe said. ‘I feel as if I'm teaching granny to suck eggs, but—'

‘You are and she needs teaching.' Mannering laughed. ‘Do you still want to know who the second party was at Bingham Street?'

‘Do I!'

Mannering said: ‘As soon as I can get about on this leg, I'll tell you.'

‘If you know—'

‘I'm guessing. You wouldn't want to put guesswork in your newspaper, would you?' Mannering laughed again; the movement shook him and hurt his knee, but he went on laughing. ‘When Lorna—'

‘Why wait for her?'

‘Sorry. If you can't see the rest of the story now, you're as wilful blind as I was. Remember two parties are interested, as was proved last night. Also, remember that we're told Lopez tried to put the fear of the devil into young Harding and Marjorie, and that Marjorie was kidnapped by Lopez.'

Forsythe said slowly: ‘Hum, yes. The Addels and the Hardings being the second party.'

‘That's it.'

‘Hardly sensational,' Forsythe said.

‘It will be,' Mannering chuckled again.

‘What
is
funny?' demanded Forsythe,

‘I am. And you. And Bristow. Well, I can see why Bristow thought I'd been up to the old—er—why he thought I would sink to crime.' Mannering swallowed hard. ‘Forsythe, take pity on an old crook. Go chasing about and looking for the answer to three questions. Why did Harding Senior offer a jewel for sale and then withdraw it? Why did Paul and Marjorie appear to be so scared of the police, and then why did Paul change his mind? Why, in fact, did they pretend to be the naivest of the naive – is there such a word as naivest?'

‘After today, there is. Third question?'

‘Why was Zara Addel so anxious to prevent the police from seeing a letter written by Bray and found at the shop? If the Adalgo family is in it, the family name of Zara for the daughters is too obvious to miss.'

‘Was she anxious about that letter?'

‘Yes. Bristow doesn't know – forget to tell him, will you?'

Forsythe said: ‘Don't you be too sure about Bristow, he stores a lot of stuff in that old noddle of his. Anything else?'

‘Yes. Ask your research people to try to find photographs of pictures of a male member of the Adalgo family. I've seen dozens of women, but no men.'

‘Why?'

‘You'll probably get the answer when you see the picture,' Mannering said.

 

 

Bristow had a heavy day.

He went to Guildford for conferences with the local police, interviewed Pedro Lopez and the other prisoners until he was dizzy. Only the man with the wrinkled forehead, named Barnes, had talked; whatever qualities the brute of
Green Ways
lacked, loyalty was not one of them; he wouldn't say a word. Yet so much could be pieced together, now that Lopez was identified, that it would only be a matter of days before the rest fell into place – except one thing: what action to take with Mannering.

Late in the afternoon, Bristow went into the Assistant-Commissioner's office.

You're finding the pace hot, aren't you?' greeted Anderson- Kerr.

‘It's getting pretty fast, sir, some of it outstrips me.'

‘You've plenty of time to catch up,' said the A.C. ‘Finding that Pedro Lopez was at the back of it, is half the job.'

‘In one way, yes. In another I'm not so sure,' said Bristow. ‘We've got to accept one thing: we caught Lopez and the other two because Mannering or his wife sent for the Guildford police after visiting the house. I doubt whether we shall ever get proof, but there it is. I just can't be sure what Mannering's up to. I don't believe he's blind to the reason for Adalgos by the dozen, or that he's above lending a hand to the Adalgo family. He'd regard a royalist cause as his, and outside law and order.'

‘Yet you think he shopped Lopez.'

‘We know that Lopez was an Adalgo royalist years ago, we don't know that he is today,' said Bristow. ‘We do know that someone else raided
Green Ways,
presumably to get the diamonds. We also know that Larraby was there. Mannering had shown remarkable friendliness towards Larraby, and so Mannering might be working with Larraby's crowd – the real instigators of the trouble. I can't see Mannering starting this affair in the way that he says he did – out of curiosity. If he lied, he knew that the real diamonds which are so much like the Adalgo, had been stolen.'

‘Could he have known?'

‘Mannering's like most of the big collectors – he learns what's for sale under cover. Deals running into hundreds of thousands of pounds go on regularly, and we know nothing about them. Let's get down to cases. We've established that Lopez first had the rose-tinted diamonds cut like the Adalgo to get an inflated price for each; that he stole them from their owners, who realised they'd been fooled once they knew Mannering had the real Adalgo, but sat tight. They couldn't complain, as they bought what they thought was the Adalgo at a time when it was listed as stolen goods. We've also established that Mannering went headfirst into the market for the duplicate stones. Surely it's reasonable to assume that he knew they were stolen – and therefore, to say that he bought stolen goods.'

Anderson-Kerr looked owlish.

‘What about the murder of Bray and the murder of Leverson? Have you any proof that Lopez—'

‘Lopez killed Leverson,' said Bristow, abruptly. ‘Barnes has talked enough to establish that. Lopez really wanted the real Adalgo, Mannering had it in the window, where it was as safe as anywhere and attracted a lot of attention. After Lopez had stolen the other jewels from Mannering he sent a man to offer the stones to Leverson, sure that Leverson would get in touch with Mannering. Lopez wanted to meet Mannering and force him to give up the Adalgo, but Mrs. Mannering turned up. Afterwards, Leverson recognised Lopez, Barnes is quite sure about that.

‘Lopez killed Leverson after tricking Mrs. Mannering into going away with him – and Mannering went after her, as Lopez hoped he would. Lopez came unstuck because Mannering's what he is.

‘We also know that Lopez killed P.C. Harris at Mannering's flat,' Bristow went on. ‘We don't know who killed Bray. It's Bray's death which brings the Addel women and the Hardings into it. Harding Senior, being a collector in a small way, had one of these pseudo-Adalgo diamonds. He had Spanish interests, too – how deep, I don't know. I've a feeling that Mannering, the Hardings and the Addels have been working together, and that Mannering put us on to
Addel & Co.
both to save himself, and to fox us. That's the kind of tortuous trick that would appeal to him.'

‘Can we hold Mannering?'

‘We couldn't make any charge stick.'

‘Then don't chance it, yet. If it weren't for Larraby, you'd be less certain of Mannering's part. What about Larraby?'

‘He sticks to his story.' Bristow hesitated. ‘It's nonsense, of course, but I've heard some rumours about him having a brother who resembles him. If we get Larraby, we'll get Mannering – that's about the size of it.'

Anderson-Kerr said: ‘Well, don't forget to let Tring make the charge, when it comes.'

Bristow laughed, but wasn't amused. ‘I'm not so sure. Tring talked too freely to the Press, gave far too much away. Have you seen the papers?'

‘Yes. Will it do much harm?'

‘Forsythe knows pretty well as much as we do - and but for Tring, no one would know who Lopey really is. Remember Forsythe is in Mannering's pocket, too.'

‘Discipline Tring yourself,' said Anderson-Kerr.

Bristow nodded, and went out.

He heard voices as he paused outside his own office. Tring's voice was raised, giving vent to a spate of bitter vituperation, but occasionally he recognised the voice of Forsythe.

‘Damn it, you gave me the stuff and didn't say it was off the record,' Forsythe said.

‘I forgot. You ought to have known. You—'

Bristow thrust open the door. Tring glared, Forsythe turned from a desk to Bristow, with a broad smile.

‘Hallo, Super! I've been waiting for you.'

‘There's a waiting-room downstairs for you people,' said Bristow, sharply. ‘If you come upstairs again without my permission, I'll ask your paper to keep you away from here. Clear out.'

Forsythe's face dropped.

‘Oh, come! Tring had already told me—'

Bristow pushed the door wide open. ‘Out.'

Forsythe shrugged, and went out briskly; grinning.

Bristow closed the door, sat down, and lit a cigarette. Tring watched him as if hypnotised. After a pause, Bristow put his hands flat on the desk.

‘Tring,' he said, ‘if you give any statement to the Press without authority, I'll have you relegated to sergeant's rank. If ever I hear you talking about Mannering or anyone else to the Press as if you believed him guilty, if ever I hear you giving out hints for journalists to write up in their scandal sheets, I'll have you drummed out of the Force. I'd like to wring your neck!'

Tring licked his lips.

‘Can't you open your mouth?' snapped Bristow.

Tring opened and closed it.

‘All right – get out,' growled Bristow.

Tring started to speak again, changed his mind, and turned to the door. Then he spoke. He intended to speak under his breath but the depth of his feeling made the words audible.

‘You're too fond of Mannering, that's what your trouble is.'

‘Tring!' bellowed Bristow.

Tring jumped a foot, and spun round. Bristow got up, his face white.

‘Repeat that,' said Bristow. ‘Don't mumble, repeat it.'

Tring drew in his breath; and suddenly, words tumbled from his lips.

‘All right, I'll repeat it! I think you're too fond of Mannering. If it was anyone else you'd have them here, you'd give them hell, that's what you'd do. But because it's Mannering, you let him get away with murder. I don't care what happens to me, it's all wrong. Right's right, that's what I say, I always have and I always shall. Right's
right.
'

‘I—see,' said Bristow flatly. ‘All right, Tring. You can go. Remember that if you make any statements to the Press without my permission you'll be disobeying orders.'

Tring tightened his lips, and went slowly towards the door and out into the passage.

Bristow didn't feel so sore as numbed. Was Tring right? Had he allowed himself to be influenced by personal liking for Mannering? Would he have been harsher with someone else, and taken more chances? Had Mannering been Leverson, or any other man suspected of crime, would he have left Mannering free? Would he have insisted on getting a warrant and leaving a man in Mannering's apartment, to take his statement before he could conspire with his wife? Or was it the simple truth that Mannering always beat him to it? Mannering knew the law inside out, had powerful friends in Fleet Street, and used a form of blackmail – make one mistake with him and the Press would scream it from the housetops.

But, Tring was half right.

Tring would have taken chances, because he was so bitter. Bristow wouldn't, because of that personal liking. It was there all the time, he couldn't define it and couldn't ignore it.

What was he? A recruit from the police college or a Yard chief with twenty-five years service behind him?

Prove the case against Larraby and he'd prove one against Mannering. All right, he'd prove one!

 

Larraby was at Cannon Row, the low roofed, grey forbidding police station so near Scodand Yard that it seemed part of the same headquarters. He called the sergeant-in-charge-of-cells to say he was on the way.

Nothing would shake Larraby's story; the Mannerings had befriended him, and he had not been to Guildford. Bristow was dry when he'd finished talking, Larraby almost exhausted but as stubborn as ever.

Tring was in the canteen when Bristow went for a glass of beer. Tring studiously avoided him.

Bristow telephoned Mannering's apartment, was told that Mannering would be laid up for the better part of a week, and detailed a man to watch Green Street day and night and to note all visitors. He was not justified now in doubling the guard; the greatest danger was over with the arrest of Lopez and the others. There was plenty of high-pressure routine work, and it was a relief not to have to watch Mannering.

 

The case against Lopez and the others for the murders of P.C. Harris and Leverson, built up remorselessly. Beneath a floor at Bingham Street, they found the gun with which the policeman had been shot and there were bloodstains on the butt; Lopez had beaten Leverson to death with the same gun.

But there was no evidence that he or any of his men had been to
Addel & Co.'s
Lander Street shop; the murder of Bray was still unsolved.

Lopez refused to talk.

There was no evidence that any of the Adalgo family were in England. Nor was there evidence against the Addel women or the Hardings.

The name of Marjorie's sister-in-law was a coincidence almost too obvious to be significant; the fifth and other Duchess of Adalgo had been named Zara. Zara Addel's story was simple, and couldn't be disproved. Bristow knew what Mannering knew about her. She had lived in France most of her life, lost her parents during the war, when she had married Marjorie's brother. He had been killed, and she had come to England to live with Marjorie. She had no interests that Bristow could trace, except at the gown shop. The Hardings and the Addels had met through Paul; love at a party and at first sight. There was no reason to doubt the truth of any of this.

He sent a routine request to
Surete Generate
in Paris for all possible information about Zara, expecting that it would be at least a week before he received any answer.

 

Marjorie Addel's story of her presence at Guildford was unshakable. She said she had no idea why she had been taken there. She had been going to see the Hardings, after her release from Scotland Yard, and as she was walking along a quiet street, a car had pulled up alongside her and she had been bundled inside. Investigation brought forth two witnesses who had seen the incident. Her story seemed genuine enough, and Barnes didn't know why she'd been kidnapped, except that it had been on Lopez's orders. Harding Senior maintained the story which Paul Harding had told Mannering; suspicion of his father handling smuggled jewels could have accounted for Paul Harding's first nervousness of the police; could also have explained Marjorie's fears.

No reason, thought Bristow bitterly, and every reason; someone was lying.

Larraby – or a man who might have been Larraby – had been seen in Harrow Street, near the house where his wife and daughter lived. Bristow couldn't trace a brother, but picked up rumours that Larraby had one, who was abroad.

The Bray murder and the whole story gradually faded out of the newspapers . . .

Nothing faded out of Tring's mind, and Bristow found himself muttering an almost daily incantation: fix Larraby, fix Mannering.

 

The telephone bell rang in the apartment, and Mannering heard Lorna answer it. She wasn't long before she came in.

He looked up from the bed.

‘Who?'

‘Paul Harding.'

‘Oh-ho!'

‘He says his father is still very anxious to see you.'

‘Needing help?'

‘He didn't say so.'

‘Did you ask him here?'

‘No,' said Lorna. ‘I don't want him here.' She went to the door. ‘Did you expect a call from them?'

‘I did.'

‘Why?'

‘They want the Adalgo.'

Lorna said: ‘I'd gladly give it to them,' and went out.

 

Three days later, Mannering stood at the side of his bed and said: ‘Watch me pirouette, my sweet!'

‘Sit down, you fool!'

‘But I can stand, look. I can walk.
Look!
' Mannering took three short steps, then rested on his sound leg and bent the right knee gingerly. ‘How long have I been in this dungeon with an ogress for company?'

‘Three days, precisely. >From beloved wife to ogress, in seventy-two hours.'

‘Rather a nice ogress.' Mannering limped across the room to Lorna's side. ‘Wearing a troubled frown, it's true. Why? Has Harding called again?'