The Blood Diamond (3 page)

 

Mannering hurried up the stairs to the Green Street flat, just before seven o'clock. Lorna opened the door before he took out his keys. He beamed.

‘Wonderful! Anyone would think you were glad to see me.'

‘I am. Getting soft in the head, aren't I?'

‘You said it. A plucked beauty.' He kissed her between the brows, where there was a faint pink puffiness. ‘Food?'

‘Plenty.'

‘Work?'

‘I've done some sketches of Larraby.'

‘Why aren't they round the walls?'

They sat at the table, where dinner was served.

‘You can go upstairs after dinner and see them,' said Lorna. ‘I couldn't have picked a better subject if I'd tried for a year.'

‘As a model, maybe.'

‘I know he's a tramp, but—'

‘Oh, he's not such a tramp,' said Mannering. ‘He's known better days. Trust you to pick our Josh to come here.'

‘What
is
the mystery about?'

‘His past. He was a jewel merchant in a small way, and gradually increased his business, and then one day fell for some stuff which he pinched. He had a big failing as a dealer – he loved gems for their own sake.'

Lorna sat, very still and silent, frowning.

‘There was a small collection at the Mace Gallery, five years ago. It was a private show, carelessly arranged, and there was a diamond Josh coveted. He took it and was caught. He's still on his ticket of leave.'

Lorna said heavily: ‘What a fool I am. We can't have him here.' All her brightness had gone.

‘Light fingers being dangerous in the flat? He may genuinely have reformed. Such things happen! I'm inclined to think that he fell to temptation and wished he hadn't, even before he was caught. I took to him.'

‘You would.'

‘You wouldn't!'

Lorna forced a laugh. ‘I didn't know his past. What was he doing in the shop?'

‘Apparently he was passing the window and saw the Adalgo diamond. He wasn't the first to stand and stare. A policeman wanted to move him on, but the proud Josh wasn't having any. He swept the said policeman imperiously on one side and entered the shop. Carmichael had heard most of what went on, thanks to the new speaker system which works perfectly, and greeted him as he would anyone else.'

‘As instructed,' said Lorna, dryly.

‘Yes. I'm glad he did. I think Larraby might have had a sharp knock if he'd met with the usual rebuff. You see how sentimental I'm getting! Carmichael thought that Larraby was genuinely interested in the stone – its history and so on.'

‘Not to mention its value.'

‘He did ask its value, yes. Oh, I know it might not be all it appeared to be on the surface, our beggar may be a sinister villain, but I doubt it. I had a chat with him myself.'

‘Did he tell you about his past? Or did you recognise him?'

I didn't know him from Adam,' said Mannering. ‘He volunteered the information first to Carmichael then to me. We discussed
jools,
my love. The man has a fever for them.'

Lorna didn't speak.

‘But he's been so stung by his fever that I fancy he'll keep his own temperature down,' said Mannering. ‘After all, if a man really goes for sparklers and sees the Adalgo in a shop window, you can't expect him to ignore it.'

‘No. You wouldn't suspect him of being a spy, sent to find out if it's genuine and to weigh up the chances of breaking in, would you?'

‘With my innocence? No!'

‘Seriously—'

‘The jewel fascinated him, that's all. He has a one track mind. That's what you saw in him, what you want to put on canvas. It had struck me, but I daren't wish a jail-bird on you.'

‘Ought I to let him come?'

‘I don't see why not. Judy will be in all the time. If you'd feel happier, I'll send young Simon round to keep an eye on things while he's sitting.'

‘I'll paint him,' Lorna decided. ‘Two or three days should be enough. I can finish it after he's gone.'

‘And he'll be glad of the sitting fee, I fancy,' said Mannering. ‘He's not a man who takes charity easily, in spite of his boxes of matches. Part of what you saw in his face was pride.'

‘I suppose so. But—'

Mannering laughed. ‘I know, I know! Would a man who was really proud come to Quinn's with a tray in his hands and “beggar” written all over him? Would he push past a policeman to enter the shop, just for the sake of inquiring about a jewel which he couldn't hope to buy if he lived to be a hundred? I still think it was a chance visit, and the Adalgo fascinated him.'

After a long pause, Lorna said: ‘I wish you'd sell that diamond.'

‘Gem
fatale?

‘All right, laugh at me, but—'

‘If it's burglary you're worried about, you can rest happy. Quinn's has all the latest burglar-proof contraptions. Carmichael's vastly intrigued by the listening-in system. It isn't bad, either, although I thought of it myself.'

‘I don't see how it helps to scare off thieves.'

‘Take an example. Carmichael saw Larraby outside, and heard the policeman speak to him. Both voices sounded at the back of the shop. The microphone picks up whispers. Supposing a pair of toughs came along to smash and grab. Supposing, as is likely, they gave each other last minute instructions. Carmichael would be able to call the police before the job had started. It has commercial possibilities, too. People come and stare, and talk outside. Carmichael knows in advance whether they're likely to buy. Not bad?'

‘Oh, you're full of bright ideas.'

 

They finished the sweet.

‘John.'

‘Hmm-hmm?'

‘I've been foul to you, lately.'

‘Forgotten.'

‘I know you don't let it rankle, but—'

‘I don't even remember it.'

‘It isn't the only thing you forget to talk about.'

Mannering said: ‘Oh? What's the other?'

‘Mystery callers, mystery packets – there's another in the settee.'

‘So that's it,' Mannering said, slowly.

‘Not why I've been unspeakable, but—'

‘We'll talk over coffee,' Mannering said.

He led the way into the drawing-room, the largest room in the apartment. It was a treasure-house of lovely furniture, with grey and blue decor, richness of colour and of age. Small Dutch panels, exquisitely painted, hung on the walls, each with its separate light.

Outside, it was dark: the curtains weren't drawn. They stood side by side, looking towards the Thames, its broad, flat bosom reflecting lights from the two bridges in sight, and from the Embankment. Heavy clouds were blowing up; the window shook in a sudden gust.

Mannering drew the curtains.

‘Well?' asked Lorna, and sat down.

Mannering perched on the arm of her chair.

‘A further adventure in the life of a certain diamond,' he said.

‘The Adalgo,' Lorna said, heavily.

‘There is one, and only one, Adalgo. It's now in the safe at the shop. But there are a number of replicas, or similar gems. They've popped up all over the world. Some are real stones, very like the Adalgo at a casual glance. Some are paste, and perfect copies. After I bought the Adalgo, and put it in the window for the first time, three separate men came to see me and told me that
he
had the Adalgo.'

‘Oh,' said Lorna.

‘I broke the news to them. They didn't like it, and asked me to examine their gems. Two were genuine diamonds, with slightly different measurements. The other was a paste thing, worth about thirty shillings.' Mannering laughed. ‘I spread word among the trade that I was interested in similar gems. There may be only one Adalgo, but if I could get a collection, each diamond about the same size and quality, there would be something worth having.'

‘For your own collection?'

‘That's how it started. I didn't know what I'd let loose. Many mysterious merchants telephoned the shop, they didn't want to see me there, so I told them to bring their stuff here. Each, of course, thought he had the Adalgo. You had one this afternoon.'

‘Why didn't you tell me?'

Mannering said gently: ‘Fuel to the fire? By then, it was an outsize mystery. I could understand finding two or three replicas and even two real stones pretty much alike, but altogether, a dozen have turned up. Odd, isn't it?'

‘Odd! It sounds crazy!'

‘It's worse. Hold tight!' He rested a hand on her shoulders. ‘The police have been paying some attention to Quinn's. Tanker Tring was in the street the other week, when Flick came along to see me. Our bad luck! Tring always thinks the worst. He can't really believe that Flick Leverson and the bold bad Baron have really retired.'

Lorna jumped up.

‘Steady,' Mannering said.

‘How
can
he believe you've stopped being the Baron? Flick visits you. Whenever you get half a chance, you fling yourself into crime. You're a friend of thieves and fences, even when you investigate a case, you thumb your nose to the police – look at
this
one. It shouts crime. Have you told Bristow?'

‘Why should—'

‘You've kept it to yourself because you've some silly notion that you'll find excitement in it. You laugh at me because I've never liked the thing, but who's really superstitious? Don't interrupt!
You
are. It's a diamond with a history, a blood- diamond, that's why you bought it.
Isn't it?'
She almost shouted.

Mannering snapped his fingers.

‘I've an idea!'

‘Never mind your ideas. Isn't that why you bought it?'

‘Not in a thousand years. I'll tell you why. Every woman who's worn it has died a violent death. So—' he went to her and poked a finger between the full swell of her breasts, ‘—my tortuous mind worked fast. If you were the beauty, one day I'd be free from—'

He took her in his arms, and kissed her fiercely. She caught her breath, then slowly yielded her body against his.

He drew his head back.

‘Now you know what a villain you married.'

‘I wish I hated you.'

‘I wish you did. I'd have to woo my fiery beauty over again. It wouldn't be so easy.'

‘Easy!'

‘That's what I said. I held all the cards, then. Wasn't I the Baron and in the height of his career? Wasn't there a risk that I'd never give it up? Would you have married a sedate, middle-aged antique dealer who flares up now and again as a dude detective?'

‘No!'

‘There you are, you see.' He kissed her again, more gently. ‘I couldn't resist this mystery any more than I can you, my darling. You know it. But if—'

‘If it's dangerous, you'll tell Bristow. That is, when it's so dangerous you're half dead. Did you buy the Adalgo because you wanted excitement?'

‘I bought a lovely jewel, and I didn't think of it as a gem of ill omen. Just as a jewel. This other business may peter out.'

The ringing of the front door bell broke across his words.

 

 

Lorna pulled herself free.

‘That'll be Pudding-face.'

‘Who?'

‘The man who brought the packet this afternoon.'

‘And started all this.'

‘So it's only just started!'

‘Let's say it's warming up.' Mannering stood and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed. She'd made up carefully before dinner and was at her best; it was a lovely best. She wore a black dinner gown, with a high neck; one creamy shoulder was uncovered, one long, slender arm was bare.

‘Hate me?' he asked.

‘Yes!'

‘Good! Open the door to Pudding-face while I see what he's brought, will you? Keep him amused. Ask him if he's really a thief or a murderer, anything will do.'

‘I could ask him how much he'd want to murder you.'

‘That'll be fine.'

The bell rang again.

Lorna said in a choky voice: ‘Darling, be careful.'

He nodded and hurried into the study. As he opened the settle and went through the various processes to get at the safe, he listened. Lorna hadn't yet opened the door, and the bell rang for the third time. Lorna wanted to compose herself before meeting a stranger.

Mannering took out the packet, and heard Lorna open the door. When she spoke, the surprise in her voice made him look up sharply.

‘Good evening.'

A woman answered, not Pudding-face.

‘Good evening. Is this Mr. Mannering's apartment?'

‘Yes.'

‘Please, I must see him,' the woman said.

She sounded young and alarmed; Mannering could hear her breathing, as if she had hurried up the stairs. He opened the packet. Inside was a small jewel case, without a lock. Inside the case, a single diamond glowed up at him from a velvet lining; few would have been able to tell the difference between this and the one on display at Quinn's.

He slipped it into his pocket, then went to the door. Lorna was taking the caller into the drawing-room. Her profile hadn't much wrong with it. She was very young and had fair hair, wavy, attractive. She wore a perfect fitting dark suit, and walked well.

They entered the room, and Mannering heard her say:

‘I must see him quickly. I hope it's not a bad time, but—'

‘I think he's free. Who shall I tell him?'

‘He doesn't know me. I'm Marjorie Addel –
Miss
Addel.'

‘Do sit down,' said Lorna.

The girl wouldn't sit down. Mannering knew agitation when he saw it, so did Lorna.

Lorna came hurrying out of the drawing-room, saw him, but spoke as if he could have heard nothing, pitching her voice rather high.

‘John, a Miss Marjorie Addel says she is anxious to see you. Can you spare her a few minutes?'

‘Eh?' Mannering stepped close to Lorna's side, speaking quietly, to sound as if he were in another room. ‘Who did you say?'

He stood by the partly-open door of the drawing-room, peering at the girl through the crack between door and wall. Agitated? She was anguished. Her hands were raised to her breast, she stared at the door as if ready to rush at him when he appeared. He saw that her eyes were a clear, cornflower blue; beautiful eyes; she was really beautiful.

‘Coming,' he said more loudly, stamped his foot several times, then pushed the door open.

She rushed towards him.

‘Mr. Mannering!'

He smiled. ‘Hallo. Do we know each other?'

‘No, no, we haven't met, I've called on behalf of a friend.' She could hardly get the words out.

‘A friend of yours?'

‘Yes, I—he came to see you this afternoon. He left a packet with you. I must have that packet, he—he can't come here to collect it himself. He's changed his mind about it being for sale and asked me if I would come to collect it.'

He didn't answer.

‘You must let me have it!' the girl cried. ‘You must!'

‘I'm afraid it isn't quite so simple as that,' said Mannering, recovering slowly.

Lorna followed him into the room and closed the door. She looked dazed by the tempestuous Miss Addel.

‘It must be!' cried the girl. ‘What do you want to know? Don't you believe that I've come from him?'

He considered.

‘Well, you certainly know that he brought it.'

‘Of course he did. We're friends.'

He did not know Pudding-face well; he did know him for a man who did not move in the same circles as this girl, whose clothes came from Mayfair, whose youthful intentness could not rob her of an air of good breeding; of quality. She hadn't even named the man.

‘Just a friend?'

‘Yes! Yes, of course. He told me he'd brought it to you, who else
could
have done? He—he's had to go away and can't get here himself. He was going to offer it to you for sale but he's changed his mind. I have come from him, honestly.'

‘Perhaps he gave you a note,' Lorna suggested, faintly.

The girl glanced round at her.

‘What? I—oh, no, there wasn't time. He had to
hurry
away. Mr. Mannering, please believe me. I'll give you a receipt for it. I—I'll pay a security, if you like, and leave you my name and address. I've brought some money with me.'

Lorna glanced at Mannering in blank astonishment. He watched the girl, fascinated. She had opened her bag, and began to take out a bundle of five-pound notes; several hundred pounds were there. She thrust the untidy wad into his hands, and went on:

‘Here are three hundred pounds. I wouldn't give you
that
unless I meant what I said, would I?'

‘I suppose not.' Could anyone be so naive as this?

‘You will give me the diamond?'

Mannering frowned, and did not have to try very hard to sound undecided. ‘It's most irregular, you know.' Lorna stifled a snigger. ‘Where do you live, Miss Addel?'

‘Here's my card.' She thrust a white card into his hand, to join the money, and watched him intently as he read:

 

Miss Marjorie Addel,

Gowns,

21, Lander Street, W.1.

 

‘I have a shop in Lander Street,' she said, superfluously. ‘Mr. Mannering, I must have that diamond. My friend told me it—it was a serious matter, he must have it back. There's the money and you can check my identity, if you like, but please let me have it.'

‘Where do you intend to take it?'

‘To—to my friend.'

‘I see,' said Mannering. Lorna glanced at him over the girl's head. ‘Let me have a few minutes to think about it, will you?'

‘Please
hurry!'

‘I won't be long,' promised Mannering.

‘I'll get Miss Addel a drink,' Lorna said, brightly.

‘No, thank you, I—oh, well, thanks.'

Mannering went out, closing the door. Lorna would keep the girl occupied for ten minutes, while he dealt with as odd a situation as he'd ever met. There was an attractive honesty about the girl's appearance.

Honesty?

Mannering grinned to himself as he switched on a special light above the writing-table in the study. He took out the diamond, and studied it closely. The girl, Lorna, everything but this jewel, faded from his mind.

The diamond was real.

Its brilliant, darting lights were dazzling; the colours were beautiful; and there was a faint rose tint at one side; very like the Adalgo. He took out a glass and screwed it into his eye, to make quite sure.

This was a beauty.

He went to the settle, unlocked it, and took out another jewel case. Inside was a diamond which looked like the first, but had no real sparkle; it was paste. He put it in the original jewel case, and placed the real stone in the safe. When he'd locked up again, he went into the hall.

Marjorie Addel was saying: ‘Can't you
please
ask him to hurry?'

Lorna promptly said: ‘I'll try,' and opened the door. Mannering stood waiting near the study. She came across, quickly.

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Give her a fake, and follow her.'

‘I was afraid of that.'

‘Nice girl, isn't she?'

‘She's frightened out of her wits.'

‘That's why I want to see where she goes.'

Mannering went into the drawing-room. The girl jumped up from an easy chair and knocked an empty glass from the arm. She did not seem to notice that as she stared at him with desperate eyes. He drew the jewel case out of his pocket and opened it. In the comparatively poor light, the paste gem sparkled as if it were real.

‘That's—that's it!' the girl cried.

‘I shouldn't really do this,' said Mannering, ponderously, ‘but you're leaving a security, and – well, I'll take a chance.'

‘I—I do appreciate it, I really do,' said Marjorie Addel.

She still hadn't named her ‘friend.'

 

Mannering made a great fuss of preparing a receipt for her to sign. Lorna found a pen. The girl looked down at the jewel case, clutched tightly in her hand, and seemed as if she had been given the world. Naivete could hardly be carried further. She believed that she had a diamond worth a fortune, and that he'd given it to her, on a flimsy excuse, for a tenth of its value.

Her hand was unsteady as she signed the receipt.

‘There!' She was radiant. ‘He'll be so glad. Thank you very much, Mr. Mannering.'

‘Not at all.' Lorna, behind the girl, raised her hands in mock despair.

‘I must go now.'

Mannering showed the girl out, and watched her hurry down the stairs. She tripped, halfway and grabbed the hand-rail. The only light came from the flat. Lorna was just behind him, as Mannering closed the door loudly.

‘Is
she real?'

‘Of course she isn't, none of this has happened. Put the light out,' he said.

Lorna touched the switch. Mannering opened the door again and stepped on to the dark landing. The girl had reached the front hall.

‘John! Have you anything—' Lorna's whisper was hoarse.

‘To defend myself with? Forget it!' Mannering didn't laugh, but she could imagine his smile as he went down the stairs, sure-footed, ignoring the darkness. He made no sound.

Lorna closed the door quietly and hurried to the drawing- room. She moved the curtain aside. A street lamp showed a small two-seater parked a little way in front of Mannering's Talbot
.
The girl took the wheel, and drove off.

A minute later, Mannering followed.

Lorna didn't move when the car's rear-light disappeared, but let the curtain fall a little. Her face was pale and tense. There was no sound anywhere.

Suddenly, a man moved from the doorway of a house opposite. He walked beneath a street lamp, and she saw his tall, clumsy figure and familiar features; she knew him as Sergeant Tanker Tring, of the Yard.

Tring walked heavily towards the end of the road and entered a telephone kiosk.

Lorna said involuntarily: ‘Darling, be careful!'

The words echoed about the room, mocking her helplessness. She knew Tring's tenacity; knew that he had never given up hope of catching the Baron. Day in, day out she was haunted by the fear that one day, perhaps soon, John would make some trivial slip with which the police would brand him for all the past.

He was no longer the Baron, but nothing else in him had changed. He'd want to know why that girl had come, who had sent and frightened her, why there were so many diamonds like the Adalgo. Wherever the trail took him, he would go.

She turned away from the window, lit a cigarette, and poured out a drink. Then she picked up an illustrated book, which Mannering had brought home a few days ago. Jewels and their wearers filled its pages. She found what she wanted; a portrait of a dark-haired beauty: Zara, fifth Duches of Adalgo, the first owner of the diamond; and in an inset was a drawing of the diamond.

Lorna closed the book and went up to the studio.

The sketches of Larraby were on the easel.

As she studied them, she imagined a sinister twist in his expression. Imagination? Now that she knew about his past, how could she believe that he had come into Quinn's by chance? Once a thief, always a thief.

She caught her breath.

That wasn't true; mustn't be true.

She made herself work on one of the sketches. Every line and stroke of her pencil seemed to increase the touch of the sinister. She dropped her pencil, tore the sketch across and across, and flung the pieces aside. Then she took a new sheet of paper, picked up the pencil, and began to draw blindly. A likeness of the pudding-faced man appeared on the sheet, then one of Marjorie Addel.

The girl was a picture postcard beauty.

No, that wasn't true. She had – quality. It forced its way through into the sketch. Lorna caught her expression of delight when she'd been given ‘the' diamond. Youthful, naive – and relieved beyond words.

Lorna said: ‘I wonder what he'll learn about her,' and made a colour sketch of the girl. It absorbed her. She was putting the finishing touches to it when she heard a creaking sound behind her. She turned.

‘John—'

It wasn't John, but a stranger, with a gun in his hand.

The man stood behind her, near the door to the studio. She had left the hatch at the top of the rickety staircase open, and he'd stepped on a loose board.

He was squat and broad-shouldered, with a handkerchief over the lower half of his face, and an old trilby hat pulled low over his forehead, the brim shading his eyes. His right, gloved hand pointed the gun towards her. He stood quite still, a figure of silent menace.

Lorna did not speak; her mouth went dry.

‘Come here, sister,' the man said. His voice was low-pitched and hard; with an accent.

She did not move.

‘I told you to come here,' the man repeated and advanced a step. ‘I don't want trouble.' He moved the gun.