Shadow The Baron (23 page)

“Hanging’s an ugly death,” Smith said.

“I shan’t hang. I shall shoot myself. First you, then myself – after I’ve released Mannering’s wife and Celia. Mannering will look after Celia, and do a better job than I’ll be able to do.”

“You’re crazy!” The first edgy note was discernible in Smith’s voice.

“You think I’m crazy. Smith, I’ve done all this for one reason: to help my wife. You wouldn’t understand it, but I loved her. I built my life around her. You fastened on to her weakness, deliberately, and for your own foul purpose, and then telephoned her, to say that Muriel was coming. She’s told me that. You lied to her, saying that Muriel was my mistress. Remember? You wanted Muriel dead and my wife and I hanged for it. It nearly worked; she killed Muriel. I discovered it and covered her tracks. But the shock was too great. My wife died this evening.’’

Smith caught his breath.

“You killed her as surely, as relentlessly, as if you’d cut her throat,” said Fleming. “You’ve made her last years hell. Yet your life was on sufferance, because I daren’t risk killing you, daren’t risk the truth coming out – she needed me so much. She doesn’t need me any more. Now do you understand why I’ve come?”

Smith didn’t speak.

Fleming said: “Where is Celia? Where is Mrs. Mannering?”

“You – won’t find out!” The words came in a rush.

“I’ll find out,” said Fleming, “but you can make it easier for me. And for yourself. If you tell me, I’ll shoot you in the head. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you in the stomach, where it will hurt. Understand – hurt.” Fleming’s voice was so quiet that the words hardly seemed to hold their true meaning. “Where are they?”

“Fleming, put that gun away! Talk sense! I’ve a fortune here – I made a big haul tonight. I emptied Mannering’s shop of everything that could be brought away. I’ve a fortune salted away in several countries; we needn’t keep up this vendetta. Put the gun away and talk business.”

“Where are they?” asked Fleming. “I haven’t much time. Mannering’s coming, with the police, I don’t want any interruption. Where are the women?”

“Put that gun away!”

“I shall give you ten seconds,” Fleming said.

There was silence; but a clock was ticking. Fleming raised his arm, Mannering could just see the movement. He wished he could see Smith’s face.

Smith muttered: “They’re here, upstairs. They’re all right! Fleming, I’ve finished with Celia, you needn’t worry about that any more. You can’t blame me because she fell in love with me, that was her fault, it wasn’t mine. She’s not quite sane, you know that. She’s like her mother, she –”

“Keep your foul mouth shut!”

Smith cried: “Don’t shoot, don’t –”

Mannering moved from his hiding place, swept an arm round, and struck Fleming on the shoulder. A shot roared out. Mannering saw Smith, half-turning, hands in front of his face trying to get away. The bullet missed. Fleming swung round on Mannering, and Mannering gripped his right wrist, twisted and forced the gun out of his grasp.”

“Get the women,” Mannering snapped. “Don’t worry about Smith.” He thrust Fleming aside and went into the room, as Smith dropped his right hand to his pocket. Mannering flicked the gun from his hand.

Smith said unevenly, his face ashen: “Mannering, I’ll give you a fortune if you’ll let me go.”

“My own fortune?” Mannering asked politely.

“You can have mat back, and fifty thousand pounds in addition. I’ve got to get away before the police arrive. I’ve got everything ready, passport, passage – everything. I won’t come back, I won’t worry Celia again, you needn’t worry. Let me go, let me get away.”

Mannering said. “Where’s the evidence against the Shadow?”

“It –” Smith broke off.”Mannering, if I tell you, will you let me go?”

“It’s your only chance. Where’s the evidence?”

“If I tell you –”

“Where is it?”

“It’s in the safe at the garage, you missed that. It’s all there; you can have the triumph of your life and be able to laugh at the police from now to Doomsday. Mannering – “the man’s thin lips were working; his eyes had a frenzied look.”Let me go, the money’s here, I’ve turned everything I could lay my hands on into cash today. I knew I’d have to get away. Your wife’s all right.” He eased his collar. “I wasn’t going to hurt her, I was only fooling, she’s not hurt. Celia isn’t either, she . . .”

There was a sound behind Mannering. He didn’t turn round.

Lorna said: “John–”

He kept looking at Smith.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Lorna said, her voice low. “Celia’s here.”

“Get her away. Take her to the flat. Look after Hetty, she’s up in the studio, and send for the police, there’s a man locked in the larder. Say you found him and that I know nothing about it. I’ll be there soon.” He watched Smith lynx-eyed. “Where’s Fleming?”

“Here,” Fleming said.

“Look in the safe at Palling Garage, Palling Street,” Mannering said. “You’ll find some of the contents interesting. Then come to my flat. Send for George Lee, and we’ll have a party.”

Smith screeched: “Mannering, you’ve got everything you want, you can catch the Shadow. You can . . .”

“Hurry,” Mannering said.

“We’re on our way,” said Fleming. There were footsteps and muted voices. The front door opened, and closed sharply; and silence fell.

Smith broke it.

“Mannering, you can take everything that’s here, you will be worth a fortune. Just give me an hour’s start of the police, that’s all I want.” ‘

Mannering said: “You’re not much of an ornament to society, Smith. You aren’t much good to yourself or to anyone else. There isn’t a chance of escape. I caught Mick and another man at my flat. The other man escaped. Mick didn’t. Mick will confess. You’ll get a long stretch – ten or fifteen years. They might even get you for murder.”

There was sweat on Smith’s forehead; his face was like a death’s head.

“Let me go, give me a start, I won’t harm anyone else.”

Mannering said: “I wouldn’t trust you for five seconds. You’ll be arrested tonight, charged, go to the Magistrate’s Court in the morning and be remanded for eight days. Then there’ll be a fuller hearing. After that, you’ll be committed for trial. You’ll have the full glare of publicity. You’ll stand in the dock, knowing you won’t have a chance. Ten years in jail, at least, the whole story told –”

“I couldn’t stand it!”

Mannering tossed the gun on to a chair.

“The police will be here in a few minutes,” he said, and went out and closed the door. He turned the key in the lock and waited.

He had been there, in the semi-darkness, for several minutes, when he heard a car draw up outside; this would be Bristow. He stared at the locked door. There was a harsh ringing of the front door bell. From the room, a shot rang out

Bristow was at the head of the three men who ran up the stairs. Mannering stood waiting for them. Bristow said abruptly: “What that a shot?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Who was it?”

“Probably the Shadow. You know him as Smith.”

Bristow looked at the door, and said sharply: “The key’s on the outside.”

“I locked him in.”

Bristow grunted, and thrust the door open. Smith was lying on his side, with his back to the door. His right hand was stretched out, and the gun lay within an inch of it. Bristow moved across and Mannering and the others followed.

Smith moved.

He grabbed the gun, twisted round, and pointed it at Mannering; and there was hatred in his eyes, the old glitter, as if the Devil were back in the man. Mannering hadn’t time to move, saw the trigger finger squeeze – and then his legs were hooked from under him by one of Bristow’s men, and he crashed down. He felt the bullet bite into his left arm. He didn’t see Bristow jump at Smith or see Smith put the gun to his mouth and fire again.

With his arm in a sling, Mannering walked up the stairs to his Chelsea fiat. He didn’t have to use his key, for the door opened and Lorna appeared. She stretched out one hand and took his, and he put his arm round her shoulders. As they moved into the hall, Hetty appeared.

Mannering smiled at her. “I’m terribly sorry that you had such a scare.”

“Scare! I was terrified! If that man ever comes here again, I’ll leave, I couldn’t stand . . .”

“He won’t come again,” Mannering said. “He’s dead. Make some coffee, will you?”

“Dead!” echoed Hetty.

She was still standing there, undecided which mood would yield the best dramatic effect, when, arm in arm with Lorna, he moved into the drawing room. Celia, her back to the window, turned and stared at him. There was no doubt, from her expression, that she had heard what had been said.

There was shock there, horror, and perhaps relief.

Mannering poured out a whisky and soda, and took it across to her. She sipped a little, and then put the glass down, as if she must know the truth.

“How did it happen?”

“He killed himself,” Mannering said. “He also killed your mother, Celia.”

“Killed her!”

“The shock was too much for her, and she died tonight.” Whisky was spilling over her glass and dripping to the carpet. “He gave her too much to drink, egged her on to kill Muriel, and wanted your father hanged for it. When he knew that he would have to stand trial, he shot himself. It was over very quickly.”

She steadied the glass, and drank again.

“He was planning to leave the country without you,” Mannering said.

She nodded, as if she understood the full significance of that.

“And listen, Celia,” Mannering said quietly. “I don’t know what he did to set you against your father, but whatever it was, was false. Your father sacrificed everything he had, to save your mother, and paid him a fortune in blackmail. Remember that.”

Celia said unsteadily: “Paul told me –” she looked round as if for help, but no help was there.

“He told me that it was not my mother who had killed that woman in South Africa, but my father. I hated him for putting the blame on her. Was – wasn’t it true?”

“No,” said Mannering. “Your mother wasn’t quite normal, Celia, and your father protected her in every way he could.”

Celia turned to Lorna, and together they moved to a chair. She was still sitting there when Larraby arrived, twenty minutes later. The canister, he reported, was at the bottom of the Thames.

He was in the kitchen, with Hetty, when the telephone bell rang. Mannering answered it.

“Mannering speaking.”

“Put me through to Mr. Brown, please,” a man said crisply.

Mannering exclaimed: “Brown! There’s no one named Brown here.”

“He must have moved,” said Bristow, airily. “One day he may not move fast enough.”

Before Mannering could reply, he rang off.

Fleming and Lee were coming in, Lee with exuberant excitement.

Mannering said: “Did you find those papers?”

“I’ve burnt them,” said Fleming.

“Burnt what?” asked Lee.

“Forget it,” Mannering said. “Celia’s in the other room. She knows everything, and took the shock better than I thought she would. She’ll probably be all right after a few weeks rest. Don’t force anything on her. If my wife and I can help, we will. I’d say the best thing would be for her to have a holiday in a country cottage, with some friends of mine. She’ll be all right.”

“She must be!” cried Lee.

“She will be,” Fleming said, and he smiled, as if at some happy memory.

Celia was sleeping in the spare room, Fleming and Lee had gone, and Mannering and Lorna were sitting in the drawing room, when the front door bell rang. Lorna, who regarded Mannering’s wounded arm as if it were a major injury, jumped up to open the door.

Chittering, with a plaster over his forehead and a bruise on his chin, came in briskly. The bruise distorted his smile, but his eyes were glowing.

“Hallo, John. I’m told you’ve been in the wars.”

“Just a skirmish.”

“And that you handed a dead Shadow to Bristow on a plate.”

“Nice of him to say so.”

“He didn’t mince words. He’s been to this garage which Smith ran under the name of Caton, and found all the proof he needed. As well as most of the proceeds of the Shadow’s recent hauls. Insurance companies owe you a nice fat cheque! I gather that Celia’s not hurt.”

“She’s here, sleeping.”

“Trust the Mannerings,” Chittering said, and sat down. “Mind if I rest? No, thanks, I won’t have whisky; I’m told that it would give me a whacking great headache. Mind telling me the inside story?”

Mannering laughed. “You know it.”

“Not one half,” Chittering said. “But I suppose I can’t expect any more from you. I’ve a splash headline, and your picture will be on the front page. I’m told that one of the Shadow’s men fell foul of you – trying to burgle the place.”

“Something like that.”

“He babbled on about a man called Brown. Bristow is very interested in this Mr. Brown. Any idea who he is?”

“Not a notion,” said Mannering.

“Strange! That reminds me, there’s a big bonfire outside, and they’ve had to call the fire brigade out. I wonder what started that off.”

“Mischievous boys, probably,” Mannering said.

Six months later, when the trial of Mick and the other men was over, the Mannerings received an invitation to spend a weekend at Guildford. They reached Maylands early in the afternoon, and found Fleming in the orchard, and George Lee cleaning carburettors, in the garage. Lee called: “I’ll be with you in a jiffy.” Fleming came hurrying, and opened the front gate.

“How’s business?” asked Mannering.

“Flourishing” said Fleming, and laughed. “I’m much happier in my new job!”

“Past really is the past?”

“I saw enough of hell not to want to go back,” Fleming said. “No one suspects the truth, and Celia – “he gripped Mannering’s arm tightly. “She’s full recovered. I think she and George will marry. He’s found a useful job, and is doing quite well.”

“I’m so glad,” Lorna said.

“Mannering, why did you give me that chance?” Fleming asked. “I’ve never worked that out. There seemed no reason why –”

“Let’s say I’d seen a glimpse of the same hell,” said Mannering lightly. “Hallo, there she is.”