Shadow The Baron (3 page)

Plender glanced down at it.

“So you’re already working against him.”

“Oh, no,” said Mannering firmly. “I’ve simply made lists of the stolen stuff, to make sure that I don’t buy any, knowingly. It would never do if the Yard thought I was a fence, would it? With one possible exception, this is not a job that makes me want to go after the Shadow.”

“What’s the exception?”

“The theft from Tobias Plender, Q.C. Not that I think he suffered so much, and he’s doubtless done well out of insurance. The Shadow so far has been a polite and gentlemanly thief, catching him is a police job.”

“I thought you were poacher turned gamekeeper.”

“At times,” agreed Mannering. “But I like to think it’s worthwhile. Within these four walls, why should I go after a man for doing almost exactly what I once did myself? It would make me a renegade!” His eyes were gleaming, and Plender looked rueful. “Now if the Shadow suddenly takes to violence, or steps outside his present limits, that would be a different kettle of fish. I – come in, Sylvester.”

There had been the lightest of taps at the door.

Sylvester brought in a tea tray, with the dignity and aplomb of the traditional butler, bowed, and went out.

“So I can take it you wont do anything about these jobs?” said Plender.

“Tell Bill I’m keeping a cousinly eye open,” said Mannering cheerfully. “Also tell him there isn’t any reason, so far, to think I can do much better than he has. The Shadow is good.”

“I suppose you’re full of admiration for him,” said Plender dryly.

“He does a highly efficient job. Milk and sugar, isn’t it? How’s Mary. And the boys?”

Plender had three sons. . . .

Half an hour later, when he rose to go, Mannering put the file back into the drawer, and stood up.

“Just a minute, Toby.” They eyed each other, Plender expectantly. “Any particular reason why you want to recover any of the jewels you lost?”

“There was a ruby pendant,” Plender said. .”It’s been in the family for several generations, we were both attached to it. The insurance paid for it, but”

“You might try one other thing,” suggested Mannering. “Advertise in all the newspapers. Appeal to the Shadow’s better nature. This pendant was of great sentimental value, your wife is pining for it, you know the kind of thing.”

“He’d never rise to that hoary bait.”

“He might,” said Mannering. “It would give us a new slant on him, anyhow. Remember that behind everything else, he’s building up a reputation. The public is getting almost fond of him. There’s the vague personality emerging of a gentleman cracksman. It’s probably spurious, and this might help to settle it one way or the other.”

“Could do,” said Plender dubiously. “I’ll think about it. John–”

“Yes?”

“Solemn word and all that kind of thing, you’re not the Shadow?”

“My solemn word on it,” said Mannering.

“Subject dropped. Oh, Lorna said something about fixing a foursome. Will you both come and have dinner – one day next week?” Plender flipped over the pages of his diary. “Wednesday would suit me; I think it’s all right at home. Yes?”

“You might have the pendant back by then,” said Mannering. “Yes – thanks, Toby.”

Mannering saw him to the door, and returned, pensively, to the office. Sylvester was talking earnestly to a prospective buyer who appeared to be interested in an Elizabethan casket, beautifully jewelled. Mannering sat back and closed his eyes, and was in that pose for nearly twenty minutes.

Presently he made his way to the four hundred year-old oak staircase, which he soberly mounted. On the next floor, narrow passages led to three storerooms and a small room where one of the staff slept. On the floor above were more storerooms, and a workshop in which an elderly, gentle faced man was cleaning an old canvas. At sight of Mannering he put down the wad of cotton wool with which he was rubbing the picture, and smiled a welcome.

“How’s it shaping up, Josh?”

“I’m not sure yet, Mr. Mannering. Mind you, it’s old, very old. The varnish was nearly all worn off, and the paint itself in badly cracked and dirty condition. I don’t want to do any damage – you might find it wise to send it to a restorer, Mr. Mannering – I’m only an amateur, you know.”

“You’d get a job with any restorer as an expert.” Mannering took the picture off the bench, and carried it to the window. In the patches which Josh Larraby had cleaned was something of the richness which one associated with the Dutch and Flemish masters. “I think it’s going to be good. Tired of working indoors, Josh?”

“I’m quite content,” said Larraby.

Mannering put the picture down carefully.

“I really believe you are! Know anything about the depredations of the Shadow?”

“Only what I hear in the street and read in the newspapers.”

“Try to pick up odds and ends of information about him, will you?” asked Mannering, his voice even, and without expression, “One of his victims was an old friend of mine.”

“I’m sorry to hear that I’ll inquire, Mr. Mannering, but I don’t really think I shall get any information of importance. Shall I leave everything else, and just get on to this?”

“No – fit it in, as you go along. Take what time you want for it.”

“Very good,” said Larraby. “Are you thinking of investigating yourself?”

“Not yet.”

“It doesn’t seem to me one of the inquiries which would greatly interest you,” said Larraby. There was an old worldly air about the man, and his gentle voice and precise way of speaking added to it. “I don’t think the Shadow has a criminal background, he isn’t one of the profession, so to speak Or rather, I shall be surprised if it ever proves that he is.”

Mannering shrugged.

Just after six o’clock that evening, he drove his Sunbeam Talbot to his lock-up garage in Chelsea and walked from there to his flat, in River Walk. The flat was on the top floor of a large house in a terrace. From the outside, it was ugly, inside there was little to recommend the main hall or the heavy staircase, but his own flat had an air which seemed to belong to a different world. He closed the front door and walked across to the living room; it was empty. It had the charm which came from carefully selected pieces of furniture, none of them modern, except a radiogram. One great window overlooked the river and the lights of the Embankment and two bridges were reflected on the rippling surface; he didn’t draw the curtains, but stood looking out. As he stood there, the door opened wider. Lorna Mannering came in.

She walked across the room without a word, and stood by his side. His arm went round her waist. They watched the distant river, the headlights glowing along the Embankment, the sharply contrasting outlines shown up in them. After a while, Lorna moved away and began to pull the curtains.

“Hetty never remembers,” she said. “If she weren’t a good cook, she’d be hopeless.”

“She’s like you,” Mannering said. “One in a million.”

“I thought you liked sentiment. Been busy?”

“Fairly. The light was just right, and I worked longer than I usually do.”

Mannering stood and looked at her. The subdued glow threw her features into soft relief. She was tall, her dark hair thick and wavy. There were those who said that, in repose, she looked grave; almost sullen, but none who argued she wasn’t beautiful.

Mannering switched on more lights. “Don’t overdo it. I happen to love you, in case you haven’t noticed. Sherry?” He busied himself with bottles and glasses. “Did Toby call up, this afternoon?”

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

“Dinner with him next Wednesday be all right?”

“Quite. Sherry, I think.” Lorna sat on the arm of a chair and he brought the drinks across. “What did he want?”

“Am I the Shadow? And if I’m not the Shadow, will I help to catch the man who is? Bill Bristow is perplexed, and must be almost desperate, or he wouldn’t have sent an unofficial envoy. To the grey of your eyes, my sweet!” He drank.

“And what are you going to do?” demanded Lorna.

“Nothing, yet. Well, nothing much. I’ve asked Josh to keep his eyes and ears open. Having a man who knows his underworld is an advantage. Josh thinks the Shadow comes from high society. Toby isn’t exactly sore about his own loss, but there’s a pendant he’d rather like back. I advised him to advertise, asking the Shadow to oblige him!”

Lorna’s repose went, her beauty became vivid.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously! I think he will, too. I was firm, my dear. Emphatic. The Shadow is a police job, there’s no reason why dog should eat dog. Pity, though. If he’d knock someone over the head, I’d like to have a shot at him. I haven’t played at being detective for a long time. Where shall we go for dinner tonight?”

“We’re staying in,” said Lorna. “Don’t go after the Shadow, unless you really have to. He’s too much like the past. She forced a laugh. “Darling, what does get into us? The minute I heard your key in the door, I knew there was something different. Perhaps it was because Toby telephoned, and he started me thinking about the Baron days. I had the ghastly feeling that time had gone back ten years, and Bristow was at your heels with a search warrant and a pair of handcuffs. They were bad days.”

“A mere point of view. There were others. Mine was one.”

Lorna said: “Don’t fool yourself. Not that we have to go back ten years to feel that Bristow’s on the doorstep. He seems to pop up every few months. I wonder what would have happened if you two hadn’t taken to each other?”

“He would have made life a little more difficult, and I wouldn’t have been able to play the great detective so easily. Bill’s all right, but as worried as hell over the Shadow. He must be feeling now pretty much the same as he felt during the Baron’s heyday. Darling, we’re glooming! We needn’t. After dinner, we shall dance, and after we’ve gone to the Plenders, we’ll have a few days in Paris. I ought to go over to the Rougement sale, anyhow, and you might be able to buy a new dress. Another drink?”

Lorna said: “No. John, you’re dying to go after the Shadow, aren’t you?”

“The answer, for personal satisfaction only, and not in the capacity of a police stooge,” said Mannering, “is yes.”

“I suppose you won’t be satisfied until you know who he is,” said Lorna. “And it’s no use begging you not to. Be careful, my darling.”

The door of the flat at Albemarle Mansions opened, soft wall lighting along the wide passage showed Mary Plender hurrying towards them in a silvery evening gown, and the maid standing on one side.

“Lorna, it’s so good to see you. John, I thought you’d forgotten us.” The women touched cheeks, and then Mary gripped Mannering’s hand. “You’re more hopelessly handsome than ever.”

“No competition,” said Plender, coming from a room on the right. “It’s heartbreaking.” He took Lorna’s hands and kissed her. The women, lingering over wraps, he led Mannering into a large, comfortable looking room, pleasantly furnished with books, a Persian cat, and armchairs drawn up near the fire.

“Whisky?”

“Thanks. I’m still out of jail, you see,” Mannering said.

“Keep out. They’re overcrowded. How is business?”

“Flourishing. I needn’t ask you about yours, I can read it all in the newspapers,” said Mannering. “I suppose you know that you’ve talked at least two innocent men into jail in the past six months.”

“Don’t you believe it. If they weren’t guilty on that score, they were on some other count. The wheels of justice do their job.” Plender sipped. “Any news of the Shadow?”

“He remains unknown, even in the lowest circles.”

“Meaning?”

“I have my spies. He’s not pally with the professional burglar. Some of them are beginning to resent his existence, and the speeding up of police attention. If the Shadow’s not careful, he’ll have a civil war on his hands.”

Plender chuckled.

“He’ll be careful. I’ve heard from him.”

Mannering put his glass down, but didn’t speak. Plender went across to a book case and took out a folded copy of The Times. Marked round in pencil was an advertisement.

“I saw it,” said Mannering. “The Echo and the Record took it up, and gave you quite a splash – didn’t you see? Appeal to the Shadow, lashes of sentiment. What does Bristow say?”

“Nothing, yet.”

“Meaning, he probably disapproves,” said Mannering. “If the Shadow really wants to become popular, all he has to do now is to return that pendant. He’ll probably demand that you send a statement to the Press about it, and –”

“Intuition, or a case of identical minds,” said Plender lightly, “for the Shadow has indeed promised to return the pendant, on one condition; that I inform the Press when I get it.”

“Well, well,” said Mannering, and laughed. He finished his whisky. “I wouldn’t mind another, Toby! So he’s playing to the gallery. I had a feeling that he was doing that deliberately, from the beginning. In the popular phrase, you have to admire him, don’t you? Details?”

“He has a nerve, certainly.”

“We knew that. Why, in particular?”

“He asked for a detailed note of my movements for the next three days, and told me that he’d see that the pendant was returned to me during that time. This,” added Plender, his hand quite steady with the whisky, “is the third day. He knows that we’ll be here until about ten o’clock, and that we’re going on to the Lulu afterwards. Nice timing, for you, wasn’t it?”

“How did he send the message?”

“Telephone, from a call box.”

“Did he suggest that it might be a police trap?”

Plender chuckled. “He said that if it turned out to be one, Mary wouldn’t have a jewel to call her own, and probably no fur coat, either.”

“Did he ring up himself?”

“I fancy so.”

“Voice?”

“It would pass anywhere.”

“I’m beginning to get fond of the Shadow,” said Mannering. “Does Mary know about it?”

“Yes.”

“Subject for dinner table talk,” said Mannering. “Is there a back way into the fiats, Toby?”

“The usual tradesman’s entrance. Why?”

“I was thinking,” said Mannering dreamily, “that would be the natural time to choose, while you and Mary were away dancing here tonight. Now if we all went out by the front door, and I slipped back through the tradesman’s entrance, we might get a nice surprise.”