The Baron Goes East (13 page)

 

The Maharajah was smiling. There was nothing to indicate that he had heard more than Mannering's last few words, but he had made sure that they knew he had heard that. Except for his honey-coloured skin, he looked European – more European than swarthy van Groot, who came in just after him. Duval followed. Duval was tall, thin, elderly – French enough to maintain a small beard and waxed moustaches. Mannering thought that he looked ill. He drooped. There was no vitality in his voice when he spoke, or in his grip when he shook hands.

Rudra came a few minutes afterwards, when a servant was handing round sherry – a superb Spanish sherry.

“Is Mrs. Mannering too tired to come down?” asked the Maharajah.

“No, Highness.” Mannering used the title deliberately. “She wouldn't miss this for the world!”

“I'm very glad. I'm only sorry that she will be the only woman. I was hoping that my son would bring Shani, but I understand that it will not be possible. And he has been delayed – he thought that you were coming tomorrow.”

“I changed my mind,” said Mannering, poker-faced.

“To our advantage. By the way, Mannering, we have no ceremony here. No titles, please. You are Mannering, I am Kalda. You see, I am more western than oriental!” His smile flashed. “After dinner we will see the jewels, and you will all have an opportunity of assessing them. Tomorrow, we will get to the business of buying and selling—I hope. More sherry, Petter?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Kalda waved to a servant.

They were talking and laughing, when Lorna came in.

She had packed a black evening gown, without Mannering knowing. It was high at the neck, but her arms and her lovely shoulders were bare. She wore black net gloves up to her elbows, and her hair was piled up in a fashion she seldom adopted, except for occasions where she really wanted to cause a sensation. Watching the faces of the men, she smiled serenely. She had made her sensation; she made them forget everything for the next half-hour, even the fifty-one blue diamonds. Van Groot changed from being gruff and surly; his eyes positively glowed. Even Duval perked up.

Now and again Mannering caught her eye. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.

 

Dinner was served in a small room, lighted with candles. A long narrow table, highly polished, with mats of exquisite lace; wine of a quality that was almost forgotten in Europe; a host of the silent, dark-skinned servants, trained to perfection; food which brought a glow to Duval's eyes and made him forget his indisposition.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when they had finished.

“The jewels will be displayed in here,” said the Maharajah. “I suggest that we all come back in a little more than half an hour.”

 

“Now you know why I brought you along,” said Mannering, when they were back in their suite. “You're to distract their attention. They won't think about jewels while you're in the room.”

“It seemed the right occasion,” said Lorna. “I wore a sari to get out of the Taj Mahal.”

“I've forgiven you.”

“Thank you, dear. Anything new?”

“The other dealers think the Bundi will go for the Maharajah but not for us or them. We can buy the stones and take them away. Surface reasoning, which wouldn't convince them if they weren't after a collection of jewels that's probably never been equalled and will make a fortune for them. I think Duval and van Groot are nervous, Kyneton less confident than he pretends. Petter's always ready to take risks.”

“Ah,” said Lorna. “Do you still think you'll find Shani here?”

“I shouldn't be surprised.”

“Can you explain Shani's disappearance?”

“Someone wants a weapon to use against old Phiro.” There was a sound at the door, and he looked round and saw Petter coming in. The servant on duty outside appeared for a moment, then closed the door.

“I hope I'm not intruding,” said Petter.

“I knew you couldn't keep away for long.” Mannering offered cigarettes. “How's your blood-pressure?”

Petter glanced at Lorna.

“Quickening.”

“Keep it steady for a while,” said Mannering. “Have you a ceiling for the blue diamonds?”

Petter thrust his hands in his pockets and looked absurdly boyish.

“No. Frank and I are going to buy them between us, whatever the price.”

“Absolutely no ceiling?”

“None.”

“Let me buy them,” said Mannering.

Lorna stood up.

“John—”

“You heard me, John,” said Petter quietly.

“Oh, on a gentleman's agreement. I bid higher than anyone else, but with your money. You take them over as soon as I have them, at the same price. No commission, no tricks.”

Petter considered.

“I guess Frank would come in on that. Sure, go ahead. What's the idea?”

“I don't want to let them out of my sight—for long,” Mannering said.

“I wish I could be sure that India hasn't turned your head,” Lorna said tartly.

“No more than it's always been turned.” Mannering glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes to go. Shall we have a stroll in the grounds?”

“Watch out for mosquitoes,” Petter said. “You'll find a little bottle of stuff in your bathroom cabinet – put a spot or two of that on, it'll keep the little pests away.”

Others were also taking the air. The Dutchman and the Frenchman were on the drive, Kyneton at the top of the steps. Petter stayed with him, and Mannering heard them talking in low-pitched voices. Mannering and Lorna strolled across the grass, watching the stars over the distant hills. The palace was on sloping ground, and they could see the lights of the city of Ganpore. Lights from the palace shed a glow over the grounds.

Duval and van Groot were the first to go in. The Americans followed, Mannering and Lorna stayed until the last minute.

The doors of the room where they had had dinner were closed. They stood in a little group outside it, and no one had anything to say. Van Groot was trying unsuccessfully to be phlegmatic. The Frenchman fidgeted, walked up and down, couldn't take his gaze away from the door. Mannering smoked. Lorna stared into the grounds.

There was a sound at the doors, they opened, and the Maharajah stood with a hand on each. He was dressed as he had been at dinner, except for a green turban with a single diamond in it. He smiled gently. Something of the excitement that touched the others also touched him. He bowed, before he stood aside. Duval went forward, hesitated, stood stiffly while Lorna went in. None of the men looked at her.

A single light, hung from the ceiling, specially made to throw its white glow on to the table beneath – a round table.

It was a table of fire.

Sight of it brought Lorna to a standstill, made each of the men stop. Duval actually cried out. Van Groot put a hand to his head, as if it had started to ache. Kyneton gripped Petter's arm. Mannering, behind them all, was the last to see the table in all its glory.

The fifty-one blue diamonds, taken out of their settings, were arranged in a centre-piece fashioned like a cone and covered with black velvet. They were spaced at intervals of about an inch, in two rows which ran right round the cone. One was placed on top, flat; the others set into the velvet.

It seemed like a fiery blue cone, and it held them enthralled.

To Mannering, the most remarkable thing was not the sight of the blue diamonds; nor of these men, all of them used to precious stones, all of them hardened to beauty, standing entranced. It was the effect of the blue diamonds on the other jewels there.

These were arranged on the surface of the table, also on black velvet. They were in clusters. Only occasionally, at great exhibitions or at fabulous private shows, had he seen such a collection. Diamonds, pearls, emeralds, rubies, all there, each with its own beauty and its own sublime brightness. Each cluster would have gladdened the heart and the eye of any collector, and there were ten of them, yet their perfection was dulled by those blue beauties.

It had been done deliberately. Why?

The life and the fire in the centre-piece forced the eyes from the others, showed the blue diamonds in their unique perfection. They scintillated and flamed, could not fail to feed the fire of desire. It was superb showmanship.

The group stood as a tableau for a long time; then Mannering moved and the others followed suit, going right round the table, their attention still riveted on the centrepiece, the other jewels hardly noticed.

Everyone was silent.

Servants stood at each corner, two men together; and there were four at the doors.

The guests came slowly to life. Mannering felt Lorna's hand touch his. Perhaps for the first time she felt the magic in precious stones, felt the heart of the fire which burned in his veins. He damped it down, daren't miss a trick. This was done so that all of them should be blinded by the beauty and filled with gnawing desire; to force the price up. But was that all?

The Maharajah spoke.

“If everyone is ready, we will have a little more light. Then you can examine the stones more closely.”

Duval turned away from the table, went to a chair and sat down, weakly. Other lights came on, none of them too brilliant, but detracting from the glory on the table. Van Groot and Kyneton went nearer to the table. Petter looked at Duval. He was pale and trembling.

The Maharajah went across to him.

“Perhaps you would be wise to rest, M. Duval. There will be plenty of opportunity—”

“No, no. I shall recover.” Duval dabbed his forehead. The Maharajah motioned to a servant, who brought brandy.

Lorna, close to Mannering, whispered: “Are you expecting anything?”

“Anything,” said Mannering.

Van Groot made the first comment.

“It is—more than I expected.” The words seemed grudging; in fact, he knew that no words could do this justice. “Eh, Kyneton?”

“Sure. Sure, much more.”

“The one gave me the idea,” said van Groot. “Just the one. But this—it is almost too much.”

“I shall leave you for a few minutes,” said the Maharajah in a quiet, casual voice. “You will forgive me.” He went towards the door.

He hadn't reached it before the shot came from outside; a single shot at first, sharp and clear; then a volley. The servants stiffened, every man thrust his hand inside his tunic. Lorna leaned against Mannering. The others swung round towards the door. Another outburst of shooting came, much nearer. The doors were open, flashes of flame showed in the grounds.

Men from the passages rushed towards the door as the shooting drew still nearer.

 

 

The room was opposite one of the doors which overlooked the grounds. Mannering moved towards the passage and the little dark-skinned men outside ran into the grounds, firing as they went. Duval moaned. The Maharajah showed for a moment against the side of the door, his hand moved, and darkness dropped on to the room.

Duval moaned again. “The—Bundi.”

Mannering turned, heard a sliding sound and peered towards the jewels. He could see nothing. A servant impeded him, he side-stepped, and bumped into Kyneton.

The shooting outside grew fiercer. Now that the room was dark, Mannering could see what was happening in the grounds more clearly. Men darted from bush to bush; the crackle of rifle and revolver fire seemed unending. In the room, Duval was groaning, van Groot was rapidly becoming impatient with him. Petter said: “Are you all right, Mrs. Mannering?”

“Yes.”

“Please,” said the Maharajah in a sharp voice. ‘This way.” He was still by the door, and shone a torch towards the ground just behind him.

Mannering was last out.

“Upstairs, to the right,” said the Maharajah. “Follow me, please.” There was another sliding sound, and this time Mannering saw the doors sliding into position. The shooting outside seemed to have slackened. White-clad figures still darted to and fro. One shot came close to the house, making Duval exclaim again. Van Groot was helping the Frenchman up the stairs.

They went into a small room, of greys and blues. The Maharajah said: “Please help yourselves. I will soon be with you.” He went off hurriedly.

Petter moved towards a cocktail bar, which was open; everything anyone could want to drink was there. Duval collapsed into a chair. Kyneton looked a little, round, pugnacious ball of a man.

“Who'll have a highball while the Bundi boys are dealt with?” asked Petter.

“Give me a whisky straight,” said Kyneton.

“For M. Duval – brandy,” muttered van Groot. “The Bundi. These fanatics have dared—”

“Sure, brandy.” Petter was as expert as any barman. He poured out and asked: “Mrs. Mannering?”

“I think I'll have gin and tonic.”

“Mannering?”

Mannering was nearest the door.

“Later, thanks,” he said. He stepped outside, on Lorna's exclamation of protest. He hurried along the empty passage, opened a door on the left and entered a room which overlooked the grounds and the fight. From its large balcony, the whole scene stretched out in front of him. The shooting was further away, in a corner of the grounds.

There was a rustle of sound behind him.

“Sahib,” said Ramdhal, “you should be with the others.”

“I wanted a grandstand view.” He and Kana's man stood looking out into the night. “What have you discovered?”

“Very little, sahib.”

“How far is it from here to the tomb?”

“By road, sahib, nearly a mile and a half.”

“As a bird would fly?”

 

Ramdhal shrugged in the gloom. “Three-quarters of a mile, perhaps, sahib; it is said there is a tunnel.”

“Have I been watched?”

“I have seen no one, sahib.”

“They might even decide I'm fooled by it all. Ramdhal, during the night you'll see a tall Sikh come out of my room. Don't interfere with him. Warn him if he is seen by anyone else – you can find a way of doing that. Warn him if there appears to be any kind of danger.”

“I understand, sahib.”

“That's all,” said Mannering. “One day I will find a way to thank you.”

He saw the flash of a shot some way off, and heard the report. All was quiet in the grounds near the palace. He went back to the others. Lorna's eyes sparkled relief and reproach when she saw him. Duval and van Groot had gone; Petter and Kyneton were near the cocktail cabinet; only Kyneton was drinking.

“Been detecting?” asked Petter.

“Just having a look. The Maharajah seems to have been pretty well prepared. Has he been back?”

“No. Who wouldn't be prepared, with that lot at stake?” said Petter.

Kyneton said: “If the Bundi gang is prepared to fight a pitched battle to get them, how in the hell can we get them out of the place?”

“Strong escort to the airfield, and then flight,” said Mannering. “Oh, that wouldn't offer a lot of difficulty.” He laughed. “Still in the market?”

“Yes,” growled Kyneton.

“Nothing's changed,” Petter said. He smoothed down his hair. “I've seen everything now. From the Koh-i-noor in the British crown jewels to this place. I'd never seen anything like those jewels and I guess I never will again. Unless it's the same thing. I haven't recovered yet. Duval couldn't stand it. I can understand the way he felt, too – it was like a physical shock. Don't you agree, Mrs. Mannering?”

Lorna said: “It was the most beautiful collection I've ever seen.”

“Goes for us all,” Kyneton said jerkily.

The door opened and the Maharajah came in, immaculate and unruffled. He walked across to the cocktail cabinet, glanced round to make sure that all their glasses were filled, and helped himself to a whisky and soda.

“I am sorry about that, but not really surprised. I have feared for some time that there would be attempts to steal the diamonds. You know of the Bundi. I shall be glad when the jewels are off my hands! The precautions which I have taken can only last for a short time, but they are at your disposal, gentlemen. Once out of India, there will be much less danger. You were not too worried, I hope, Mrs. Mannering.”

“Just scared out of my wits,” said Lorna simply.

“Naturally. I am sorry there was no opportunity for a closer inspection of the other jewels. It will be all right now. M. Duval isn't well enough to return, but Mr. van Groot will be downstairs when we go.” He finished his drink. “Mrs. Mannering, what will you have?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

Kyneton said: “Kalda, why not get it over with tonight ? Let's bid.”

The Maharajah frowned.

“I guess Duval won't be able to take any part, but he wouldn't know what he was doing, anyhow,” Kyneton said.

“Let us go below,” temporised the Maharajah.

 

Nothing had really changed.

The doors were closed, and for a while there was only the one light, shining on the blue diamonds; but after a while other lights were put on, and the rest of the jewels had their due attention. Kyneton said again: “Let's bid.”

Van Groot drew a deep breath.

“For the blue diamonds, one hundred thousand pounds.”

“One fifty,” said Kyneton, promptly.

 

The four dealers sat in armchairs in different parts of the room. Lorna was on the other side, watching. Rudra, the secretary, who had been at Patel's house, was in a corner with a pad and pencil in front of him. The Maharajah kept standing all the time, looking from one man to another. The tension in the atmosphere was as great as when the shooting had started. The hush was brittle; something would break it at any moment. Van Groot sat upright, Kyneton gripped the arms of his chair, Petter was relaxed, Mannering's eyes were closed and he looked half asleep.

He hadn't made a bid.

Van Groot and Kyneton had done most of the bidding, with a casual nod from Petter coming now and again, after van Groot's last figure. They had reached three hundred thousand pounds, and were going up in ten thousands. At first, van Groot had been swift off the mark, now he was hesitating. He looked from Kyneton to Petter, as if trying to read their minds; then he growled: “Three hundred and ten.”

“Twenty,” Kyneton said.

A long pause; then: “Thirty,” said van Groot.

Kyneton hesitated. Petter lit a cigarette and seemed to lose interest. Mannering took a hand out of his pocket and spoke for the first time.

“Four hundred,” he said.

It was as if he had dropped a bomb. Petter sat up abruptly, van Groot swivelled round in his chair and glared, Kyneton glowered. Only the Maharajah looked at Mannering with benign approval. Kyneton looked as if he wanted to protest.

“It is too much!” Van Groot's words were almost inaudible. “I give up.”

The Maharajah looked hopefully at the Americans. Petter shook his head, Kyneton jumped up and went to a cocktail tray, took a whisky straight and drank half at one gulp.

The Maharajah bowed to Mannering, glanced at Lorna, smiled as if to himself, went to the round table and selected a diamond pendant from one of the other ten groups. He carried it to Lorna and placed it round her neck; it scintillated against the black dress, white fire with a dozen colours stabbing at it.

“With my good wishes, Mrs. Mannering.”

Mannering was smiling so broadly that Kyneton looked disgusted and van Groot insulted. They didn't hear what Lorna said. They saw the Maharajah turn to the table and heard him say quietly: “Shall we go on with the others? I am quite prepared to wait until morning, should you wish.”

After a pause, Petter said: “Oh, let's finish it.”

“As you wish.”

“Finish,” said van Groot.

“Sure,” said Kyneton.

“I'm not in this,” Mannering said, and went across and sat on the arm of Lorna's chair.

The tension had gone, the sensation was over. Three business men bid against each other, with the Maharajah conducting the sale smoothly and Rudra making notes swiftly.

The bidding finished at half-past one.

 

At half-past three Mannering opened the door of his suite, glanced out, saw only Ramdhal, and went into the passage. Ramdahl looked at him without recognition; the man seemed puzzled as he came forward. He saw a Sikh, the man whom Chopra had created.

Mannering took him into his confidence. “All quiet?”

“Yes—yes, sahib.”

“No more talking,” said Mannering. “Are you sure that no one else is about?”

“All is silent.”

They walked towards the head of the wide staircase. If Ramdhal saw no one, Mannering certainly wouldn't. He looked about him, and out of the window towards the stars. Then he led the way down to the room where the jewels had been displayed. There were no guards. He tried the door; it was locked. He didn't waste time with a picklock, but felt the wall where he had seen the Maharajah touch it, just before the doors had slid too. He felt a knob beneath the electric switch, pressed, and heard the doors slide back.

He went in, beckoning Ramdhal.

He pressed another knob beneath the inside switch, and the doors closed; he examined the knob, pressed it again, and nothing happened; again, and the door opened.

“Go out and press the one outside,” Mannering said.

Ramdhal obeyed, and Mannering closed the doors and pressed the knob for the second time. He waited, but the doors didn't open until he pressed for the third time. Ramdhal came in.

“Wouldn't it open before?”

“No, sahib.”

“The second press locks it from the inside,” Mannering said. He put on the light. The room was empty; even the table had gone. He went slowly towards the centre, peering at the floor. He had heard a sliding sound here earlier. The carpet was richly coloured, closely patterned. He went down on his knees and ruffled the surface with his fingers, while Ramdhal watched impassively. He kept ruffling the pile until he saw what he was looking for – a piece let into the carpet. It was circular, about the size of the table. He put his fingers beneath it at one spot, and it came up. Ramdhal hurried to help.

They lifted the carpet aside; parquet flooring was beneath, smoothly polished, and cut round into a circle. Mannering sat down, cross-legged, and began to press each piece of the wood. Ramdhal, sitting on the other side, did the same thing; he needed little telling what to do.

It was Ramdhal who pressed the piece which set the circular patch of floor in motion. It began to sink beneath the level of the rest of the floor, slowly and without a sound.