The Baron Goes East (2 page)

 

As Mannering smiled at the girl, Larraby switched on a lamp concealed in the ceiling and giving just sufficient light to show the visitor more clearly, without being harsh. But no light could be harsh enough to harm her. She was young. Her complexion was perfect, and she was beautiful; that was the only word, none other was needed. She had large dark-brown eyes, raven-black hair drawn straight back from her forehead with a centre parting. She wore nothing over the sari, which swept almost to her small feet, which were criss-crossed by the straps of open sandals. On her forehead was a single scarlet spot, her caste mark.

“Good morning,” Mannering said.

“Good morning.” Her voice was soft and her English good, almost without accent; that didn't surprise him. “Are you Mr. John Mannering?”

“Yes.”

“I have a message for you from Aly Phiroshah.”

“I've been expecting it.”

“You have the diamond?”

“Yes.” It was easy to smile at her. “Come with me.” He led her to the office. Larraby wasn't in sight, but was undoubtedly watching.

The girl did not look about the office, but her gaze went straight to the blue diamond as Mannering took it out again. She sat down, murmuring “Thank you” and still looking at the stone. In the brighter light here, no flaw showed in her beauty.

In the same way as Bristow, Mannering and Larraby, she had to force herself to look away from the diamond. She took a small handbag from beneath the folds of her sari. Her fingernails were painted the same colour as the spot on her forehead.

She took out a letter, which was sealed with a red wax and with some Hindi lettering. Mannering recognised it as Phiroshah's seal. It was familiar to dealers in precious stones and to collectors all over the world.

“Thank you.” Mannering took and opened it. He wasn't completely at his ease, partly because of the girl's gaze, which had a candour that seemed very youthful yet – sad? It might be partly due to the fact that precious stones from India were in the news.

He wasn't surprised to find the letter written by hand. Phiroshah's writing was copper-plate and his English good if a little precise.

 

“Dear John Mannering,

The bearer of this letter is my daughter, Shani. She will tell you everything that I would like to tell you myself. I ask only that you pay as much attention to her as you would to me and, if you can respond favourably to her request, that you lose little time.

 

“With felicitations, my friend,

“Aly Phiroshah.”

 

Shani watched Mannering gravely as he read, and was intent as he looked up. He tried to see some likeness to her father in her. The old man was in his eighties. He had seemed ancient ten years ago, when Mannering had met him. Mannering recalled a wizened face, bony, gaunt; a Ghandi of a man, bald-headed, with wrinkled flesh at his eyes, much more beneath his chin. Shani waited for Mannering to speak. “Why did he send you and not one of his sons?” Mannering asked.

Phiroshah had been proud of his sons.

Shani raised her hands a little, drawing attention to their olive colour, their smallness and exquisite shape.

“They are dead,” she announced.

“
All
of them?” Shocked surprise sharpened his voice. He had known of at least two sons, and had believed that the old Hindu had several others by his three wives.

“Those who matter,” Shani said.

She did not elaborate; he was sure that she wouldn't, as sure that if he asked a question she would answer truthfully. Her father had commanded it, and her father's word was law. The difficulty was to overcome surprise, choose the questions wisely, to find out all he could. Phiroshah had sent her with a message about the blue diamond, not about his personal affairs.

He could ask her what she meant by “those who matter”, but would it really help him? He pulled the case towards him and picked it up; it seemed a sacrilege to hold the diamond between his fingers. He began to speak, when the telephone bell rang – a short ring, meaning that Larraby wanted to speak to him. He put down the case, frowning; he frowned too easily these days. He lifted the receiver, said “Hallo”, and remembered constraint had fallen between him and Bristow, because he was touchy and scowled too much.

“What is it?” His voice was gruff.

“Mrs. Mannering has just arrived,” Larraby said. “She is paying off her taxi.”

“Oh. All right, thanks.” Mannering rang off. He wished Lorna hadn't chosen this moment to come. “I'm sorry, Miss Phiroshah, but my wife has just arrived. I won't keep you a minute.” He stepped towards the door, leaving the diamond on the desk. There was only one way out of the office – by the door. There were ventilators and air-conditioning, but no windows. In any case, wasn't she Phiroshah's daughter?

Lorna was halfway along the shop, smiling at Larraby.

Lorna, smiling, was something to see. Her dark-grey eyes sparkled, her teeth showed, she looked young. She
was
young. There was only two years' difference in their ages and Mannering was nearing forty – but there were times when she seemed ten years younger. She had seen him and glanced his way, but still spoke to Larraby.

“Yes, Josh, I agree with you. We'll see what we can do.” Larraby stood aside, and Lorna approached. She moved gracefully. She was stylishly dressed in a tailored suit and a wide mink collar. Her small hat concealed only a little of her glossy, wavy hair – hair as dark as Shani's. “Hallo, darling.” She said “darling” as if she meant it. “Am I butting in? Josh says that Phiro's messenger has turned up.”

“You're just in time to hear the story.” He pressed her hand. “Congratulations.”

She laughed. “On what?”

“I don't know, but you couldn't look as happy as you do if you hadn't good news.”

“Oh, nothing,” she said and laughed again. “I've just sold a picture to a collector from Paris. Ridiculous, isn't it?” She stripped off her gloves. “Coals to Newcastle.”

“Hideous simile.” Mannering shuddered. He was delighted, and knew that she was. His spirits rose. “Tell me about it after we've heard what Shani has to say.”

“Shani?”

“The old chap's daughter.”

“
Daughter
?”

“He may be an old Hindu and a stickler for convention, but he's moved with the times and believes in the emancipation of women,” said Mannering. “He's much more like a Parsee than a Hindu in some ways.” He pressed her hand. “We'll celebrate tonight.” He opened the office door and ushered Lorna in.

Shani stood up.

Mannering watched the two women; Lorna completely at ease, Shani – embarrassed? It was hard to say. She was still grave. They sat down, Lorna in an old William and Mary slung chair in the far corner. Mannering picked up the diamond and seemed to forget Lorna. She would expect that.

“Why did he send this by one plane and you by another?” asked Mannering. “You must have left Bombay almost at the same time. This didn't arrive until this morning.”

“That was what he intended – that the diamond should arrive first and I should follow it.” Shani didn't smile. “He did not wish me to carry it.”

“Why not?”

“He is frightened of it.”

Lack of emphasis made the words very effective. Lorna watched Shani, and Mannering could imagine how she would react to the word frightened. Soon she would be saying: “John, keep out of this.” He tried to be casual.

“Of course, it's a valuable jewel to travel with; it's always safer to rely on the usual channels.” Bristow had hoped that he wasn't going to become pompous. He sounded too pompous now, and it irritated him. He was falling short in concentration. Of late he'd been uncertain in temper, unpredictable in mood – as Bristow knew.

“It wasn't that,” Shani said. “It is thought that there will be another attempt to steal the diamond.”

Lorna was as grave as the Indian girl, and as intent. She must know about the zealots and their “war” against a prince, and the theft of Indian jewels here in London.

“Another?” he asked.

“It has happened twice. Two of my brothers died defending it.”

Again she spoke without emphasis, but the words had the force of a bullet. Mannering sensed danger, as if it were an aura surrounding the girl. He fought to keep his tone and manner matter-of-fact.

“When?” he asked.

“Yusuf died two months ago,” said Shani. “Ali only two weeks ago. It was then that my father decided to write to you. He attempted to explain what had happened and what he hoped you would do by letter.” She raised her hands slightly and made the crimson folds of the sari move, like rippling red water. “It was so difficult, so he decided to send me to explain, and the diamond to show you that he was in earnest.”

Phiroshah knew his love of precious stones, knew how the blue diamond would affect him, so he had sent the diamond first, making sure of his interest.

Mannering didn't look at Lorna.

“How did your father get the stone?” he asked Shani.

“You will understand much,” she said slowly. “Since the self-government of India and the weakening of the power and the authority of the princes, many of them are selling jewels. It is not dishonest. The Government does not object. Sometimes the princes must sell in order to find the money for taxes or to put in hand the works which the Government demands. Sometimes they sell and live abroad. So my father has been very busy. For fifty years, now, he has sold more precious stones to the princes than any other man in India. Many have bought from him rather than from agents and dealers in England and America and elsewhere. All that you know.” Her story wasn't simply a recitation of simple facts; there was feeling in her voice. She disapproved of what was happening in India, as her father disapproved; Phiroshah had never been a politician, but had loved the old order and the old ways – perhaps partly because he had become a millionaire through them.

“Yes,” said Mannering.

“Four months ago the Maharajah of Ganpore visited my father secretly. That had happened before. The Maharajah has never boasted of his riches, never flaunted them. He prefers to buy and to sell quietly. He brought this blue diamond and other jewels. The others he sold. He told my father that he had a collection of the blue diamonds known to few. He wanted to find out what each stone was worth. He left the blue diamond with my father, and—my father sent Yusuf, his younger and well-trusted son, to America with it. In many ways, he would have liked to offer these diamonds to an English buyer, but—” She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture that was almost European. “In New York, the market is so much better, and so many more can afford to buy.”

“Yes,” said Mannering.

“Yusuf flew to New York, saw several of the big dealers, and met some principals who might be interested in buying. The negotiations were prolonged. He flew back to Bombay for further instructions from my father, and all the time he kept the jewel with him. There was an understanding with the Maharajah that only my father or one of the family should have charge of it. Then Yusuf flew back to New York. Within two days he had been murdered.

“He had known of the danger, for he sent the diamond back through a trusted agent, the day before he died. The news of his death made my father ill. Ali, my older brother, was in charge in Bombay. He received the stone. He was unhappy about what had happened and reluctant to go further. He took it himself to the Maharajah, to say that now that my father was ill and Yusuf dead it was impossible to continue with the negotiations. He reached the Maharajah with the diamond, but not before he was severely injured. He went by train; the train was held up by dacoits. He was searched and tortured, but saved the diamond. He died within an hour of returning it to the Maharajah.” She looked away from Mannering for the first time and glanced at the stone, and there was bitterness in her voice. “You understand now why my father is frightened.”

Into the hush which followed Mannering said: “Yes, but I can't understand why he is still handling the diamond. Are you going to tell me that?”

 

 

As he spoke, Mannering glanced at Lorna. Over the years she had suffered torment because he had sacrificed so much to his love of jewels. She had shared all the risks in the days when he had been the Baron, jewel-thief extraordinary; through the days of the metamorphosis which had turned him into a collector of precious stones and a hunter of thieves; and as he was today. But she had never wholly shared the rewards. She lacked his passion, almost his mania, for jewels. She would hate this.

She was smiling.

Shani said quietly: “I am surprised that you should ask why my father is still handling the diamond, Mr. Mannering. I believe that you know him. My brother made the decision to return it to the Maharajah while my father was sick. On his recovery, my father went in person to the Palace of Ganpore and promised that he would find the best price he could for the blue diamonds. He asks me to tell you, Mr. Mannering, that he had considered approaching you from the beginning, and sent Yusuf to America only because he believed that more money could be obtained there. He had good reason for wanting to secure the highest price for the Maharajah.”

“I'm sure he has,” said Mannering.

“Now that murder has twice been committed, and it had become obvious that the murderers wanted the blue diamond, my father needs more than a dealer in precious stones. He remembered how you had helped him when he was in London and some of his jewels were stolen. He also recalled that Scotland Yard appeared to have the highest regard for you. At the request of the Maharajah of Ganpore, he did not inform the police in Bombay, Calcutta or New York. Instead, he decided to send me to plead with you.”

Lorna moved a little in her chair.

“His request is simple,” said Shani. “That you should come to India soon. Visit the Maharajah, find out all you can of the blue diamonds, and find out who committed murder to try to get this one. He is insistent, please understand, that he is not asking that you undertake the avenging of his sons; only that you find out who is behind this violence. He will make sure that you are well rewarded.”

Mannering said mildly: “I'm sure he would.”

“He says also that you might think it best to start in New York, but he asks that you come first to India. There is reason to believe that the murderer was one of our people, in New York; and, of course, dacoits were employed in the murder of Ali.”

Dacoits? Zealots?

Shani finished, but did not shift her position, simply stared with a grave intentness more insistent than a spoken plea.

“I know nothing about conditions in India,” Mannering said. “If it happened in London, even New York, I might be your man. But in Bombay or Ganpore—”

“My father believes that you could help because he knows that he can trust you,” Shani said simply. “He knows of no one else so trustworthy and with such experience. I hope that I have made that clear.”

Lorna said gently: “Very clear. How long may we have to decide?”

Shani hesitated, as if surprised by the “we”. She looked from Mannering to Lorna and back.

“I am to cable him with the answer. Also, I am to return as quickly as I can. I have a reservation on an aircraft leaving London Airport on Friday.”

This was Wednesday.

“Where are you staying?”

“At the Mirabar Hotel, Kensington.”

“Darling, why don't you promise to telephone Miss Phiroshah there this afternoon Say at three o'clock. You'll have time to think about it, and we'll have time to talk.” Lorna seemed eager. Mannering still didn't understand why her mood was still buoyant.

“I'd rather make it seven o'clock,” Mannering said. “Will that suit?”

“Thank you, it will be very good of you.” Shani started to get up.

“Wait a minute,” Mannering said. “I'll get you a taxi.”

Shani sank back in her chair, and Lorna started to speak as the door closed on him. Mannering felt as he might on a clear, crisp autumn day – invigorated. Lorna had helped, but the blue diamond had started all this; the girl's story had given it urgency, and the theft of the Rangipore jewels had rounded it off. Here was certainly work for the Baron.

Larraby was polishing a gold necklace which had once adorned the neck of an Elizabethan beauty.

“Josh,” said Mannering, “have you looked outside lately?”

“Only when the Indian lady and Mrs. Mannering—”

“Look now,” said Mannering, “for a taxi standing in the street, or an Indian watching the shop. Change the position of that dagger in the window and then pop outside and admire it.”

Larraby said softly: “It's like
that
, is it?”

“It could be.”

“I won't be long.” Larraby turned towards the window, and Mannering to a recess at the back of the shop, which led to twisting oak stairs and the storerooms above. A telephone, an extension to the main instrument in the office, stood on a ledge in the recess. He dialled a Temple Bar number.

“Good morning, this is Plummer's Detective Agency.”

“Is Mr. Plummer in? This is John Mannering.”

“
Good
morning. I think he will be to you, Mr. Mannering!” The girl went off the line, and Mannering waited, watching Larraby through a small window in the wall of the recess. Larraby was standing on the pavement and apparently giving all his attention to the jewelled dagger.

A man said: “Hallo, Mr. Mannering.”

“Jeff, can you do something for me, yourself, at once?”

“Gladly do,” said Jeff Plummer.

“Come round at once, by car. I've been talking to an Indian girl, and she'll be leaving in the next ten minutes. I want you to follow her.”

“Only traffic will delay me,” said Plummer.

“Fly over it!” Mannering rang off and moved out of the recess as Larraby came back; excitement gleamed in his eyes.

“Well, Josh?”

“She was followed,” declared Larraby. ‘There is an Indian lounging at the corner – a dark-skinned young man. And there is a taxi just along the road, with the driver in it and his flag down. He might be waiting for someone at one of the other shops.”

“And he might not,” said Mannering softly. “Josh, go and get a cab. Be back in a quarter of an hour. Lock the door when you go out, and ring the bell three times when you come back. All clear?”

“It is indeed,” said Larraby. “Is this about the blue diamond?”

“Yes. Are you surprised?”

“Nothing would surprise me about that jewel,” Larraby said. He went out, letting down the catch at the shop door and slamming it. Mannering walked to the front of the shop and stood at one side of the window. He saw the dark-skinned man at a nearby corner, wearing a dark-blue suit. He was handsome, with wavy black hair, heavy with oil. He was looking at a newspaper.

The taxi was in the other direction.

Mannering went back to the office. Lorna was asking about living conditions in India. Shani answered politely, then turned to Mannering.

“Is my taxi here, please?”

“My man is having difficulty,” Mannering said. “They're not easy at midday. He'll soon find one.” He sat on a corner of the desk. “You may not believe it, but I'm not really careless with that stone. I had to collect it from the Customs this morning. You timed your visit well, didn't you?”

Shani smiled. “I was told that you had been to the Customs office, and so I guessed.”

“Who told you?”

“My father did not send me alone.”

Mannering pictured a young man standing at the corner and reading a newspaper.

“I should think not!”

Shani stood up slowly, and for the first time she really pleaded. “You remember my father. He is a good man, and he is old – very old. The shock of the deaths of his two sons was very great. We who love him were afraid he would die. But he lived. Now, I know, he lives only that we find out the truth. He has much faith in you. Please do not disappoint him.”

 

When Larraby returned, the taxi was still waiting, the Indian was still at his corner. Plummer, a plump, fair-haired and fresh-faced forty, had turned into Hart Row and gone into a shop doorway further along.

Mannering locked the diamond in a wall-safe before he and Lorna saw Shani to the door and into Larraby's taxi. They waited until the driver started his engine, then hurried through the shop and up the stairs. The window of a showroom filled with oil paintings overlooked Hart Row. The Mannerings stood close to the window.

The waiting taxi started off immediately after the girl's; the Indian on the corner jumped into it. Plummer appeared and followed only a few yards behind at the wheel of an open two-seater.

He disappeared.

Lorna said: “You laid that all on quickly, darling.”

“Trifles,” said Mannering. He took her hands, squeezed. “I'm slipping. It took me ten minutes to realise what has got into you. You think India would be a good place for a holiday, do you?”

“Darling,” said Lorna, “haven't you always wanted to see the Taj Mahal? By moonlight? And haven't you always wanted—”

“No.”

“And think of the different subjects I can paint.”

“Such as the Taj Mahal by night and day. So now I've a pair of you to deal with.”

“Oh, that's easy,” said Lorna. “Just say yes to Shani and yes to me. I'm sorry that we'll have to fly; I'd much rather go by sea, but it takes three weeks. Darling, it's the first time I've really been able to enthuse over something reckless. Don't say you've any doubts.”

Mannering laughed. “Not serious doubts.” But she hadn't really explained her mood. He turned towards the door. I'm going to telephone Phiroshah. We'll talk to him before we talk to the girl again. There's an outside chance that she isn't his daughter.”

“I suppose you're wise, but there isn't much doubt, is there?”

At the head of the stairs Mannering squeezed her arm.

“If we do take on this job we've one particular thing to get into our minds. Different values, different standards, different methods. You can't judge an Indian by the same standards as you can a European. It's not a case of better or worse – it's simply different. With luck we'll find out what all this is about and you'll have some time for sightseeing and your brushes but—”

Lorna said: “You're really dubious about it, aren't you?”

Her tone echoed her surprise. Hadn't she connected this with newspaper stories of Indian fanatics and the London robbery?

He tightened his grip on her arm, and his voice was suddenly loud.

“Of course I am. I don't think I'll go to India for Shani or for anyone else.” He released her and went downstairs quickly but softly, leaving her standing at the top – no longer puzzled, but alarmed. He reached the door at the foot of the stairs.

A dark-skinned man stood at the office door. Another was bending over Larraby, who lay face downwards on the floor of the shop.