Shadow The Baron (13 page)

“Only that?”

“Should there be anything else?”

“I don’t know,” said Smith. “Possibly you think we might be able to do some business together.”

“What kind of business?”

Smith stared with that curious intensity, as if he were wishing to read Mannering’s thoughts. He was making a conscious mental effort, and there was stillness in the room. Mannering felt the sense of strain and knew, beyond all doubt, where Smith drew his power to influence others as he had influenced Celia.

Smith looked away, and shrugged.

“I still think you might be interested in a business arrangement, but I’d like to find out why you think so. Come and see me again.”

“I will,” said Mannering.

Smith turned and went out. The front door closed softly, and there was no other sound. Mannering drew a hand across his forehead, and it came away damp. He hadn’t enjoyed those last few minutes, and had a feeling that he might have given something away that he wanted to keep to himself. He rejected the thought, but it persisted.

Hetty came in, nervously.

“Has the gentleman gone, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I hope he doesn’t come very often,” Hetty said, with the frankness of guileless, undisciplined youth. “Will you be in to lunch?”

“Yes, Hetty – say half past one.”

“It’ll be on time,” said Hetty.

She hadn’t liked Smith, even on that brief acquaintance; had instinctively felt that there was corruption in him. Yet when Smith could have used vicious methods, with him and Larraby, he’d rejected them. Was that contradictory evidence or simply a matter of tactics?

Mannering ate a hearty lunch, and then shaking off lethargy, walked briskly to Victoria. It took him half an hour. He went on by taxi to the Post Office near Trafalgar Square, and turned to the poste restante counter.

“Mr. J. Brown?” asked the clerk, and went through a small bundle of letters. “Oh, yes, there is one.” She slipped the letter beneath the grille, and Mannering opened it before he went away. It was from Smith, who signed himself ‘C’, and the address was 60, Palling Street, S.E.1. (The Palling Garage). It read:

Come and see me again, any evening between six thirty and seven o’clock. I think we could do business together.

Mannering tore the letter up and dropped the pieces into a waste paper basket. He went out and walked purposefully towards Scotland Yard. It was then half past three. The policemen on duty at the Criminal Investigation Department building did not stop him and he went straight up to Bristow’s office.

He tapped.

“Come in,” called Bristow.

He was sitting at his desk, glancing through some papers, and the telephone bell rang as Mannering opened the door. Bristow picked up the receiver and then saw Mannering. He glared.

“Oh, it’s you, is it? I want you.” There was hostility in his eyes as Mannering entered, and he continued to look at Mannering as he spoke into the telephone. “Ask him to ring up later; I don’t want disturbing for the next half hour.”

He put the receiver down with a bang.

No one else was in the office, and Mannering drew up a chair. The window was open, and Bristow shut it with cold precision. Standing with his back towards it, his face in shadow, his expression of hostility was hardly concealed.

“You damned fool,” he said.

“If you say so.”

“Until you’ve been inside, I don’t suppose you’ll ever learn.”

“I repeat, if you say so.”

“Haven’t you the sense not to keep getting in our way?”

“Perhaps I don’t know where you’re going.”

“You know where we’re going all right. It was crazy to go and warn Smith that we were likely to visit him. If he’s had anything to do with that murder, it gave him time to get ready for us.”

“But you always catch guilty men.”

“If we did,” Bristow said roughly, “we’d have caught you long ago. But you’ll find yourself in dock yet, never fear, and probably for something you didn’t do.”

“Rough justice at the Yard! Why the high horse, Bill?”

“Isn’t this enough? You warned Smith and the Fleming girl. You then went to Major Fleming, and did something to him – he’s twice as difficult to handle. You had visits from Smith and the girl, too.”

“Where’s the criminal offence?”

“You’re obstructing us.”

“Oh, no. Trying to help you.”

Bristow said: “Listen to me. I know you were at Smith’s flat the other night. The description tallied with the description we’ve had before when you’ve been about. That means you committed an offence and could be sent down for three years, or more. You get too damned cocky. And you assaulted several of our men.”

“Someone did,” said Mannering.

“You did.”

“Let’s draw a veil over that,” said Mannering. “What do you think I’m doing with Smith?”

“I don’t know yet. But I can tell you, you’re going to burn your fingers before it’s over. Smith is dynamite. And he’s bad.”

“A point of agreement at last.”

“Why interfere in this job?”

“I thought I was invited to help find the Shadow.”

“Forget it.”

“It stirred up my curiosity.”

Bristow said in a milder voice: “What makes you think there’s any connection between Smith and the Shadow?”

“I’m just wondering.”

“You know something that’s material evidence. Don’t withhold it.”

“Not for a split second, when I think you could use it,” said Mannering. “Bill, I came to tell you several things, one of them to beware Smith, and to find out what he was doing on the nights that the Shadow was busy. If he’s the Shadow, I’d like to see him inside.”

“Don’t you know if he is or not?”

“No. Do you?”

Bristow said: “I know that he was out on each of the Shadow’s jobs.”

“We progress,” said Mannering.

“The Fleming girl gives him an alibi for three of the nights.”

“Poor Celia.”

“And she frequently goes to Paris.”

“It’s fairly obvious that she buys her clothes there.”

“She could take the stolen stuff over, and sell it – we haven’t traced any unloading of what the Shadow stole, in England. I don’t say that happened, but it could have done. Muriel Lee was also in the habit of slipping over to the Continent – she had friends in Brussels. Did you know all this?”

“You’re telling me, Bill.”

“I’m as crazy as you are,” Bristow said, and quite suddenly, he laughed. It was a good laugh to hear. Laughter, at the unexpected moment, was one of Bristow’s saving graces.

“John, listen to me.” He offered cigarettes from a yellow packet, “I know you wouldn’t touch anything this man Smith does with a barge pole. I think you’re doing what you think is best, but you’re asking for trouble. At the beginning of this affair, I had Anderson-Kerr sympathetic about asking your help. Now he’s dead against it. You’ll run yourself up against the Yard every time you move. Don’t be a bigger fool than you can help.”

“There may not be much difference,” Mannering said, smiling. “Have you discovered Smith’s other name and business yet?”

Bristow stopped in the act of lighting a cigarette.

“What? I – oh, that. Yes.” He concentrated with unnecessary energy on lighting a cigarette. “Of course we have.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” said Mannering. “As you know, I needn’t tell you. Bye, Bill.”

Bristow jumped towards him.

“John –”

“Appointment,” beamed Mannering. “Very remiss of me. I want to sell a diamond to a millionaire.”

Bristow didn’t follow him out of the office; and Bristow hadn’t yet got round to the fact that Smith was Caton of the Palling Street Garage,

At the flat, there was a note from Cluttering. Did Mannering know that Celia Fleming often went to Paris, that Muriel Lee had as often gone to Brussels, and that the Yard thought that there was a connection between Smith and the Shadow? In a postscript the reporter said that Chloe and Jane would “play”.

There was a change in the tactics of the police, and one for the worse. When he left Chelsea, Mannering was tailed. It did not greatly worry him, but it meant that from the moment he had disappeared, there would be an alert throughout the police stations of London.

He missed the Buick.

He slipped his tail near Piccadilly, and then went to a little shop in the Edgware Road, where Old Sol, a man who specialised in theatrical makeup and wig making, greeted him warmly. Three quarters of an hour later he left the shop in a different suit and a professional makeup which was infinitely better than that he had used the first night. He went to an all night garage, and, using the shopkeeper’s name for a reference, hired a self-driven car, a roomy and powerful Austin. He drove to Southwark, and parked the car a hundred yards from Palling’s Garage. He walked the rest of the way, arriving at twenty minutes to seven.

The big man was outside, working on the only taxi there. He was still in his shirt-sleeves. Mannering knocked at the side door. It was opened almost immediately by a small, thin faced man, who led the way upstairs. Mannering was left on the landing for two minutes, until the other returned. “He’ll see you.”

Mannering used the harsh voice with which Smith would be familiar. The fact that he didn’t look the same man wasn’t important; Smith had known that he was disguised, before.

The room Mannering was taken to was a bed-sitter, well furnished, with several touches of luxury. A television stood in one corner, and there was a radiogram in another. There were two deep armchairs in front of an electric fire, and Smith was sitting in one of them. Reclining, with his legs stretched out in front of him, he looked abnormally tall. His lips were turned down in the familiar sneering smile.

“So you can read,” he said.

“I can read.” Mannering pushed the door to in the face of the little man.

“And don’t you love playing at being clever,” said Smith. “That makeup wouldn’t deceive a flat foot.”

“You’d do better if you played at it too, a little more assiduously. Supposing the police find out you’re here?”

“They won’t. Come and sit down. Have a drink?”

“No.”

“It’s not poisoned.”

“If you say so.”

“You’re too suspicious,” Smith said. “I told you I wouldn’t start any reprisals. Any man who can do the job you did the other night, sounds good to me. Where did you learn how to crack a crib?”

“I’ve been at it all my life.”

“And got away with it.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? What are we wasting time for? What do you want?”

“I talked about a business partnership.”

“That’s more like it,” Mannering said. “Anything I do. I do fifty-fifty.”

“It suits me. Ever heard of the Shadow?”

Mannering’s expression didn’t change.

“That reminds me of something,” he said.

Smith chuckled.

“Well, the Shadow gets away with a lot of good stuff, but he isn’t, I should judge, any better than you are at it, professionally. He just knows where to go.”

“I can do any job. The difficulty is to sell the stuff without the necessary contacts,” Mannering admitted. “I don’t trust receivers. They’re all right on commercial stuff, but the police are always at them on jewellery, that’s why I kept off it.”

“I can sell it,” Smith said quietly.

“How do I know you’ll give me an even split?”

“You just have to trust me – but you’ll be satisfied. You’ll know the value of the stuff you’ve taken, won’t you? And you’ll know what you ought to get for it. I can sell in the right markets. Want to hear any more?”

“It won’t hurt me to listen.”

Smith chuckled again. “You’re a hard case,” he said. “It’ll do you a lot of good to listen, Brown, provided you listen carefully. You could do the jobs in exactly the same way as the Shadow does them and he’ll be blamed for it. They won’t be looking for you; they’ll be looking for him.”

“Supposing he’s out on a job the same night?”

“He won’t be,” Smith said. “I’ve some influence there.”

“Cut it out,” Mannering said. “You are the Shadow. What do you think I’ve been having you watched for? Electric appliances?” He sneered. “Every night in the past two months that the Shadow’s done a job, you’ve been out. Own up – I only deal with principals.”

Smith said softly: “I am a principal. I can’t stop you from guessing. I’m putting a straightforward proposal to you – do some jobs with me, I’ll sell the stuff, and we’ll split fifty-fifty.”

“And what if I’m caught?”

“That’s your risk,”

“I’d get a lagging for being the Shadow, which I’m not.”

Smith said: “You ought to have had that drink.” He stood up uncoiling himself slowly, and his glittering eyes grew sharper. Mannering felt uneasy: could Smith guess that Brown was Mannering? There was nothing on Smith’s face to suggest that he had realised it. He was intent again on subjugating another’s will.

Mannering licked his lips, and looked away.

“Don’t glare at me like that!” He sounded nervous.

“Look at me,” said Smith, gently.

“Why should I?” The compelling gaze that met his own was uncanny. Mannering felt much as he had done at Chelsea and again he wondered whether indeed it was Smith who was being fooled, or himself.

“You don’t have to work with me,” Smith said. “But it’s easy money. You won’t have to worry about selling; I’ll take all the risks once the stuff is on our hands. I’ll give you different addresses to take it to, every time. One night a week and you can live like a Prince for the rest of the time. You’d be a fool to turn it down. But before we call it a deal, Mister Brown, I want to know who you are.”

Mannering muttered: “I don’t trust anybody as much as that.”

“You could be a split.”

“Me, a busy? Don’t be crazy.”

“You could be,” Smith said. “I don’t think you are, but there’s a risk. I’m taking that, you’ve got to take the other. Otherwise –” He didn’t finish, but laughed; and the laugh carried a menace which seemed to strike back at Mannering from the walls. “I’ll fix you,” he said. “Who are you?”

Mannering stood up, ignoring Smith’s steady, almost fluorescent, glare. Without removing his gloves, he poured himself a drink, tossing down a generous tot of whisky.