Free Cry For the Baron by John Creasey

girl’s shoulder protectively, while Mannering went nearer the mirror, until he could see the woman’s face in it.
    â€œJulia!” sobbed Fay. “Julia, make him go away. He frightens me.”
    â€œHe won’t frighten you for long, dear.”
    The voice which had mocked Mannering soothed the girl. It was as lovely and unusual as her face, yet it did not strike Mannering that she was beautiful. He had seen no one quite like her before and was not likely to again. There was sweetness, wisdom and maturity, such a face as a supreme artist might draw to depict an imagined madonna. Raven-black hair was coiled round her head, her cheeks were the colour of lilies touched by pink.
    Her eyes met his, in the mirror, and she smiled.
    â€œAre you frightened?” she asked him.
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œOf facing me.”
    He said: “Yes. I don’t want to be disillusioned. I’d like to remember you as you look now, not as you really are. But I’ll face you.” He turned slowly and looked into her dark eyes.
    She was taller than Fay; deep-bosomed; wearing a black dress of simple cut, and a mink stole. Her smile had faded and she frowned, as if his words both hurt and puzzled her.
    â€œMake him go,” sighed Fay.
    â€œFay doesn’t want me to go,” Mannering said. “Look at her, Fay. Stop letting others tell you what to do. You think you can trust Julia, but you can’t—not her nor any of your friends. You can trust me.”
    He broke off; another word would be too many, he had said enough to make the woman Julia wonder how much he really knew. He lit a cigarette, easing a tension which was only partly of his making. For as Julia looked at him, ignoring Fay, it was as if a mask had dropped, to prevent him from seeing her as she really was.
    She said: “Fay, go and get dressed.”
    â€œJulia!”
    â€œHurry.” Julia took her arm, pushed her out, and said, “Everything will be all right.” She closed the door on Fay’s protest, turned the key in the lock, then moved slowly across the room towards him.
    â€œYou’re not what I expected, Mr. Mannering. Be guided by me. Don’t probe into the murder of Jacob Bernstein or try to find the Tear. Just make your peace with the police and read all about the case in the newspapers. You’ll be much, much safer. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
    â€œI take a lot of hurting.”
    â€œYou’re as vulnerable as anything made of flesh and blood. There’s been enough hurt already, too much blood spilt. You’ll make the situation worse for Fay, too. You’re a married man and you lead a full life. Don’t throw it away.” She put out her hand and took his; her fingers were cool, their pressure firm. “You’ll be sorry if you ignore my advice. You’ve kept certain facts from the police too long to divulge them with safety now.”
    â€œA man I was very fond of was brutally murdered last night.”
    â€œLet the police do their work.”
    â€œAnd a diamond beyond price was stolen.”
    Her eyes flamed, and the mask was torn away.
    â€œStolen? The Tear?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNo!” she cried. Her fingers dug into his hand; she swayed, as if from shock. She stood there for a long time, then turned away, swept across and out of the room, with Mannering close behind her.
    â€œJulia!” cried Fay.
    Julia said: “I’ll come in for a moment,” and went in and closed the door. Mannering heard the key turn in the lock, then an undertone of voices.
    He tried to remember Julia’s expression when he had announced that the Tear had been stolen. Alarm, dread, disbelief – she had shown all three. He tried to decide what to do next – follow Julia, or try to make Fay talk.
    The maid watched him furtively from a doorway.
    Soon Julia came out and passed Mannering without a word or look. She didn’t speak to the