Free A Sword For the Baron by John Creasey Page A

London – land to which he has title, or land held in trusts of which he is a trustee. Did he say anything about this?”
    â€œNothing at all.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t surprise me to find out that he’s really offering you a sprat when he wants the mackerel,” Bristow remarked. He gave the impression that he was exerting himself to be friendly, yet might turn hostile at any moment. “Possibly he hopes to whet your appetite with the Sword, and switch you over to big business later. As I’ve told you, I’ve reason to think that his niece is in grave danger, and it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that Gentian is, too. He was involved in an ugly and mysterious accident, when rocks fell very close to him from a cliff, six months ago. A favourite dog of his, a retriever, died of poisoning three months ago. A lot of mysterious things have been happening with the Gentians. I want you to find out all you can, and let us know. This is an official request,” Bristow added. “I think it’s important.”
    â€œWell, well,” said Mannering. He felt almost like laughing because this was so unexpected. “Let me think about it, Bill. It presents problems, but—”
    â€œNone you can’t overcome,” Bristow interrupted. “I wouldn’t make the request if we didn’t think it of extreme importance. How long will you need to make up your mind?”
    â€œI’ll call you in the morning.”
    â€œThat will do,” said Bristow. He put out a hand and gripped Mannering’s arm. “Don’t forget that we believe the girl was attacked. Both she and her uncle may be in real danger. And don’t forget that if you refuse this request, you may make it impossible for us to save either of them. The best thing you could do—” he broke off.
    â€œI know,” Mannering said for him. “The best thing would be to make one or both of them come and tell you the story, instead of keeping it to themselves.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œGive me until the morning,” repeated Mannering. “By then I—”
    The telephone bell rang.
    The instrument was nearer Bristow than Mannering, on a small table by the side of the settle. Mannering moved across and took it, still relieved by Bristow’s request, but sure that there was a great deal that Bristow had not told him. “John Mannering,” he announced, and heard a man speak, with a slightly Cockney accent.
    â€œIs Superintendent Bristow there?”
    â€œYes. Hold on.” Mannering handed the telephone to Bristow, who held his whisky and soda in one hand, kept his cigarette between his lips, and pressed the receiver to his ear.
    â€œBristow,” he said through the corner of his mouth. He frowned, and glanced at Mannering. “Go on,” he said sharply. He began to frown more deeply and rolled the cigarette between his lips. “Yes,” he went on. “Yes, all right.” He replaced the receiver with a quick, angry movement, squashed out this second cigarette and put his drink down. He stood up, moved towards the door, looked squarely at Mannering and, after a long, tense pause, spoke almost venomously. “You bloody fool. Where is it?”
    Mannering had had sufficient warning not to be taken by surprise by this change of tone.
    â€œWhere is what?” he inquired. “And why—”
    â€œDon’t give me that,” Bristow rasped. “There was a miniature Mogul Sword at Miss Gentian’s flat. She’s just reported that it’s missing. You were there. She saw you bending over the desk where she kept it. Where is it ?”
    â€œBill,” Mannering said mildly, “I didn’t go there and I didn’t take any miniature sword. I didn’t know that one existed.”
    Bristow had gone pale, and looked furiously angry as if he felt that he had been badly let down. Was he trying to throw a scare