Free A Sword For the Baron by John Creasey Page B

into Mannering? Had the telephone call been laid on beforehand, or had it really come as a surprise? Mannering believed that it had come out of the blue, that Bristow was suffering from a kind of shock.
    Bristow said: “You didn’t have time to go to Quinns from Hillbery Mews, you probably came straight here. I can get a search warrant on the strength of what I know. Want me to?” After a pause, he went on, still aggressively: “Or are you going to give me that miniature sword?”
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9
BLUFF?
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    Mannering thought: Between the time that I left the mews and the time the police searched the writing desk, that miniature disappeared.
    Bristow would not lie; and Bristow believed that the miniature had been stolen.
    But except for Sara Gentian, the house had been empty.
    Mannering thought uneasily: there couldn’t have been anyone else hiding there, could there?
    Bristow was glowering. This was the man of earlier days, with whom Mannering had had many a clash, the Bristow who knew what desperate chances Mannering was prepared to take when the mood and the situation demanded it.
    â€œNow give me that sword,” Bristow ordered.
    Mannering was wondering whether he had been seen; whether the girl would identify his appearance as well as the sound of his voice; whether by any chance one of the detectives had seen and recognised him but deliberately let him get away. A low ranking officer might well have thought it better to leave a man of Mannering’s eminence to Bristow.
    â€œMannering, if you don’t give me—”
    â€œCut it out,” said Mannering roughly. “I haven’t any miniature sword. Neither Sara nor her uncle told me that one existed. If you want to search me or look round here, go ahead.”
    â€œThat can only mean it isn’t here, so you got rid of it on the way.”
    â€œIt means I’ve never had it. Why don’t you stop trying to throw a scare into me, and tell me what you’ve come about?”
    â€œI’ve told you.”
    â€œI don’t believe half of it,” Mannering said. “Another drink?”
    Bristow said slowly: “No. No, I don’t think so. John, listen to me.” He became very earnest, and moved close to Mannering. “I don’t know whether you’ve been involved in this case for some time, or whether you’ve just come in. I do know that you will be in trouble unless you do what we want. If you try to play one Gentian off against another, if you start lone wolfing for the sake of Sara Gentian’s pretty eyes – you’ll be asking for trouble. Don’t forget it.”
    Mannering didn’t speak.
    â€œI’ll give you twelve hours to think it over,” Bristow said, and turned on his heel.
    â€œBill,” called Mannering.
    Bristow looked round. “Well?”
    â€œYou want one Gentian or the other to come to you, is that it?”
    â€œI want one or the other or both, and when they come I want them to tell me the whole truth, instead of a lot of half-truths and evasions.” Bristow opened the study door himself and stalked out. Mannering let him go.
    Ethel was singing in a muted voice, and the kitchen door was closed. Bristow opened the front door. It was nearly six o’clock and Mannering wondered whether Lorna was on her way up, but he heard nothing. He went back into the big front room, a beautiful room of golds and greys and blues, stepped to the window, and peered down. In a minute, he saw Bristow appear, as if stunted. A man standing by a big black car opened the door for him, and Bristow climbed in. As far as Mannering could see, no other police were in the street. That did not mean that none were watching; they may have concealed themselves at good observation points.
    Mannering went back into the study.
    Either someone had been hiding at the mews flat without his knowledge, or Sara Gentian had lied about the miniature being stolen. He could not