Free Shadow The Baron by John Creasey Page B

trousers. “So you had a lie-in this morning.”
    “Time being my own,” Mannering said. The years had taught him to beware of an affable Bristow.
    “Lucky beggar, I wish I could suit myself as you do. Where did you go last night? The Lulu?”
    “Why the Lulu?”
    “I have my spies in unexpected places!”
    “Including my doorstep,” Mannering said, smiling dryly. “He had a shock last night, didn’t he?”
    “Eh?”
    “Such innocence, Bill!” said Mannering. “He didn’t see me come in, and was shaken when he discovered I was, in fact, in the flat.”
    “Must be a Divisional job,” said Bristow, “I didn’t know anything about it. Did you dodge him?”
    “No point in losing one’s touch,” Mannering said airily.
    “How did you get in?”
    “What an insatiable appetite the police have for detail! The significant point is that I was awakened by a mysterious voice on the telephone.”
    “Now I wonder who’s that could have been,” said Bristow. “I’ll have to find out! Didn’t you have a chat with Toby Plender recently?”
    Mannering raised his eyebrows.
    “John, I wish I’d come to you myself, instead of approaching you through Plender. I should have known you’d guess who prompted him. There’s a lot you could to help.”
    “How?” asked Mannering.
    “I can’t go into that unless you decide to help,” said Bristow. “That’s reasonable, isn’t it? And if you think that I’ve a notion that the Baron and the Shadow are one and the same man, forget it. Some people may think so, but I know better. You know he was about again last night, I suppose.”
    “The newspapers conveyed that much to me,” murmured Mannering.
    “He’s probably going to be a thorn in our flesh for a long time to come.” Bristow’s frankness was disarming, but behind it was a keen and probing mind. He was convinced that Mannering had been out the previous night, had made sure Mannering realised that he knew. “You know, I think this is the work of more than one man, the method of approach being identical. It’s only a guess, and I don’t use it officially, but I’ve a feeling that I’m not far wrong. John, you’ve channels of information we can’t get at. Have you heard of any of the Shadow’s stuff being on the market anywhere?”
    “Nowhere, Bill.”
    “Pity. Has it occurred to you that he might be unloading the stuff across the Channel?”
    “I haven’t thought much about it,” Mannering said.
    “Well, it’s time you did! But I mustn’t stay, I’ve a lot to do.” Bristow rose slowly from his chair. “Seriously, John, if you feel you can help us against the Shadow, we’d jump at the chance. It isn’t a normal job. Anderson-Kerr is quite amenable. Great Scott, look at the time!” He shook hands again, brisk and breezy, not waiting for Mannering to open either door. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” he said, and bustled down the stairs.
    Mannering closed the door behind him, smoothed down his hair, and began to whistle. He went back into the study and watched from the window. He saw Bristow’s green Morris parked outside, the Yard man climb in. Looking across the road, he saw that a man was still on duty in the doorway of the empty house, making no attempt, by day, to conceal himself. The man saluted as the car moved off; evidence that he was a Yard man and that Bristow knew he was there. Bristow’s breeziness wasn’t worth a moment’s serious thought. Bristow had come to confuse and bewilder him; a kind of warning off. Could Bristow be thinking that the Shadow was the Baron?

 
11:   Off the Record
    Mannering spent half an hour at Quinns, then drove to Fleet Street, parked his car near Ludgate Circus and walked to the Red Lion public house. It was approached from a narrow side street and beneath a wide arch, where once carriages and post-chaises had rattled over the cobbles and lamp-boys had sprung to attention as the guests arrived. The Red Lion remained an attractive