Free The Baron Goes East by John Creasey Page A

and carried a brief-case.
    It was Mannering’s brief-case.
    Â 

CHAPTER NINE
THE GARRULOUS BOOKSELLER
    Â 
    â€œGentleman!” cried Patandi. “Lady!” He bowed, and the brief-case swung in front of him. “You are goodness itself to spare me your good time. Thank you.” He straightened up and beamed at them. Lorna sat absolutely still, looking at the case. Mannering appeared not to notice the case, and murmured: “Five minutes is all I can manage, I’m afraid.”
    â€œI understand, and it is sufficient. I thank you for it.” Patandi held tightly on to the brief-case. “I welcome you to wonderful India. It is your first visit, yes? Yes!” He nodded vigorously. “Such a wonderful place, so much beauty, I can show you everything. Everything. I, Patandi, am the best guide in all India. Yes?”
    â€œProbably,” said Mannering mildly.
    â€œYou will find out I talk only the truth,” said Patandi. “Yes. Such a famous man and famous lady, they must see only everything of the best. I show it to them.” He leaned forward and breathed aniseed into Mannering’s face. “I show it better than any guide in India. My English, it is perfect. Years ago I was a guide, now I am a bookseller, selling only the best books. But I have assistants – they can sell books; I have more important work to do.”
    â€œYou’re very good, but—”
    â€œAnd cheap!” cried Patandi. “So cheap you don’t know. I show you Indian rope trick. Elephant walking over man. Sensational things only. Things very few white people see. You have just and only one week; that is time enough for me to show you – if you fly. You are not afraid to fly? To see India in one week, it is ridiculous, unless you fly. Taj Mahal, the forts, mosques, everything. Himalayas? Darjeeling? Yes, it can all be done in one week, everything. I, Patandi, say so.”
    â€œWe may be here longer,” said Mannering.
    Patandi frowned. Patandi frowning was a sight to see. He leaned forward and tapped Mannering’s shoulder confidentially. His teeth looked good, but were stained red from chewing betel nut, and the aniseed was thick on his breath. His eyes were dark as olives, and intent and serious.
    â€œYou have one week.” He lowered his voice. “No more. After that, you go. Gentleman, I look at you when I come in. In one minute I say to myself, this is a very wise gentleman. Like all the English. Very wise. One week, and it is enough. One week, and this English gentleman who is famous – and famous lady also – will know he wishes no more to see in India. Too dirty. Smelly. Not for famous English gentleman. And lady. One week, that is all , Mr. Mannering.”
    He squeezed Mannering’s shoulder.
    â€œI may want to stay a month. Two months.”
    Patandi shook his head. No one could mistake his earnestness.
    â€œOne week only , gentleman. That is final. Understand, India is unhealthy place. Smallpox. Cholera. Everything!” He narrowed his eyes. “Dacoits. You know dacoits? Armed robbers, so!” He made a gesture with his hand; the fingers clenched as if holding the handle of a knife, the thrust towards Mannering’s stomach. Lorna exclaimed involuntarily. Patandi turned, unimpeded by his bulk, bowed and looked the picture of consternation and remorse.
    â€œFamous lady, I am very sorry, I did not wish to alarm you. Ridiculous. I only tell you what can happen in India. Yes. India . . .” He clutched Lorna’s shoulder and leaned towards her. “Old India good, new India bad. In old India, Europeans and English safe. I, Patandi, am great friend of the English. I hate to see them go, but—no politician. If a politician—” He drew back, then up to his great height, held his head back, then with a swift movement ran his forefinger across his throat and made a choking noise.
    Lorna was pale.
    Patandi bobbed his