Free Help From The Baron by John Creasey

prospering.”
    He offered his hand.
    The man named Prinny took it, gripped nervously with icy fingers, and let it go.
    The shop was a junk-heap. On one side, tray after tray of cheap broken jewellery, old watches, clocks, china, hideous brass pieces, knives and forks, all over-laden with dirt and dust. On the other was the “furniture”. In the middle was a narrow path, covered with a strip of narrow linoleum with its original red-and-brown surface worn off, and at the end of the shop a little counter with a hatch leading to it. Behind the counter was a door to the downstairs room and the stairs to two rooms above.
    “Hallo,” said Mannering, as if surprised. “Aren’t you feeling too good?”
    “Good?” echoed Prinny, in a plummy voice. “First I see the Devil himself, and then who do I see? I see the father of the Devil.” His voice was a thin wail. “Do me a favour, Mr. Mannering, go away from here, put a notice on the door you won’t ever come back. Will you do that jus’ to please me?”
    Mannering said sympathetically: “You must have had a shock. Which particular Devil came to see you?”
    “Mr. Mannering,” gabbled Prinny, more plummily than ever, “I don’t want to lie to you, I don’t want to be bad friends with you. I jus’ don’t want to see you now. Tomorrow or next week or last week, that would be fine, but not now, please. You make me talk, and I don’t want to talk. So be a pal, go away, please.”
    “Who was it, Prinny?”
    Prinny wrung his hands.
    “Now the limpet has competition, and always it happens on the wrong day! All right, all right, ask me what you want to ask me, and if I want to answer I will answer, and if I don’t . . .”
    “Fioras, Prinny?”
    “Oh, what have I done to deserve this?” groaned Prinny. “What gets into you, Mr. Mannering? Is it second sight? If you would do me a favour, jus’ go away. Have I ever harmed you?”
    “So you’ve been offered some of the Fioras?” Mannering murmured.
    Prinny looked appealingly into his face. Prinny’s black eyes were shiny, as with tears of pleading. His skin had a yellowy pallor. He was Punchinello without knowing that he could make the world laugh by just being himself. A frightened Punchinello.
    “I’ve just been asking myself, Mr. Mannering, what to do for the best. That’s what I’ve been doing. And I know the answer now, I’ll talk to you about it, but heaven help me if anyone finds out. But I know a man I can trust, don’t I?” He kept wringing his hands, and the hard skin made a slithering sound. “As God’s my judge I’m not wicked, you know that. I never buy a single article knowing it to have blood on it. If I tell a man where he might find a buyer, well, is that so wrong, Mr. Mannering? If I didn’t tell him someone would, wouldn’t they?” He looked as if he were about to burst into tears. “But he’s a clever devil, he—”
    Prinny stopped.
    He was looking past Mannering towards the door, and something that he saw outside made him stiffen, and cut across his words. Mannering didn’t look round. Prinny licked his lips.
    Then he seemed to wince.
    “Mr. Mannering,” he begged, “be a friend, go away, let someone know I didn’t tell you a thing, not a thing. Be that kind of a pal, Mr. Mannering.”
    “All right, Prinny,” Mannering said, very mildly, “but don’t get yourself into trouble. Bristow is on this job. There was attempted murder last night, more blood on the Fioras. Don’t be scared into helping people who might get you hanged.”
    “Jus’ go away,” Prinny implored, “that’s all I ask.”
    There was nothing to be gained by staying now. Obviously Prinny had been visited by someone who terrified him, and was in dread lest he should be thought to be making a deal with the owner of Quinns.
    So he was probably being watched.
    Mannering turned away. To the little dealer, he must have looked enormous. The ill-fitting suit was big across the shoulders, too. He opened the