Free Help From The Baron by John Creasey Page B

an old lag, and crossed the road to the bus stop. At any other time he might have felt a snug sense of satisfaction, for there were hopes of progress. He felt no satisfaction at all. He didn’t like it when the Prinnys of the world were so frightened. He wanted to know why Prinny was scared, and was pondering ways of finding out.
    Any thought of telling the police that he’d found a line had died at the sight of Prinny’s fear. If he told Bristow, Bristow would have to visit Prinny, and Prinny was already frightened enough. Leave him a little longer, and he would talk. The police would be seen, too. Mannering wished the bus would come. He wondered how Francesca was. He wondered what Simon Lessing was doing, and whether Lessing’s interest in the girl was simply romantic. He hoped it was. A bus came up, and two cars passed on the other side of the road, going fast. One was a pale-green Wolseley, and at sight of it Mannering backed away from the bus.
    “Make up yer mind,” the conductor growled.
    “I’ll take the next,” Mannering said, and dazzled the man with a smile. He didn’t feel like dazzling anyone. He watched the green car swing round the corner into the street where Prinny had his shop, and recognised Bristow at the wheel.
    He walked past the end of the street.
    Yes, there was Bristow’s car, outside the shop; and the shabby youth was walking away. Mannering watched him. He crossed to the telephone kiosk at once, and it was empty for him. Mannering reached the pavement by the kiosk as the youth dialled. He was answered almost at once, spoke urgently, and kept looking down the street; so he was probably reporting that the police had called on Prinny.
    He mouthed the last word. “Okay.” Then he pushed the door open and stepped out.
    Mannering moved at the same time, they cannoned into each other, and Mannering trod on the youth’s toe hard enough to hurt, then fell heavily against him. Pain stifled anger. The youth snatched his foot from the ground, and kept his mouth wide open in a strangled cry of anguish. People stopped to watch. A girl got off her bike. Mannering was full of apologies - for what he’d done, for being in a hurry.
    They parted.
    This time, Mannering walked very quickly away from the scene, and found a taxi outside Aldgate Tube Station.
    “New Bond Street, Oxford Street end,” he said, and got in and sat back, breathing more quickly than usual.
    The taxi moved off.
    First Mannering lit a cigarette, then he took out a yellow pigskin wallet, nearly new, which had been in the youth’s pocket a few minutes earlier. The three unpleasant photographs didn’t surprise him. Twenty-one pound notes, kept together by a rubber band, didn’t really surprise him either; it simply told him that the youth was being paid well to do what he was told. He was gratified by the sight of three letters, all addressed in immature hands to Charlie (one was spelt Chas) Ringall, at the same address in Whitechapel.
    The surprising things were the telephone numbers. The Slade School and the Lisles’ flat were among several others.
    “I think we might get a slice of luck soon,” Mannering said aloud. He put everything away, drew hard at his cigarette, and pondered. He was really sorry that Bristow had reached Prinny so quickly. What had brought the police?
    The case might break open. If Prinny talked and could help the police, Bristow would get busy in a hurry, and Bristow was as good as the Yard had. It might not be a case for Mannering after all. That would please Lorna.
    He bought a newspaper at the corner of Oxford and New Bond Streets. The Press had all the story, and a picture of Francesca on which they’d gone to town; she looked almost as lovely as she was. There was a story of the party, and the fact that Mr. and Mrs. John Mannering had been present was there for all London to read. Mannering was described as the “expert in precious stones and objets d’art and famous for his investigations into