A Sword For the Baron Read Online Free PDF

stopped before Mannering could follow, as if the vision of the sword blinded her. The light was different here, and picked out much of the glistening beauty. Mannering actually heard Lorna’s intake of breath. At last, she moved towards it, very slowly; without looking round, she said: “This could get you into a lot of trouble, too.”
    â€œIt’s getting someone into trouble already,” Mannering agreed. “Cup of tea, sweet? – oh, no, you’re on the way to a slap up affair.” He contemplated the sword. “Striking, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt—” Lorna hesitated, searching for the right word, looked round at him, then back at the sword and decided: “It’s barbaric.”
    â€œPrecisely the right description,” agreed Mannering. “Barbaric.”
    â€œDid she want to sell it to you?”
    â€œIf I told you all that Sara Gentian wanted I would make you late for tea and spending,” Mannering said. “I’ll tell you the whole story tonight.”
    Lorna looked at him, half frowning; then her face cleared. As Larraby came into the office with the money in five and one pound notes, she said: “I was going to warn you not to get too deeply involved, but it would be a waste of breath, wouldn’t it? I’ll be back soon after six. Try to be home.”
    She touched his hand, turned, and hurried out; she seemed to take some of the brightness of the office with her, but the jewelled sword glowed and sparkled. Larraby stood at the doorway, looking at it. One of the younger assistants came and looked over his shoulder; he moistened his lips. This was David Levinson, who had been working as an apprentice at Quinns for a little over a year. He had many qualifications, apart from an inborn love of old, rare, and beautiful objects; he had a social background which gained him entrée anywhere, and he knew several languages. Now he looked rather young and awestruck. He was not particularly massive or stocky, but had a lot of wiry strength.
    â€œNot bad, David,” Mannering remarked.
    â€œEr—not bad at all,” Levinson gulped.
    â€œDo you know Sara Gentian?”
    â€œI’ve met her at the odd party, but I can’t pretend that I know her.”
    â€œDoes she know you?”
    â€œShouldn’t think she could tell me from a dozen others.”
    â€œThen you’re just the man we need. I think she shares a mews flat with a girlfriend. Check on that, will you, and then find out what you can about her, who are her real friends, how rich or poor she is, what her reputation is like.”
    Levinson’s eyes were already bright.
    â€œShall I start right away?”
    â€œI can’t understand why you haven’t started already.”
    Levinson laughed, spun round, and seized a telephone directory from Larraby’s desk.
    The other assistant then on duty, a smaller but rather older man with a pronounced limp, from childhood poliomyelitis, glanced at the front door as some people reached the window and started to talk. The second assistant, Morris Gadby, was dark and pale, with a very high forehead; he looked like an intellectual who had stepped out of the pages of Balzac.
    â€œAre we keeping that here?” inquired Larraby.
    â€œYes,” said Mannering, “we’ll tuck it away down in the strongroom when I’ve finished looking at it. Better call the insurance office and tell them that it’s here, they like to know about the expensive items. When you’ve finished, come in with me, will you?” He turned towards the door, and added: “No one followed the girl away from here, although I half expected her to have company.”
    â€œIt’s a puzzling affair, sir, isn’t it?”
    â€œPuzzling?” echoed Mannering.
    â€œYes, it’s certainly puzzling,” he went on five minutes later, when Larraby was in the office, with the door firmly closed behind him. He