Cry For the Baron Read Online Free PDF Page B

didn’t read. The terrified eyes of Fay Goulden seemed to loom out of the black type. He didn’t trust himself to speak, until he handed the document back.
    â€œIt shouldn’t be much trouble, Bill.”
    â€œThere’ll be plenty of trouble before this is over. Do you know this woman, Goulden?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSure?”
    Mannering said: “I’ve never been called a liar so often in so few minutes in my life. What’s on your mind, Bill?”
    â€œThe same thing that’s on Gordon’s mind. I’m not satisfied about your reasons for coming. If we let you go without looking through your pockets we’d be asking for trouble from the pundits. Care to come along to Great Marlborough Street? Or would you prefer the Yard?”
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    At the Yard Bristow smiled and said: “Sorry it was necessary, but you know how these things are. You aren’t going to play the fool and start investigating, are you? This isn’t a job for a lone wolf, even though he’s a good lone wolf.” Bristow, sitting in his office, lit a cigarette from the stub of one burned right down, and then remembered to offer Mannering the paper packet. “Smoke?”
    They were alone. The office was small, with two desks, Bristow’s at the end away from the door. Like everything about Bristow, neatness was the rule. Two or three files lay in front of the Superintendent, near two telephones and some reference books. Behind him were photographs of Scotland Yard football teams; Bristow, in his younger days, had been a useful player.
    The room was already heavy with smoke.
    Gordon had left, after the formal search of Mannering’s clothes, and after Mannering’s statement had been taken. Now, Mannering took a cigarette and accepted a light. The two men sat back, watching each other warily.
    They were old friends; and old adversaries.
    Bristow had known Mannering for many years, had been the first man at Scotland Yard to believe that Mannering was the Baron. But the Baron’s day was over; now, the sensations which his escapades had caused were memories. Then, the Baron had been a jewel-thief, driven into conflict with the law and the community by an experience which had hammered the cold iron of bitterness deep into him. But the bitterness had gone with the years, during which he had turned from cracksman to collector, dealer and lone wolf investigator – as Bristow knew.
    Bristow did not hold the past against him.
    But none save Lorna and Mannering himself knew that two things struggled in him for mastery; love of precious stones which amounted to a passion; and love of adventure – of the chase. He had hunted down many a killer; as Mannering had won a reputation in the Press as great as the Baron’s in the old days. Because of his past and his present business he knew and often mixed with expert cracksmen and shrewd fences. No man in England knew more about precious stones and the mania which obsessed some collectors; none knew more of the tortuous ways in which gems passed from one man to another.
    â€œSo no lone wolf?” murmured Mannering.
    â€œThat’s it.”
    â€œBill, it’s early to talk about that yet. You don’t know whether anything was stolen. If it was, if the Tear’s gone, the job’s going to take some handling. ‘Worth more than the love of a woman or the blood of a man.’ I’m quoting Jacob. Let’s see what you’ve got to look for before we decide what I shall do.”
    â€œI’ve warned you,” Bristow said. “And I’ll warn you about something else. One of these days, when you’re playing the fool, you’ll get your past pinned on to you. I never knew such a man for playing with fire. Don’t play with this one.”
    Mannering said meekly: “No, Bill. Any reason why I shouldn’t go home now?”
    â€œNo reason at all. You’ll be wanted at the inquest, of