The Baron Goes East Read Online Free PDF

question him yourself?”
    â€œHe won’t talk, except under pressure, and with a copper on the doorstep I daren’t press. If I behave nice and correctly, Bristow will probably tell the Bombay police that I’m worth looking after. It would be nice to have friends at court in Bombay.”
    â€œSo you’ve decided.”
    â€œI couldn’t disappoint you when you’d set your mind on it!” Mannering gripped the Indian’s shoulder and pushed him towards the door. Lorna sat down on a stool, near Larraby, watching her husband. Mannering moved quickly and easily. He knew exactly what he was doing; probably he was working out moves that lay weeks ahead. She marvelled at it, at everything about him.
    Larraby said: “It’s amazing, isn’t it? He’s been touchy and difficult for weeks. Now this comes along, and he’s himself in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. I’m all right now, Mrs. Mannering, I’ll get up.”
    She could not stop him.
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    Mannering bundled the Indian into the back of the car while the policeman held the door, then took the wheel. He drove off, thinking as much of Lorna as of the man in the back. She had been urging him to go away for a few months, leaving Larraby in charge; perhaps she saw this as the great chance.
    Forget that.
    He could take his prisoner to a quiet spot and try questioning him, but he had little time and it would be risky. The policeman had probably called the Yard or his station by now. Mannering headed for the Yard.
    What should he tell Bristow? Any part of the story about the blue diamond? Or anything that would connect the prisoner with that and old Phiroshah?
    Mannering reached the big new building of Scotland Yard which housed the Criminal Investigation Department. The man on duty at the gates recognised, saluted and waved him inside. A dozen cars were parked at the foot of an imposing flight of stone steps. Mannering helped his prisoner out, watched by the gate duty man and two others who stood at the top of the steps.
    The sergeant at the top of the steps saluted.
    â€œBrought us a present, Mr. Mannering?”
    â€œThat’s right. Think Mr. Bristow will like him?”
    â€œShouldn’t be surprised. Does he know you’re coming?”
    â€œI think so. I was told he’d be in.”
    â€œCame back ten minutes ago,” said the sergeant. “I’ll telephone him. Want any help??”
    â€œNo, thanks, but if you—”
    Mannering broke off, felt the Indian writhe and twist, actually saw the cord fall from his wrists. The man swung on his toes and dived between Mannering and the sergeant towards the steps. He was as swift as an arrow. Mannering shot out a leg and the man kicked against it and fell. The sergeant, a portly fifty, went down in a flying tackle, caught the man’s legs and hugged them.
    Mannering said mildly: “Perhaps I’d better have some help after all.”
    â€œSlippery devil.” The sergeant slid a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, snapped them on and stood up, yanking the man after him. “Smith, go along with Mr. Mannering. He won’t slip those in a hurry, sir.”
    â€œI’m sure he won’t.” Mannering held the Indian’s right arm, the policeman his left, and they walked to the lift and went up to Bristow’s office.
    Mannering tapped on Bristow’s door and received a gruff “Come in”. He opened the door and pushed the Indian inside. Bristow gaped. “Thanks, Smith,” Mannering said to the constable, then pushed the prisoner into one of two armchairs in Bristow’s long, narrow office. This overlooked the Thames Embankment, and May’s sunshine had brought the leaves of the plane trees to pale green beauty; one was just outside the window, its nearer branches almost within arm’s reach.
    â€œThere you are,” said Mannering. “Good for the evil aspersions you were so busy with this