The Riviera Connection Read Online Free PDF Page A

wished she would cry, but she listened and nodded and thanked him calmly. Afterwards, she behaved as if she was not made of flesh and blood, or as if the blood had dried up, and all her thoughts and actions were mechanical.
    Uneasily, he left her, foolishly warning the matron and the nurses to be very careful.
    He went straight to Scotland Yard.
    Bristow was in his office, overlooking the Embankment. It was a long, narrow office, the leaves of the plane trees rustled close by the open windows. The sounds of traffic from the Embankment and from the river floated in.
    It was warm enough for Bristow to be in his shirt-sleeves. The inevitable cigarette dangled from his mouth.
    â€œHallo, John, what’s brought you?”
    â€œYou’ll say idiocy. Bill, can you arrange an interview with Tony Bennett for me? I know I’ve no legal right, but you can fix it. I don’t want to encourage him, or slip him a poisoned tablet or a razor blade!” Mannering forced a smile; that wasn’t easy.
    Bristow said: “I can see what’s eating you. Everyone who knows him seems to feel the same. It’s damned foolish sentiment. No one would feel like it if it weren’t for the wife and infant.” He offered cigarettes. “How do you think you can help him?”
    â€œI don’t know a way.”
    â€œI must say I expected you to make a damned nuisance of yourself before this,” Bristow said, and then added with a rare rush of feeling: “And I half wish you had! But if you haven’t been able to find anything to help him with, John, I’m damned sure no one else could.” He paused. “All right, I’ll fix an interview.”
    Â 
    They met in Wandsworth Gaol, the following morning. Tony was already in the condemned cell. He wasn’t dressed in prison garb. He didn’t look ill – pale, perhaps, and thoughtful, but neither ill nor worried. His handshake was firm.
    â€œVery good of you to come, John.” They knew each other fairly well as fellow dealers. Tony and his murdered partner had called at Quinns once or twice most weeks. “I know you’ve been trying to work this thing out, but . . .” he gave a curious little laugh. “It’s so silly. I didn’t kill Bernard, you know. I can hardly believe that anyone in their right senses can think that I did. Silly is the word. Or – unreal.” There was a moment’s pause, and then it seemed as if a glimmering of the real truth, of the coming horror, appeared before those blue eyes.
    He gripped Mannering’s hand fiercely.
    â€œI can’t believe they’ll hang me!”
    Mannering said very quietly: “Not if I can stop them, Tony. Now, listen. We must find out who Bernard bought those Gramercy jewels for.”
    â€œBut I don’t know!” cried Tony. “He didn’t tell me everything – you know that. I was just the junior partner. He did a lot of work privately – secretly. Some of the biggest jobs went through without me knowing a thing about them until I saw the entries in the books. Even then, names weren’t always mentioned. You should know how it is in the trade.”
    â€œI know,” Mannering said.
    He had felt a fierce surge, less of hope than of determination to find that missing proof. The surge died before this further proof of Tony’s obvious ignorance.
    â€œOf course, after Stella left, Bernard wasn’t really himself, was he?”
    â€œNo. He was absolutely devoted to her. John, I can’t believe any of it, you know. I don’t just mean about the hanging.” He moistened his lips. “I mean about Bernard. It’s hard to believe he’s dead. He was such a wonderful chap. I remember he came back from Chalon, after trying to get Stella to return to him. He talked to Hilda and me about it. I can almost see his face. He said: ‘The trouble is, the fellow she’s gone off with seems such a damned