A Sword For the Baron Read Online Free

Mannering said.
    â€œVery important indeed.”
    â€œThat a sword you think Lord Gentian brought here should be back in his house tonight.”
    â€œI have an awful feeling that if it isn’t returned quickly it never will be. Once you refuse to sell it he isn’t likely to try again, because he knows you are the most likely man to find a buyer. Isn’t there a way of restraining him from selling?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Mannering. “I shouldn’t think so. Are you simply frightened in case he sells it? If his idea was to bring it from his house to a safer place – a strongroom, for instance – I can’t see why anyone should want to stop him.”
    She sat there, frowning. “ That isn’t what he told you, is it? That he didn’t want to keep it at the house because he didn’t think it safe. Is that it?” When Mannering didn’t answer, she pushed her chair back and jumped up. For a moment he thought it was in annoyance or exasperation; instead, she darted towards the small table in the corner, plucked up the coat and tossed it to one side, and stood with her right hand resting on the jewelled splendour of the hilt. Mannering, already half out of his chair, wondered whether she had known all the time that the sword was there, and had pretended not to so as to make him talk.
    She twisted round, to look at him. A glint of triumph put the stars back into her eyes. The slender body, the gentle curves at the breast, the slim waist, the lift of the chin, all told of triumph.
    â€œIs that what he told you, Mr Mannering? That he was afraid that this one would be stolen, too?”
    He had to decide, very quickly, how far he could go. Gentian had not made any condition of silence or discretion, and it might do more harm than good to let this young woman feel that she had outwitted him – as, in a way, she had. To be stubborn and reticent might seem like obstinacy for its own sake.
    He laughed. “At least I tried to hold out on you,” he said. “I can’t pretend any longer that he didn’t bring it, can I? Do you mind if I make a telephone call?” When she turned round, to face him squarely, he lifted the receiver and dialled a number. She watched, as she would if she were trying to judge from the movement of the dial what number he was calling. He thought he heard her catch her breath when he finished dialling MAY 97531. The ringing sound came at once, very clear. Sara moved to the desk but did not sit down; Mannering looked up at her, the back of his head touching the wall behind him.
    The ringing sound stopped, and a woman said in a frail voice: “This is Lord Gentian’s residence.”
    â€œIs Lord Gentian in, please?”
    â€œJust a moment, sir, and I will see.” The receiver went down quietly. Mannering met the girl’s eyes, and could not tell whether she was angry or resentful – or simply tense with impatience. The tick-tock-tick-tock of the clock was very clear; it was twenty minutes to four.
    Gentian said: “This is Lord Gentian.”
    â€œIt’s Mannering here,” Mannering said. “I’ve had a visitor since you left, a young lady who claims to be—” he broke off as Gentian interrupted, smiling at the girl. He went on: “Yes, that’s right. Your niece, Sara . . . She would like me to tell her why you came to me and what you want me to do. May I?” He broke off, and the girl stretched out her hands, as if to touch him again. “Thank you.” He put the receiver down, leaned back, and smiled at the girl. “He doesn’t mind if I tell you,” he said. “Does that surprise you?”
    She said huskily: “Nothing he does really surprises me. And if he can make a good impression on anyone, if he can make it look as if he’s the saint and others are the devils, he will.” She lowered herself into her chair. “Tell me,