Cry For the Baron Read Online Free Page A

measure. The photographers were folding their camera. They stood it against the wall and began to search. Mannering toyed with the books at his side, letting the leaves flutter through his fingers. The routine was boring; the police took it as a matter of course. Men kept breathing on shiny surfaces to see if prints showed up, smothering places where they did with black graphite which they applied with a small camel-hair brush, then leaving it and searching for other prints. Gordon himself sat at the desk and opened drawer after drawer.
    When he pulled the top right-hand drawer open Mannering said: “He usually kept a gun in there.”
    â€œIf I want information I’ll ask for it.”
    â€œWhat’s got under your skin, Gordon?”
    â€œYou always get under my skin. You amateurs who think you’re smart are a pain in the neck. And you’re the biggest pain. How long after you found the body did you send for us?”
    â€œAbout twenty minutes.”
    â€œThat was nineteen too long.”
    â€œIf I’d thought I could bring Bernstein round it would have been a couple of hours.” Mannering let the pages flutter, then shifted the book and picked up another. He knew Bernstein had secret hiding-places in some of those.
    â€œKnow what the killer was after?”
    â€œIf you want me to guess, I will.”
    â€œAll right, guess.”
    â€œJacob had the Diamond of Tears —known as the Tear. Even you may have heard of it. I telephoned him about it tonight and promised to call him later. He didn’t answer the second call and I came round to see if he was all right.”
    â€œWhy shouldn’t he have been?”
    â€œBecause he didn’t answer an expected telephone call.”
    â€œHow did you get in?”
    â€œThe murderer had opened the door for me.”
    Gordon stopped taking oddments out of the desk and piling them up in front of him, leaned back in his chair, stuck a thumb in the armhole of his waist-coat, and said: “Listen, Mannering, you were found on enclosed premises with the body of a murdered man. You had a chance to slip out and hide anything you lifted. We can hold you for that.”
    â€œI can tell you twenty other ways you can make a fool of yourself,” said Mannering. The pages of the second book fluttered smoothly through his fingers as he watched the Yard man. “But go ahead, hold me. That will teach me to send for the police when a friend of mine has been murdered.”
    â€œFriend.” Gordon sneered the word.
    â€œYes. And I choose my own.”
    Gordon lit a cigarette and flicked the match across the room; it fell at Mannering’s feet.
    â€œI asked you how you got in here.”
    â€œAnd I told you. The murderer opened the door for me. If he wasn’t the murderer I’ll eat my words.”
    â€œYou saw him?” Gordon jumped up from the desk. “Why didn’t you say so?”
    â€œBecause his face was masked and his hat pulled low over his eyes. And he kicked me before I knew what was coming. All I can tell you is that he was on the tall side, five ten or eleven, well-built, wearing dark clothes and a black Homburg. I gave the details to the constable two minutes after I spoke to him, and presumably they’re going the rounds. Do you want me here any longer?”
    Gordon growled: “Yes.” He went out of the room, and Mannering picked up the third book and put it on his lap; the pages turned smoothly.
    The police were working quietly, no one else took any notice of him. Downstairs, Gordon’s voice was raised, hectoring the constable.
    Mannering picked up the fourth book. There were a hundred books in this room and he had no reason to think he would find a hiding-place in any of the first few which came to hand.
    The pages stuck.
    Gordon came back, scowling. Mannering slid his forefinger between the pages, and touched the soft texture of cotton wool.
    â€œAre you keeping anything