The Mask of Sumi Read Online Free Page B

it, or to buy it?”
    â€œI will,” promised Mannering.
    He left the Yard about half past four, and took a taxi straight to Quinns. Two people were standing admiring the beautiful wrought silver table in the window. They gazed with rapt attention, without saying a word. Mannering went in. Larraby stood at one side of the long, narrow shop, with a brilliant light shining on a piece of early Babylonian corsage jewellery. A bald-headed man was studying this through a watchmaker’s glass.
    There were several messages in the office, but none about the Thai affair. One note was from the dealer who wanted the Genoese table.
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    â€œI will meet your price subject to a discount of five per cent.”
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    Mannering scribbled over this: “Settle for three and three quarters per cent” and put the papers aside. He picked up The Times and scanned the Shipping arrivals and departures column.
    He read:
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    S.S. East Africa, London to Durban, 12 noon.
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    He ran his finger down the list of “British” in the telephone directory, found British India Steam Navigation Company Limited, and dialled the number at its offices in Aldgate. A girl answered.
    â€œI think the East Africa Star sailed on time, sir. Hold on and I’ll make sure.”
    Mannering held on for a few seconds until a man spoke.
    â€œWhat was your enquiry about the East Africa Star, sir?”
    â€œDid she leave on time?”
    â€œShe left at one o’clock.”
    â€œDo you know if any intending passengers missed the ship?”
    â€œNo, sir, not to my knowledge. I think I would have known by now if anyone had.”
    â€œWhere’s the first port of call?” asked Mannering.
    â€œGibraltar, at ten o’clock on Monday – four days from now.”
    â€œThank you very much,” Mannering said.
    He rang off and took out the B.I. label, fingering it very carefully. He put a book along one side and a heavy ruler on the other to hold it straight, and then took a tin of powder from the bottom drawer of his desk. It was a grey dusting powder. He sprinkled some of this over the yellow label, and blew gently. Most of the powder disappeared, but in several places it clung, until well-defined fingerprints showed up. Mannering took out a magnifying glass, and the photographs of the prints filched from Bristow’s office.
    His heart began to beat very fast.
    The loops and whorls of two sets of prints were identical. The two marked female were absolutely identical with two of the prints on the label.
    â€œThat might mean that our blonde is on that boat,” Mannering said aloud. “I wish I knew how to be sure.” He lifted the telephone again and dialled the British India Line.
    â€œI want to find out if a friend of mine caught the East Africa Star today,” he said. “Is it possible to see a copy of the sailing list?”
    â€œIf you care to give us the name of the passenger and which class, sir, I can tell you.”
    â€œYates, Miss,” replied Mannering promptly. “And I imagine first class.”
    There was a pause.
    â€œNo, sir, we’ve no passenger named Yates about. There’s a Mr. and Mrs. Gates and three children, and Sir Archibald Bates, but no Yates. Are you sure it was the East Africa Star?’’
    â€œYes,” said Mannering. “Thank you for your trouble.”
    He was annoyed with himself because he had given the passenger’s name. This affair had caught him on the wrong foot. He pondered for five minutes, then called the Daily Globe and asked for the Reporters’ Room.
    â€œMr. Chittering, please.”
    â€œHold on.” There was a clatter of typewriters and a chatter of voices which seemed to last for a long time before a man said briskly: “Who is it?”
    â€œMannering,” announced Mannering.
    â€œ What? ” Chittering’s tone changed. “The great John himself?”
    â€œJust John,” said