Shadow The Baron by John Creasey

Mannering’s word for what had happened. Cameramen got busy, finger print men started to search for their clues. The police went about their work quickly, calmly and with impressive thoroughness. Bristow seemed unaware that Fleming and Mannering were still in the room but he had sent a man to stand outside Mrs. Fleming’s door. A maid was with her.
    Bristow crossed to Mannering and Fleming.
    “You all arrived together?”
    “Yes, Bill.”
    “Who saw the body first?”
    “My wife,” said Fleming.
    “And then?”
    “Mr. Mannering.”
    “Who cut the stocking away?”
    “I did,” Mannering said.
    “Hmm. Mr. Fleming, I’d like to see you alone for a few minutes – the manager will let us have the use of a room. Have you sent for a doctor to see your wife?”
    Fleming said: “All she needs is rest.”
    “She ought to see a doctor. I’ll get Dr. Mortimer to look at her.” Bristow went across to the police surgeon, who was finishing a cursory examination of the body, and the three men left the room together.
    Bristow was gone a long time; he came back alone.
    “Well, John!”
    “My turn,” murmured Mannering.
    “So far, so good,” said Bristow, smiling. “I’ve already checked that you reached the Lulu Club just before ten o’clock and didn’t leave until you came straight here. I also know that this room was empty at five minutes past ten, when a maid came in to put hot water bottles in the bed. So that lets you out!”
    “And the Flemings?”
    “Did you think they were surprised?”
    “They looked surprised all right. I can’t see into their minds,” Mannering said.
    “What did Fleming tell you?”
    “It’ll only be hearsay.”
    “It will help me check on what he’s told me,” said Bristow. “You’ll probably find it out yourself, so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. The Flemings came back to the hotel at a quarter past ten, and left twenty minutes later. Mrs. Fleming was agitated. You see what that could mean?”
    “Yes, I see,” said Mannering, and repeated what Fleming had told him. The telling took five minutes; relating all that had happened at the Lulu Club took another ten. By that time, the preliminary work of the police was done, the finger print men were packing up their equipment and the photographers were already on their way to the Yard. A sheet had been drawn over the girl’s face.
    “It’s a peculiar business,” Bristow said. “This daughter, Celia, really went for her father, did she?”
    “Like a wildcat.”
    “How did you come into it?”
    “I was on the floor when it happened, and someone had to stop it. Then Mrs. Fleming looked so distraught that I offered to bring her back.”
    “What were you doing at the Lulu?”
    Mannering chuckled. “Being a partner to Chloe! Apparently someone thinks I’m notorious enough to want to know, and Chloe’s a friend of Chittering on the Record”
    “Oh, so he was there, was he?” Bristow sniffed expressively. “Do you expect me to take all this at its face value?”
    “Far be it from me to expect anything,” Mannering murmured blandly. “Are you going to hold Fleming?”
    “It’s too early to say.”
    “What about Mrs. Fleming?”
    “Mortimer’s sending a nurse in for her. She’ll be all right. I wish I knew why you were interested in the Flemings, John. It couldn’t be because this man Smith was burgled the other night. Could it?”
    Mannering looked blank.
    “Was he? Who by?”
    Bristow laughed, shortly.
    There was nothing further for Mannering to stay for. He left the hotel without forming any conclusions, storing the facts both straightforward and curious. At the first telephone kiosk he called the Lulu Club. Lulu herself answered. She thought Mr. Chittering had said something about going to the office. He’d left soon after Mr, Mannering. Mr. Smith was still there. Mannering called the Record, and was told that Chittering had been in, but just gone out.
    “When you find him, tell him to get