Shadow The Baron by John Creasey Page B

Celia?” asked Mannering lightly.
    “I hate him!” Celia’s voice was low pitched. “I don’t care what happens to him.”
    “Is this all you’ve got to tell me?” Smith demanded.
    “There is a little more. Fleming knew the girl.”
    “Is that so?”
    “So did you, if Fleming told the truth, and I think he did. The police are aware of this.”
    Smith said gently: “Now you’re making it interesting.” He crossed to a cocktail cabinet. “What will you have?”
    “Whisky, please.”
    “Celia?”
    “Nothing,” she said, “I think I’ve had enough tonight. Who was the dead girl?”
    “The name is Muriel Lee,” Mannering said.
    “No!” cried Celia.
    Smith’s hand was quite steady as he poured the drinks, and his voice was even as he added: “Soda?”
    “Please.”
    “It couldn’t be Muriel!” breathed Celia. “Why, I saw her tonight, she was here!” – she caught her breath.
    “To the death of the murderer,” said Smith, raising his glass, “Celia, darling, I think you’d better go and lie down. It’s been a difficult evening for you.”
    “I – I’d like to hear what happened.”
    “I’ll tell you, later.”
    “Very well.” Without glancing to left or right, she walked automatically to the door. Smith opened it for her. He waited until the door opposite opened and closed, before returning to his chair.
    “Now tell me why you came,” he said.
    “I’ve told you. A friendly warning.”
    “Why be friendly towards a stranger?”
    “You never know when strangers might come in useful,” said Mannering. “I wanted to get to know you better, anyhow. That was an impressive entry you made at Lulu’s and I liked the way you behaved after Fleming took a smack at you.”
    “I still haven’t been told the truth,” said Smith.
    “Possibly,” said Mannering, “but you know as much as I’m going to tell you tonight. It’s quite a lot. As Muriel was here earlier this evening, the police will have a double reason for wanting to see you. Also, they’ll probably discover that you weren’t at Lulu’s until late. They probably won’t state in so many words that you had time to kill Muriel, but the suggestion will be there.”
    “They’d be crazy if they thought that.”
    “I’ve had a lot to do with the police,” Mannering said. “Their craziness quite often pays off.” He finished his drink and went to the door. “Mind if I go? I’d rather not be here when Bristow arrives. Of course, you could tell him that I’ve been, but that’s up to you.”
    He went to the door.
    Smith said: “I’d like to know what’s in your mind.”
    Mannering opened the door, slowly. “I’m to be found at Quinn’s by day – Hart Row, Bond Street – and River Walk, Chelsea, by night. If you want to know how to cope with Bill Bristow, let me know. I might even work for you, for a stiff retainer.”
    He beamed, waved, and went out.
    He heard the opposite door click; and knew that Celia had been listening.
    No one was in the street when he reached it, and he drove straight to River Walk. There were no telephone messages. He left a note for Hetty, to say that he didn’t want to be disturbed in the morning, and went to bed. He was curious but not dissatisfied. He owed Chittering a big debt; he had puzzled Smith, and would probably get a visit from him. He was likely to become a confidant of the Flemings, unless they were charged with murder, and he doubted whether Bristow would feel justified in taking that step yet.
    Then he remembered he had forgotten his nightly call to Lorna.
     
    Next morning, all the newspapers had the story of the murder, but the most detailed was in the Record. The article was signed: Record Star Reporter, Chittering had obviously been first on the spot He had mentioned Mannering, like two of the other newspapers, but there was no mention of Smith or the incident at the club.
    Mannering glanced through them all as he drank his tea, and was thoughtful while he shaved. An