The Baron Goes East by John Creasey Page B

taken down; on the other side they had been protected against the rain. Children splashed through muddy-looking puddles. Mannering kicked up mud as far as his knees and slackened his pace. He took three more turnings and then saw a wide main street ahead, with cars moving in each direction. He headed for this and waited at the corner. As he looked round, he tried to see whether anyone but Joseph had followed him. He recognised no one, but wasn’t sure; in London he would have been.
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    Lorna was still lying on the bed, the magazine on the floor; a tea tray was on the bedside table, with two cups. She wore a negligée of some flimsy material.
    â€œHave a cup, darling? It’s much cooler after the rain, and I just had to have a drink.”
    â€œTwo cups, please,” said Mannering.
    She poured out. “Did you have to walk? You’ve ruined that suit.”
    â€œIt’ll clean up,” said Mannering. “Patandi has given me the name of the man who paid him to work his trick. Patandi has about a dozen wives, and they all live in a room a quarter – an eighth the size of this.” He drank his tea, and leaned across and lifted the telephone.
    Phiroshah’s number was on a pad near the telephone.
    â€œSo soon, my friend?”
    â€œIs it wise to talk over the telephone?” asked Mannering.
    â€œNo. I will come and see you.”
    â€œThank you,” said Mannering. He rang off, and Lorna was looking at him through her lashes. He saw the drawing-pad by the side of the bed for the first time, picked it up, and was startled. Lorna’s drawing was always good, but he’d seen nothing better than this. Patandi, Phiroshah, Amu, Joseph – all of them looked up at him from the pad. There were a dozen pencilled drawings, firm, vivid types he recognised from his brief encounters.
    â€œSure you wouldn’t like to stay here while I go diamond hunting?”
    â€œNo,” she said. “I can finish these any time. It’s odd, but the only one I would like to sit for me is Patandi. Do you think—”
    â€œHe’ll do anything we ask, he’s so scared.”
    â€œOf whom?”
    â€œYou’ll find out,” said Mannering. He went into the dressing-room. All his clothes had been pressed and were in the wardrobe. He had another shower and changed leisurely; it was now pleasantly cool. By the time he had finished, there was a tap at the door. He went into the sitting-room, where Phiroshah was waiting.
    â€œSo you saw Patandi,” said Phiroshah promptly.
    â€œDid Joseph tell you?”
    â€œYes. I’m not sure that you should do that kind of thing yourself. These men can be dangerous, and you have much more important things to do.”
    Mannering said mildly: “Could they be more important than getting the name of Imannati Patel?”
    Phiroshah said very softly:“I mannati Patel?”
    â€œOf course, the bookseller could have lied.”
    â€œYes,” said Phiroshah, “but I doubt if he would have named the man unless it were true. How did you do it?”
    â€œHe had a guilty secret in his back room,” said Mannering. “I don’t know what it was, but made him think that I did. So Imannati’s a known bad man.”
    â€œImannati Patel is as evil a man as I know in Bombay,” said Phiroshah with quiet vehemence. “Evil and dangerous. I did not know that he was interested in jewels. In drugs, yes. Not jewels. Always in drugs.” He frowned as he walked slowly about the room. “So – if the Bundi used such a man, the Bundi is no group of high-minded patriots.”
    â€œCan he be frightened?” asked Mannering.
    â€œNo. You cannot deal with Patel as you did with the bookseller. Don’t attempt to tackle Patel yourself.”
    Mannering sat down.
    â€œI’m at a disadvantage because I don’t know how the methods work over here, and don’t really know the