Meet The Baron by John Creasey Read Free Book Online Page A

into strong relief by the reading-lamp.
    Mannering pushed the window up another inch, fraction by fraction. Suddenly the man in the corner moved. Mannering stopped, his limbs suddenly very cold. The guard lifted his head, looking towards the window, and darted his hand towards his pocket.
    “God,” thought Mannering, “it’s all up!”
    He couldn’t have turned away if he had wanted to; he felt there was no strength at all in his limbs. He stared, fascinated by the approaching disaster.
    And then he saw the handkerchief in the guard’s hand, saw his head go back, and heard a sneeze that seemed to shatter the silence. Mannering’s heart turned over - or so he thought - and then his mind worked very quickly; he saw how he could turn the absurd development to advantage. He was still cold after the moment of fear, but he pushed at the window less cautiously now.
    The guard sneezed three times, and by the time he had stopped the window was up two feet or more, and moving noiselessly. Mannering pushed it another foot, and then, as the other put his handkerchief back into his pocket, backed away from the window, taking shelter by the walls. He could see his man, saw the quick glance round the room . . .
    “Close,” Mannering muttered under his breath. “Thank the Lord for that sneeze! . . .”
    He stopped muttering, and his eyes gleamed. He saw the guard glance towards the window again, and he realised that the other man was probably feeling a draught. Even as the thought flashed through his mind he saw the other move, and he realised that the open window would shout suspicion.
    And then Mannering saw how it would also help him.
    Breathing very softly, he drew into the shadows, waiting, as the guard came soft-footed towards the window. He could just see the man as he reached the window, and he saw him peer suspiciously. He could almost hear him thinking, asking himself whether he had for once forgotten to close the window or whether it had just been pushed up.
    Mannering took just time enough to measure the distance, and then he acted. With the muzzle of the revolver in his hand he swung his right arm. The butt of the gun crashed into the man’s solar plexus; there was a single gasp, not loud enough to make itself heard more than a few yards away, and the guard staggered back.
    In an instant Mannering was after him. But as he climbed into the room his coat caught, and he wasted precious seconds. The guard had recovered sufficiently to dart his hand towards his own gun when Mannering looked up. His hand moved, and his unloaded gun was very threatening. The guard hesitated.
    “Put your hands up,” said Mannering very softly.
    The words were low, but the guard heard them while his fingers were dipping into his pocket. He stopped, seeing the gun in Mannering’s hand for the first time, seeing too a tall, heavily built man clad from chin to knees in a mackintosh, with a Trilby pulled low over his eyes and a handkerchief tied loosely round his neck. Mannering knew he might need to pull that up as a mask later, but while it was necessary to talk he couldn’t use it.
    He drew his right leg into the room and straightened up. The guard stared, without moving, his eyes on the gun. Mannering’s lips curved a little as he realised that the other was prepared to take many chances, but not to risk his life even for the Fauntley jewels. His hands were level with his ears.
    “Put them right up,” Mannering said, still softly and in a voice that Lord Fauntley himself would not have recognised. “Now stand up.”
    The other obeyed without a word. Mannering’s eyes danced, and for a moment he was tempted to count his chickens too soon. Gad! This was child’s play.
    He stopped smiling, and walked slowly across the room until he was within ten feet of his victim. Then he ordered again: “Turn round and face the wall - and keep those hands up!”
    It was like watching a film; Mannering couldn’t get it into his mind that it was