A Sword For the Baron Read Free

woman, felt almost as certain that it was the girl who had been looking in the hat shop. He picked the sword up almost reverently, narrowing his eyes against the brilliance. Suddenly he moved it, thrusting; it was as if a river of diamonds was cascading before him. He balanced it for a few seconds, blade on one hand, hilt on the other, then took it to a smaller table in a corner. It overlapped at both ends. The jewels lost a little of their brilliance because the light was not so good there. He sat down at his desk, and switched on the talking box, which enabled him to hear anything being said by Larraby’s desk. He caught the tail end of something Larraby said, and it was followed by the visitor’s answer.
    â€œSara Gentian.”
    â€œI will tell Mr Mannering, and I am sure that as soon as he is free he will see you.”
    Sara Gentian, Mannering knew, was in a young, modern, modish set, a creature of a gossip column age. He had heard a great deal about her but never seen her.
    There were a lot of personable young women in her particular group who would react badly to being told to wait. This girl simply said: “Thank you,” and waited for Larraby to speak into the talking box.
    â€œI shall probably be ten or fifteen minutes,” Mannering told him, knowing that the girl could hear. She made no comment when Larraby passed the message on.
    â€œIf you would like to look round while you wait you will be most welcome,” Larraby invited.
    Mannering took a thick leather-bound book down from a bookcase; the spine was engraved: Great Collections. This was for private circulation only, and there were probably only a thousand in existence. He thumbed the thin India paper, and the thicker paper of the plates until he came to Mogul ; there were several entries. Then he came to Mogul Victory Swords: – The. He spent five minutes refreshing his memory about the history of the swords. After the withdrawal of the Moguls they had passed to an Indian prince, whom one of the Gentian family had once helped – and they had been a gift of gratitude treasured by the Gentians. No loss had ever been reported.
    Mannering closed the book and was about to tell Larraby to bring Sara Gentian in when his telephone bell rang. He picked it up.
    â€œIs that Quinns?” a man asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI want to speak to Mr Mannering.” The speaker had a deep, deliberate voice. “The matter is extremely urgent.”
    â€œThis is John Mannering.”
    The speaker paused, surprised, then went on in a more urgent voice: “Mr Mannering, forgive this if it seems impertinent, but is a young lady with you? A Miss Sara Gentian.”
    â€œNo,” said Mannering.
    â€œShe isn’t?”
    â€œThat is what I said,” said Mannering coldly. “Who are you and what do you want?”
    After another pause, the man went on: “Mr Mannering, Miss Gentian will believe everything she says, but she is not in possession of all the facts. However persuasive she might be, will you please—”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œIt won’t help you to know who I am,” the man said. “Will you please refuse to do whatever she asks? It is extremely important. It might even be a matter of life and death. I am not exaggerating, Mr Mannering. I beg you to take me seriously.”
    â€œIf you will tell me who—” Mannering began, but stopped when he felt the line go dead. He put the receiver down very slowly, and turned to look at the sword. He got up, went to a small built-in cupboard and took out a raincoat. He draped this over the sword so that it looked as if it had been thrown down casually, and it hid the sword completely. He moved back to his desk, the bow-fronted Queen Anne piece which set the tone to the whole room. A Persian carpet of lovely but subdued colouring was flush with two walls, and showed narrow, dark oak boards at the others; there were oak panels which