The Riviera Connection Read Free Page B

the counter was at least forty thousand pounds. You could say that Dale bought them for a mysterious and unnamed collector who wanted them urgently, and who is going to be disappointed.”
    Chittering made a puckered O of his small lips.
    â€œName of said collector?”
    â€œNot known.”
    â€œClue Number One,” said Chittering, and grinned. “I wish you luck, John! Anything else I can do?”
    â€œLarraby or Carmichael at the shop will give you a history of the Gramercy jewels,” Mannering told him, “and the more you print about them the more I’ll think of you. A good strong hint that we would like this collector to come forward would help.”
    â€œâ€˜We being you – or the police?”
    â€œRegard us as one,” said Mannering blandly.
    â€œAnd butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth,” Chittering jeered. He turned away, but didn’t go far. “Wasn’t there some trouble between Dale and his wife a year or two ago?”
    â€œJust divorce,” Mannering said dryly.
    â€œOdd circumstances, weren’t there?”
    â€œShe ran off with a Frenchman, and Dale chased after them.”
    â€œOh, lord, yes!” Chittering rubbed the down on his chin. There were moments when he looked no more than a boy. “Nice time, that daughter of his is having.”
    Mannering shrugged.
    Chittering went out, and Mannering returned to the top flat. Bristow wasn’t exactly waiting for him, but seemed glad that he had arrived. He was sitting at the desk, going through a book that looked like a diary. The room, part living-room, part study, had a comfortably homely air; armchairs were worn at the arms, everything was planned for comfort rather than appearance.
    â€œNow what we have to do is find out who Dale bought those jewels for,” Bristow said. “Sure you’ve no idea?”
    â€œNot only that, I don’t think he’ll come forward,” Mannering said. “Care to lay a bet?”
    â€œNo,” Bristow said, and grinned. “But I think we’ll have an arrest within twenty-four hours. I’ve just had a telephone call – Bennett, Dale’s junior partner, was out all night. His car has a bullet hole in the roof – and one of the neighbours took a pot shot at the murderer. Like to talk to him, when we get him?”
    â€œYes,” said Mannering slowly. “I think I would.”
    Bristow noticed a change in his tone. “Now what’s on your mind?”
    â€œI know young Tony Bennett well,” Mannering said. “He’s a nice lad.”
    â€œI’ve known a lot of nice lads get hanged,” Bristow said dryly.
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3
Arrest and Trial
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    Mannering sat in the small office at the back of his shop, Quinns, and studied the girl opposite him. She was in her early twenties. Some would have called her pretty, a few might have said that she was lovely. Now, her face was very pale, her eyes almost feverishly bright.
    When he had seen her walking towards him along the shop, past the precious objets d’art, the treasures of the ages which made Quinns world-renowned, Mannering had realised that she was with child. He doubted whether she had many weeks to go.
    She had come alone.
    She was Hilda Bennett, wife of Tony Bennett, whom Bristow had arrested and charged with Bernard Dale’s murder, three days ago. Mannering had seen her twice before; never when she had been so despairing as this.
    â€œSit down,” Mannering said, and pressed the bell for one of his assistants to bring tea. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the day had been quiet.
    He had found himself thinking more and more about Tony Bennett, about the evidence against him and the fact that Bristow was quite sure that he had the murderer.
    Hilda lowered herself into a chair. A silver-haired man came in, with tea on a tray.
    The girl looked as if she were going to swoon.
    â€œIt’s no use, Mr. Mannering,”