Help from The Baron by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Help from The Baron
ISBN: 9780755125562
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2013-01-04T00:00:00+00:00

14: A DETECTIVE GIVES A WARNING

The battering ceased, and the relief was unbelievable. Mannering was conscious if dazed, breathing even if he caught his breath each time because pain stabbed through his chest. The respite continued. He heard voices, but did not understand the words. Then he did understand; two men were speaking in French.

“Go and see that he doesn’t do anything silly.”

“Are you sure you will be all right here?”

“Oh, yes, we won’t have more trouble.”

Mannering had been the victim of this kind of assault before; and after he had handed it out, there was a certain rough justice in being on the receiving end. The unfortunate thing was that Chas Ringall had received so much that day that he had hardly been responsible for his actions; he’d gone berserk.

Doors closed; odd draughts cooled Mannering’s hot forehead. Stockinged feet appeared before his eyes, and the end of a pair of trousered legs. A match scraped. Liquid went gug-gug-gug in a glass, and reminded him of Chas after being hit by his own cosh. How often, wondered Mannering, had he gone gug-gug-gug in the past five minutes.

French.

Au revoir, Ephraim Scoby had said on the telephone. The Marquis de Cironde et Bles, whose chateau had been a show-piece of the Chateau country of the Loire until it had been destroyed by fire a few years ago, had been the owner of the Fiora collection before the now murdered dealer had bought them. Odd that he could recall that and remember all the details so clearly, even remember having been escorted over the chateau some years before, and regaled with stories of the infidelity of kings.

The stockinged feet drew nearer. A foot moved and touched him on the shoulder, and pain shimmered through his head.

“Come on, get up,” said Scoby.

Mannering began to obey. He felt much worse than he had realised. Lying still had fooled him. The pains were still in his head, especially behind his eyes and at the nape of his neck, his shoulders and his left arm. His legs were all right, and he was able to use them as if they belonged to him. At last he sat up, with his back against the bed. To the best of his ability he sat still. It was the room that went round and round; stockinged feet, shiny shoes, the claw feet of wardrobe and chairs, water-pipes, a newspaper; all these were now in a deep chasm yawning beneath him now as far away as the stars.

“Come on,” Scoby said. “Get up.” He stood in front of Mannering and put his hands on Mannering’s waist, a little high. “Up!”

Mannering felt as if all the blood in his body was rushing out through his head. He staggered. He felt himself drop into a chair, springs groaned and bounced. Existence was nothing but pain.

Something cold splashed into his face, and shocked him; came again, and was almost welcome. Then a telephone went ting, and Scoby spoke in English: something about some coffee. Then Scoby held a glass to his lips, and Mannering sipped some water.

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