King Maker Baron: (Writing as Anthony Morton) by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Stratus

Chapter Twelve

Kohari

For a split second Mannering almost panicked.

He stiffened in his chair and his muscles flexed; he wanted to be anywhere but in this young woman’s presence. The impulse to fly faded almost as soon as it had come, however. He was not used to wearing the disguise, hadn’t got under the skin of it, and he needed just such a shock as this to make him realise how careful he had to be, how absolutely he must live the part.

For that moment he had been John Mannering, dealer and collector as well as lover of treasures such as these.

Now, his name was Mayhew: Joseph Mayhew. It was on documents in his pocket, sewn into some of his clothes. Mayhew, Joseph Mayhew. And although the girl was looking straight at him from the foot of the stairs, there wasn’t the slightest chance that she would recognise him.

At all events, this was the moment of great testing.

She approached him, unsmiling. From this angle and in this light her features seemed thin, perhaps too thin, and her eyes glinted.

“You want to see Mr. Kohari?” The question was a challenge.

“Yes,” Mannering said in his thick, plummy new voice; and he did not get up.

“What do you want to see him about?”

“That’s confidential,” Mannering retorted.

“I am his confidential secretary,” the girl replied.

She had said she worked for Kohari, not that she was his secretary or in his confidence.

“I don’t intend to tell anyone but him,” Mannering replied.

“But you can’t see him,” she retorted. “So don’t waste anyone’s time.”

Mannering sat farther back in the uncomfortable seat. A tiger’s head in carved wood pressed into his spine, but he showed no sign of discomfort. The girl’s eyes did glint, coldly. She obviously had no time for him – as obviously, had not the faintest idea of his real identity. He felt an even deeper confidence in his disguise, and that gave him added certainty in dealing with her.

“I want to see him at half-past three,” Mannering said. “He’ll be a lot worse off if he doesn’t see me.

For the first time, she hesitated, and then demanded: “What’s your name?”

“Mayhew – Joe Mayhew.”

“What is your business—” she began.

“I told you I won’t talk about that to anyone but Kohari – and I meant it.” He gave a smile which showed the discoloured teeth and gave an unpleasant cast to his countenance.

“I mean, what is your occupation?” Rachel demanded.

It was Mannering’s turn to hesitate, before he answered: “I’m a runner.”

“What is a runner?”

“I’m a contact man – for picture galleries and antique shops, that kind of thing.” He glanced ostentatiously down at his watch. “I haven’t much time.”

Obviously she was now in two minds; his definition of a ‘runner’ had made her pause. Yet he sensed a strength in the girl which was partly obstinacy. She would hate backing down from any position she took up, unless she had a good reason. So he leaned forward, lowered his voice and actually glanced towards the stairs, as if afraid that someone else might overhear.

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