The Unfinished Portrait by John Creasey

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

Chapter Twelve

Eager Young Man

Lionel Spencer put down the telephone and stood absolutely still for at least ten seconds. Then he sprang into the air, holding both hands aloft, and let out a stifled, ‘Yip-yip-yippee!’

Larraby, appearing from behind the partition at the back of the shop, had an instantaneous, and sobering, effect.

‘That was Mr Mannering, sir,’ said Lionel. ‘He was in a very great hurry.’

‘That I can imagine,’ said Larraby, eyeing the young man keenly. ‘Did he appear to be perturbed?’

‘I wouldn’t say that, sir – simply in a hurry. He wants me to meet a young lady outside the Victoria and Albert Museum at four o’clock.’

‘What young lady?’

‘Judy Vandemeyer,’ answered Lionel.

Larraby put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Lionel, listen to me. If you are to be of any real use to Mr Mannering in this or any other case – or in the business for that matter – you must learn to report quickly and succinctly, omitting no matter of importance. What precisely did Mr Mannering say?’

Lionel, abashed, reported the conversation almost verbatim.

‘That’s better,’ Larraby approved. ‘Mr Mannering has told you enough for the time being, and evidently feels that he can rely on you. Don’t let him down.’

In a surge of feeling, Lionel said, ‘Don’t worry, Josh – I’ll never do that.’

A few minutes later, at the wheel of his sports car, he realised that he had never before called Larraby ‘Josh’ to his face. He went red, and yet he glowed with satisfaction, for Larraby obviously meant it when he said Mannering relied on him.

It was half-past three. Usually he would have reached the Victoria and Albert in fifteen minutes but the traffic in Oxford Street was chaotic, and when at last he turned into Park Lane, a collision between a post office van and a bus held up traffic for ten minutes. Spencer sat fuming.

He was beginning to fear that he would be late for Judy Vandemeyer; late on his first assignment! He had a wild idea of leaving the car and going by foot, thought better of it, and was fiercely relieved when traffic started to move again. There was a little carriageway outside the big, dark building of the Museum which looked like a cross between a cathedral and a prison, and although there was no room to park there was room to stand.

Walking up and down outside the Museum was a girl in a green linen suit.

Even had he not been expecting to meet a raven-haired beauty, this girl would have attracted his attention. There was something in the way she walked; in her carriage, which singled her out. As he got out of the car she turned, and obviously the red sports car meant something to her for she came hurrying – eager and quite lovely. Disturbingly lovely. And her hair was black as a raven’s wing.

‘Miss Vandemeyer?’

‘Oh yes. Are you—is it you I’m to meet?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Spencer. ‘My name is Spencer, Lionel Spencer. I’m from—’

‘There’s a man following me,’ she said, breathlessly.

‘What? ’

‘I’m always followed.

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