Nest-Egg for the Baron by John Creasey

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

Chapter Fourteen

Missing Man

Wainwright must have heard the newspaperman’s comment, but he didn’t appear from the kitchen. Mannering led the way to the study. Two minutes later, he heard the hall door close; Wainwright had gone.

All this time, Chittering had been watching him narrowly, one eyebrow raised slightly above the level of the other, china-blue eyes suspicious.

“What is on?” he demanded. “Were you at Midham last night?”

“Don’t make wild guesses.”

“I verily believe you were,” declared Cluttering, and grinned a mighty grin. “Magnificent! Bold, bad Mannering at scene of savage crime. Ever done any spear-throwing, tossing the caber, or anything like that?” He took out cigarettes. “You are not yourself,” he added; “you haven’t denied it yet.”

“Give me half a chance,” Mannering said dryly. “No, no, no. Thanks.” He took a cigarette. “What’s on?”

“Don’t tell me that Ned Wainwright didn’t tell you that I’ve been grilling him and Sylvester,” said Chittering. “I had Wainwright under the microscope for fully five minutes. Sylvester kept fluttering in the wings, trying to come to the rescue, but a photographer was with me, and he dealt with Sylvester. Sweetly, you understand. As a matter of fact,” Chittering went on, “Wainwright isn’t bad at all. I didn’t get a thing out of him. Training him to be Larraby’s successor?”

“In what capacity?”

“Legman and all the rest,” said Chittering comfortably. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he turns out very well. He was quite bland with me half the time, with a little more experience he’ll almost be able to make a lie sound the truth.”

“Why don’t you take him in hand?” Mannering asked sweetly.

“Okay, John, I give up. What’s blowing?”

“My chief worry is a girl who’s deaf and dumb,” Mannering said, in a tone which made it clear that he had stopped being flippant. “And yes, there is a job you can usefully do. Fenn—”

“I was going to ask about Fenn. How do you find him?”

“Unexpectedly co-operative.”

“Be wary of Nicholas Fenn,” warned Chittering, with obvious sincerity. “He of the smooth voice and the gentlemanly manners is cunning like a fox. And he’s comparatively new; we don’t know his methods yet. I suspect he’s one of the ‘come into my parlour pretty maiden’ type, and that when he gets nasty he can be pretty foul. Still, you also have eyes and little grey cells. What,” went on Chittering, sweetly, “is the dirty work you want this noble son of Fleet Street to do for you?”

Mannering rounded his eyes.

“You ask Wainwright how noble you are! Three things, Chitty. Find out all you can about Mortimer Smith and Pendexter Smith of Dragon’s End. Discover all you can about their collection of head-hunters’ pieces and museum left-overs—and see if you can get a line on a nest of jewelled eggs. The clue is Indonesia, Ba-Kona dynasty. Yes, I am quite serious.” He described the nest of spun gold and the eggs that went with it, and something of his love of precious stones crept into his voice; and impressed Chittering.

“I’ll do what I can,” the newspaperman promised.

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