The Baron Goes East (14 page)

 

Mannering moved forward steadily, stepping on to the centre of the moving floor. Ramdhal asked an unspoken question. Mannering shook his head. His weight made no difference to the speed with which the platform moved. It was an age before his head was on a level with Ramdhal's feet.

“Come soon,” he called.

The chamber below was small and bare, there was no furniture.

The moving platform drew level with the floor of the chamber, but didn't stop. There was darkness beneath him. Mannering kept quite still, but shone his pencil torch. Soon he was able to see bare stone walls; the tunnel was cut out of solid rock. A long way above, Ramdhal stared over the top of the hole.

The movement ceased.

Mannering shone the torch round. He was in a larger chamber with rock walls close on three sides, nothing near on the other. The darkness here stretched so far that the light of the torch was lost. Mannering stepped off his perch cautiously, shone the torch on to the parquet platform and pressed the spot which Ramdhal had found.

It began to move upwards.

Mannering waited until it was above the level of his head, then shone the torch towards the ground and walked about. The floor was solid, hard, stony. A steel pillar ran up to the room where the jewels had been displayed, and the moving section of the floor went up and down on that, electrically controlled.

He was utterly alone.

He went twenty yards into the void before the thin beam of light shone on the far wall – and on a door. The door was open. It led to a tunnel which stretched a long way in the darkness. Mannering went back to the pillar and waited; five minutes afterwards, he saw the platform moving through the ceiling immediately above his head. Ramdhal appeared. Mannering gave him a hand off the platform before it reached the floor.

Mannering led the way towards the door and then into the tunnel. Twenty yards along there was a recess. The table on which the jewels had been shown stood in the recess, covered with its black velvet, but the jewels weren't there. Mannering studied the wall, and saw that there was a false surface made to look like solid rock. This was a new kind of strong-room. He shone the torch round and it fell on light switches.

“We should make sure no one else is near,” Ramdhal said.

“There won't be, this end,” said Mannering. “If there were guards, they would be here by now.” He pressed on the switch. A good light showed, revealing the wall, which looked more as if it had been carved out of solid rock. He examined it closely, pressing gently everywhere. He found out where the rock was solid and where the surface was false; the pattern was slightly different.

Ramdhal said: “I would like to go further along, sahib.”

“All right. Be careful.”

Ramdhal went off into the darkness of the tunnel.

Mannering turned back to the wall. There were some boxes and sacks here – rice, canned food and biscuits. He left them, returned to the wall, and kept pressing. Now and again he thought that something gave, but when he pressed more firmly nothing happened. He worked for ten or fifteen minutes before a piece of rock moved. He pressed all round; nothing happened. He unwound the tool-kit from his waist, selected a screwdriver, fixed the handle and levered against the piece of rock.

It came away on a hinge.

Behind it was the lock of a safe.

The Maharajah might have a trick or two in store for thieves, Mannering knew. He stood to one side and examined the lock. It looked impossible to open without the right tools, but he had the tools. He started working, slowly. He could hear Ramdhal's soft, fading footsteps, but nothing else except the noise of his drill.

After ten minutes he had the lock back.

He stood to one side as he opened the door. Nothing happened; it was just the door of a strong-room.

He stepped inside, looked round for the light switch, touched it, and took his hand away. He used the pencil torch for light. He studied the light switch, and saw two cables leading from it; one might be to an alarm.

The torch-light showed the strong-room to be large – fifteen or twenty feet in each direction. Two safes stood against one wall, big but old-fashioned; he would need half an hour to open each. A smaller safe on a shelf would be much easier.

He wasn't only interested in the safes.

There were wooden crates round the walls – two or three dozen of them, piled on top of each other. One of the crates was open, and inside were brown-paper packets. He went across, picked out a packet, and unfastened it; the ends were sealed with gummed tape and he was careful not to tear it. Inside was a white powder.

He wetted his finger on his tongue, dabbed the finger on the powder, and put it to his tongue again. He hardly needed to make the test.

This was cocaine.

 

Mannering stood looking at the crates and their foul cargo. Here was the connection between Patel and Ganpore; this explained old Patel's scornful rejection of the idea that he worked for someone else.

Here was illusory delight and years of torment for hundreds of thousands of people.

Mannering went to the smaller safe; in five minutes it was unlocked. There were papers inside, mostly bills and lists of machine parts and water-pipes, all charged to Ganpore. In fact, they were for the cocaine.

They were from Patel's company in Bombay.

 

Mannering went back to the tunnel. Footsteps were drawing nearer now, but only those of one man. He saw Ramdhal's torch-light shining towards the floor. It was cold and dank; he shivered.

Ramdhal loomed up.

“This way,” Mannering said.

He still didn't touch the switch, but led the way; the two torches gave a bright light. He shone his on to the open packet. Ramdhal started when he saw it, hurried forward, and made exactly the same test. He swung round.

“You know, sahib?”

“I know,” said Mannering.

“Did you know before?”

“It was half a guess. How long will it take you to get out of Ganpore to somewhere from where you can safely telephone Kana?”

Ramdhal said: “There are tons of it. Tons!”

“Yes. How long?”

Ramdhal licked his lips. “What did you say, sahib?”

“How long will it take you to get to a place from where you can safely telephone Kana?”

Ramdhal hesitated. “I am not sure. A day, at most. I could leave here now and walk to the town. I could get a car; yes, I have sufficient money. I should not be recognised in the town, and in any case I have friends who would help me. I could get to the border of the state by tomorrow afternoon and telephone soon after that. Sahib, even if Kana acts at once, he will first need special authority. It will be three days before police could reach here in strength. Perhaps more.”

“We can't spare three days. Two.”

“I can ask, sahib.”

“Kana will manage it in two,” said Mannering. Kana might even come earlier. “But first, tell Kana everything.” He was smiling tautly. “What did you find?”

“A door which I could not open – a steel door.”

“It probably leads to the tomb,” said Mannering, half to himself. “We're facing east; the tomb is due east from the palace. The tomb is sealed, I suppose.”

“Always.”

“So we can't get you out that way. We'll get back. Take this.” Mannering pushed the packet of cocaine into Ramdhal's hand as they moved towards the door. In the tunnel, he spoke softly. “You start, Ramdhal; get out of the palace as soon as you can. Send the lift back for me.”

“I shall wait for you.”

“You won't. I've a lot of work to do.”

Ramdhal said: “I will go.”

 

Mannering stood alone, outside the wall of the strong-room. It was closed and locked. If anyone examined it they would see that it had been forced; there was nothing he could do about that. He pushed the piece of wall which concealed the lock into position, then turned towards the tunnel and the ‘lift'. There had been no sound since Ramdhal had gone, nearly half an hour ago.

Mannering had done nothing but close the doors and set the lock again; it could not be opened without keys now; it would need a close inspection to show that it had been forced. He walked towards the platform lift, and the coldness caught at him. He shivered, partly from reaction. He went out of the narrow tunnel into the wider chamber. The platform was waiting. He stepped on to it and pressed the piece of parquet with his foot. It began to rise.

There was no need for alarm, yet alarm was in him. It had all gone so smoothly, too smoothly.

He passed through the first chamber.

His head was on a level with the floor of the room where all of them had gathered a few hours ago. He was facing the door. He watched it tensely as the floor raised him. He was waist high, when he climbed out. He went to the corner of the room, level with the door. Now he watched the circular platform rising; now he watched the door.

He heard voices, footsteps.

He felt his heart thumping. The platform wasn't yet in position. If anyone came in and saw it rising, they would know that he had been below. He found himself gripping his gun tightly, with clammy fingers.

The voices were just outside.

The platform came to a stop.

Mannering moved swiftly, facing the door all the time, bent down and pulled the carpet into position. A piece of it folded under, it seemed an agony of time before he got it straight. He stood up and went to the door, stood just behind it, against the wall.

The voices continued, a muttering in the language of the state. He couldn't understand a word.

Had Ramdhal been caught?

He felt tension increasing, and fought against it. He watched the door, as if it magnetised him, and he saw it sliding back. Of course – Ramdhal had not been able to lock it from the inside.

The door opened wide. One of the dark-skinned men came in; another followed; a third. They went straight to the middle of the room without looking at the door. He stepped slowly towards the passage. If one glanced round, he would be seen. Once the alarm was raised, the safe and the strong-room would be examined, the forced lock would be found.

He reached the passage, stepped to the right, and was out of sight of the men in the room. He walked quickly but without hurrying to the stairs, then ran up them; the carpet muffled the sound. He stopped at the landing. Leaning over the banisters, he could see into the passage, and the door of the showroom.

The men came out, without haste, the door slid to and the men went off – two in one direction, one in the other. None of them approached the stairs.

Mannering stopped at the door of his own room and turned the handle slowly and almost fearfully. Could he get away with it? Would something go wrong now?

He stepped inside.

The outer room was empty.

He locked the door, leaned against it for a moment, and then went across to the cocktail cabinet, poured himself a neat whisky, and tossed it down. He dropped into a chair and sat there for five minutes. At last he crept into the bedroom. Lorna was lying with one arm crooked above her head, peaceful as a child. He went into the bathroom and began to clean off the make-up. Now that he was so near safety, his nerves tore at him savagely.

 

Mannering went back into the bedroom in his pyjamas. Lorna hadn't moved. He got into bed and switched off the little light which had been on all the time. He lay on his back. It was nearly half-past five, and the household was stirring; he heard sounds inside and outside. He wondered if Ramdhal had got his car. He wondered what would happen in the morning. How Duval was. Whether a trick would be played with the blue diamonds. Neither Kyneton nor Petter had complained about the way he had jumped from three hundred and forty thousand pounds to four hundred thousand. Kyneton would certainly complain bitterly that he could have got them for much less, that van Groot had reached his limit.

He found himself smiling.

He went to sleep.

It seemed that he had been asleep only for a few minutes when he felt himself shaken, heard Lorna's voice, low-pitched but urgent. His eyes were heavy, his head was like lead. He didn't want to wake up, but Lorna's voice grew more and more insistent. He opened his eyes, saw her face close to his, filled with alarm.

“John, you must wake up. You
must
wake up. Ramdhal says he must see you at once.”

 

 

Mannering pushed back the bedclothes and sat up. Lorna moved away, and Ramdhal stood between the bed and the door, dismay vivid in his face.

“I am sorry, sahib; it is impossible to leave Ganpore. There are roads through the mountain passes, and all of them are blocked. It was my good fortune to fall among friends, who warned me of this. All roads have been blocked for people going out, for several days. The only way is over the mountains themselves, and that will take a long time.”

Lorna brought a sponge and towel, sat on the side of Mannering's bed, spread the towel over his knees and handed him the sponge.

“If I'd known you were going to be up half the night I'd have chained you to the bed,” she said.

“On Dr. Weiner's advice,” murmured Mannering. “Ramdhal, there must be another way out.”

“To the north only, sahib. That would also take a long time, and you would be in the mountains again. It is not possible to leave without the Maharajah's authority. No one may go. I have done the only thing I could.”

Mannering said: “What?”

“I have arranged with a friend to go across the hills into the next state. It will take him at least three days. He will telephone Kana then. But even if he gets through, it will now be four and perhaps five days before Kana can come.”

Mannering said slowly: “At least there's a time limit. Thanks, Ramdhal.”

“What is all this?” asked Lorna.

“It doesn't look as if the Maharajah wants us to leave yet. Ramdhal and I found snow by the ton last night. You know, coc—”

“I know snow is cocaine,” said Lorna. The colour had gone from her cheeks and yet her eyes were suddenly bright. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Ramdhal went to take a message to Kana, but couldn't get away. We don't know exactly what he's up to yet, but if he finds out that the strong-room was burgled—”

“
You
found the strong-room?”

“All I took was a broken packet of snow,” protested Mannering virtuously. “I gave that to Ramdhal.” He sponged his face and dried himself. “What's the time?”

“John,” said Lorna, “did you expect to find cocaine?”

“Let's say I hoped to,” said Mannering.

Lorna sat down heavily on a chair by the side of the bed.

“Patel was in it,” Mannering went on. “Patel's main business has been drugs. Jewels as a sideline, perhaps, but drugs, drugs and more drugs. Kana told us so; we know that Patandi was just one of hundreds of agents who distributed. We also knew that Patel was in this jewel sideline – he and his heirs. So both drugs and jewels were involved. Ganpore is a little state, hidden away from the others, so far off and so insignificant in the eyes of a government which has plenty on its hands, that it was left to run itself almost autonomously. Then there was the Bundi and the war against the jewels belonging to the princes – a war with public opinion on the side of the zealots, making Kana's task ten times more difficult. The Bundi got a lot of jewels, but none has ever been traced on the market. That made Kana and Phiroshah sceptical. Would the Bundi steal just to gloat over the beauty? If the Bundi was a cloak and criminals were behind it, sooner or later they would have to sell. Those diamonds we saw last night aren't all the Maharajah's. They are the proceeds of many thefts from the private collections of different princes, not likely to be recognised by buyers from the West. The blue diamonds are really his. They were to blind us from suspecting the other stolen stuff. Easy enough, isn't it? The Maharajah, the jewel big-shot, worked with Patel, who ran the dope.”

Lorna said: “Give me a cigarette, please.” They were on the table by Mannering's bed. “So the dealers were brought here to buy stolen jewels that couldn't be smuggled out. And you—”

“I wasn't wanted. Phiro recommended me; the Maharajah didn't write and invite me, but told Phiro he had.”

Lorna said: “I see. What—”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder nervously; she need not have done, for Ramdhal was coming in with tea and fruit juice.

“He's as good as Amu,” said Mannering lazily.

Ramdhal put the tray down and went out. Lorna lit her cigarette as Mannering poured tea.

“And now we're imprisoned,” Lorna said heavily. “I don't understand it. Why? He's sold the jewels. Isn't that what he wanted?”

“He's playing safe. We wouldn't know we were prisoners but for Ramdhal.” Mannering finished his tea and pushed back the bed-clothes. “Have you seen any of the others this morning?”

“Van Groot was walking in the grounds.”

“Remember that we don't know anything about being hemmed in,” said Mannering.

He had a shower and shaved, and was feeling fit enough when he left the suite. Lorna had already gone downstairs. Breakfast was served in the room where they had dined; the long narrow table was now placed over the circular platform. Van Groot sat by himself at one end of the table, Kyneton and Petter were together, eating with obvious appetite. Lorna was opposite the two Americans.

They were sitting and smoking cigarettes when the Maharajah came in briskly.

“Mrs. Mannering, gentlemen. Good morning!” Nothing in his manner suggested that he suspected what had happened. “I hope everyone is well. I have seen poor Duval and my physician is with him now. I am sure you all hope with me that his illness isn't serious.”

“Damned bad luck,” Petter said.

Van Groot grunted. Kyneton nodded.

“And I hope you are all perfectly happy about our deal,” said the Maharajah. “There is the matter of payment, of course, which has to be discussed.” He looked at Mannering smilingly. “Yours is the largest account, Mr. Mannering.”

“How do you suggest?” Mannering asked.

“You understand, all of you, the difficulties I am in,” said the Maharajah. “I can, however, obtain all the credits I need from the Government provided I can show that I have funds abroad. So I am going to suggest that all of you arrange to make payment to my agents in London and New York, by cable, against your cabled request. You can also arrange insurance that way.”

No one disagreed.

“It will take two or three days,” said the Maharajah.

Van Groot jerked his head up.

“That is not necessary. I am already anxious to go. I have stayed longer than I intended. I am a business man, with much to do. I begin to think I was a fool to come – payment should be against the jewels in Amsterdam or London, not against delivery here. After last night, how can we be sure that we shall get them out?”

“I will see that you have the strongest escort,” said the Maharajah smoothly. “I am sorry about the delay. I would gladly accommodate you, but—” He shrugged. “The weather has been bad over central India. Air services have been disrupted, and the plane in which you were to have returned to Bombay, Mynheer, will not be here for at least two or three days.”

Van Groot was getting up slowly.

“There is the plane Mannering came in.”

“Unfortunately it has developed engine trouble,” said the Maharajah. Mannering still couldn't guess whether he knew about the strong-room. “We have wirelessed for the necessary spare parts, but it may be two or three days before they can arrive. I am sorry.” He spread out his hands. “I will, of course, hand each of you the jewels you bought. I will provide guards. You will make all arrangements by cable, enjoy yourselves here for a day or two. Duval would not in any case be able to leave; it would be too bad if you were to desert him.”

Kyneton sat absolutely still.

Petter said: “Are you saying that you're going to keep us here until the drafts are cleared? What guarantee have we that—”

“My friend, please! It is unavoidable. You need have no worries. The only safe way out is by aeroplane. You saw the attack which was made against us last night. There are dacoits in the hills who would attack you if you attempted to go by road. You will have the jewels and you will be well entertained. Once the weather has improved and the aircraft have arrived—” He shrugged. “Do we need to talk about it any more?”

Van Groot said harshly: “I wish to make myself understood. Not one penny will I pay to your agents. Not one penny – until I have the jewels and am out of Ganpore. I tell you that.” He thrust his head forward and glared at the Indian.

Kalda still smiled.

“It is—a mistaken point of view, my friend. You surely understand my difficulty. The dacoits have been a great menace recently. They are not my people. They have come from the famine country beyond the mountains. They can get out of hand. I try, but—”

Petter said quietly: ‘This is the coolest frame-up I've ever heard of.”

“An ugly expression,” murmured the Maharajah.

“It is true!” Van Groot could hardly choke the words out. “It is absolutely true. You would have us murdered—”

“Nonsense,” said the Maharajah sharply. “All this fuss, over what? We have reached an agreement; you have bought the jewels. You simply have to pay for them. A few days of delay, because of weather – isn't that the way to look at it?”

“And then you take back the jewels and cut our throats!”

The Maharajah looked distressed.

“Mynheer, I ask you—”

Petter said mildly: “Let's try not to get heated. Where are my stones, Kalda?”

“In my strong-room.”

“Good. I'll take delivery now, against my cabled draft to New York.”

Mannering felt his heart thump.

“You play into his hands!” cried van Groot.

“Take it easy,” Petter said. “If we can't get out, we can't. I don't mind paying for the jewels, provided I have them.” His smile was as bland as the Maharajah's. “Once I have them, they're in my custody, no one else's responsibility. If I were you—” he looked at the others smilingly—”I'd take the same course. Delivery of the jewels against the despatch of our cables. After that, we can all keep together, in case the Maharajah should be unable to control the dacoits, but I think he'll manage that for us.”

“It's all wrong,” Kyneton said. He was pale and his eyes were frightened. “Don't you agree, Mannering?”

Mannering said: “I haven't made up my mind.” But he knew the Maharajah would go to the strong-room, and find evidence of burglary.

“Why should we worry?” Petter asked. “We'll have the jewels, he'll have the money. We paid our own price. Nothing wrong about that, was there? Kalda, may I have those diamonds?”

“At once,” said the Maharajah.

“Bring my purchase, too,” said Mannering.

“It's crazy, but I'd better agree,” said Kyneton.

“Van Groot?” the Maharajah asked gently. “It would be better if you were all of one mind.”

Van Groot said carefully: “I pay not one penny until I am out of this damn country.”

The Maharajah shrugged.

The door closed behind him as he went out.

Van Groot jumped to his feet and hurled a torrent of angry recrimination. Petter went across to Lorna and began to talk. Van Groot dried up, but stood near the door as if prepared to rush out as soon as it opened again.

 

The jewels were brought into the room on small trays, nearly an hour later. The servants who brought them went out, closing the door. The Maharajah of Ganpore gave no sign of having discovered the evidence of the raid. He motioned to the cases which had been placed on a small table near Mannering.

“Inspect the greatest prize, my friend.”

“Thanks.” Mannering opened the first case. There were nine small blue diamonds in it; he had seen these diamonds and this case before. In the indifferent light of the room they looked real. He put one of them on the table and peered at it, then slid his hand to his pocket and drew out his automatic. He held it by the barrel, then brought the butt down on to the diamond.

It smashed into a hundred pieces; a fine white powder remained on the table.

The Maharajah backed towards the door, but the gun slid round in Mannering's hand.

“I should stay there, Kalda. Mark, press the knob on the right of the door, twice – it's level with your eyes.” Petter obeyed; the door was locked. Mannering looked lazy as he picked up the other nine paste gems in his left hand and tossed them into the air. “That's what they're worth. We don't stand on ceremony here, Kalda, do we? This is the showdown. You took it for granted that after seeing the real diamonds last night we'd give them a cursory glance this morning. And as you were afraid I'd find a way out once I had them, you daren't risk giving me the real stuff.”

The Maharajah's eyes were cold with fury. Van Groot was baring his teeth with anger.

“Plain speaking, plain facts. You're a liar, a fraud and a murderer or accomplice of murderers,” Mannering went on.

“You worked with or under the protection of the Bundi. Most of the jewels we've bought are stolen. You worked with Patel, who handled the drugs.”

No one spoke.

Mannering said: “The big sale might have worked, but these blue jewels have been in your family for so long you didn't want to part with them, but they drew the big dealers here. Oh, the other stuff's genuine. If I'd discovered these fakes after I'd left you'd have said the switch took place after I bought them. Am I going too fast?”

The Maharajah looked his venom.

“You're not going fast enough for me,” Petter said.

“What are we going to
do
?” cried van Groot. “We are prisoners; we—” He broke off.

“Remember that,” the Maharajah said thinly.

“Remembered.” Mannering smiled. “If the worst comes to the worst, Kalda, you can stage another dacoit raid, have us murdered, blame the Bundi. You could probably get yourself a medal trying to defend us.”