A Sword For the Baron by John Creasey Page A

deep.”
    â€œUsual gin and tonic?” inquired Mannering. He proffered cigarettes; Chittering’s fingers were stained brown, but Levinson didn’t smoke.
    There was a clink and clatter of bottles as Ethel came in with several on a tray, and ice in a vacuum bowl. She was all fingers and thumbs, and had not thought to wipe off the frosting from the outside of the bottles. Mannering poured out Chittering’s drink.
    â€œHere’s to swimming,” he said.
    â€œYou couldn’t swim through this if the sea got rough,” declared Chittering. “Here’s to you reaching the shore in good time.” He drank deeply.“ Ahhh .”
    â€œWhat’s he talking about, David?” Mannering inquired.
    â€œHe won’t tell me very much,” Levinson replied. He looked at Chittering sourly as if badly out of temper. “I asked him to tell me all he could about Claude Orde and about the Gentians. He told me nothing that you can’t read in the newspapers, and behaved as if I was inquiring about the dead.”
    â€œWhat’s on, Chitty?” asked Mannering.
    Chittering said: “I didn’t know how much you wanted Levinson to hear.”
    â€œThere’s nothing he needn’t hear about this.”
    â€œRight!” Chittering became brisk. “To the first question – Claude Orde. He is not what he seemed. He seems a pudden-headed, pudden-bellied ass. In fact he is a very sharp-witted, quick-witted individual with a lot of contacts in the City. He is also Lord Gentian’s manager-cum-secretary. He looks after Gentian’s interests when his lordship is away, which is much of the time. He behaves very much like the poor relation, but I think he carries much more influence than anyone generally believes. Because he represents Gentian, he is a man of real importance in the City.”
    â€œYou mean, among the financial experts in the City.”
    â€œThe big money boys,” agreed Chittering. “The takeover tycoons. Yes. Gentian owns some chunks of the City and the West End – not big chunks, but all very well situated. He has been sitting tight on them – through Claude Orde. He’s had a lot of offers, but has refused each one. The value has doubled in ten years, and is likely to double again in the next two. There isn’t much property left in the heart of London for development, and Gentian’s land prevents several major projects. I’m not suggesting that anyone would bump him off, but certainly it would help some people if he were dead.”
    â€œWhy won’t he sell?”
    â€œSearch me,” said Chittering. “Some believe he sees himself becoming a multi-millionaire by holding on long enough. They think he’s a Machiavellian old devil who stays out of the country and leaves the thick end of the job to Orde. Others think he’s a high-minded, high-souled English gentleman who does not want to see all of the centre of London given over to glass and reinforced concrete edifices with imitation Epstein sculptures at the front doors. Take your choice. The fact remains that Gentian is now in the middle of strong pressure. Two rival big money groups are determined to force him to sell. They haven’t been able to do so individually; there are rumours that they are thinking of joining forces.”
    â€œIf he won’t sell, they can’t make him.”
    Chittering swirled his drink round in his glass, then tossed it down and held the glass out.
    â€œMay I?”
    Mannering took the glass.
    â€œWhat’s made you as naïve as David Levinson?” Chittering inquired. “That’s what Bristow wanted to tell me. You forget the obvious. The big money men won’t stoop to violence or threats or pressure, except economic ones. But all along the line are a lot of people with a stake in this. There are small land owners whose land is kept down in value until Gentian sells. There are the