A Sword For the Baron by John Creasey Page B

contractors who would get big orders once the land was sold and the projects started. There are individuals, like Claude Orde, who might make a fortune because they own a very small piece of land. Orde himself may need money desperately – he might be under pressures himself. Don’t run away with the idea that Gentian isn’t in danger. He could well be. There have been attacks on his life – didn’t he tell you so?”
    â€œNo.” But Bristow had.
    â€œTake it from me, John, he didn’t come to see you about the other sword,” Chittering said, taking the glass. “Thanks. I believe he came to see you because he’s scared, and thinks you might be able to help where the police can’t. He probably doesn’t want them to know everything, anyhow. He doesn’t want you to know everything, either – he’s made that clear – but if he can involve you in this Mogul sword business, you could become involved in the bigger issues. Finding out who is after his blood, for instance. Be warned, John. You can get between an immovable object and an irresistible force and be squeezed to pulp.”
    â€œI simply don’t believe this is possible!” Levinson interpolated.
    â€œBut you do, John, don’t you?” Chittering asked. “You know what happens when this kind of situation arises. You deal in precious stones and miniatures and antiques and objets d’art, not in high finance. You’re going to keep out, aren’t you?”
    â€œI don’t think he’s right,” Levinson declared, as if trying hard not to shout. “I think he’s making a sensation out of this, like any newspaperman. The Gentians obviously need help. Obviously,” he repeated, and he looked at Mannering pleadingly. “Don’t you think so, sir?”�
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10
SECOND ASSAULT
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    â€œYes,” Mannering said quietly. “The Gentians need help. Whether we’re the people to help them is a different matter.”
    â€œThere speaks the voice of common sense,” Chittering declared.
    â€œBut Mr Mannering—”
    â€œDavid, let me think this one out,” Mannering interrupted. “The first thing is to talk to Gentian again. I might be able to find out what he’s really after. The issue seems to be whether Gentian sees himself as a modern Croesus or whether he’s really living in the past and wants to cling to it for as long as he can. Isn’t that what you think?”
    â€œEither way, he’s in trouble,” Chittering observed. “You don’t have to be.”
    Levinson burst out: “I can’t understand such an attitude on anyone’s part. This is London in the second half of the twentieth century. We’re not living in the sixteenth, we’re not in danger from highwaymen and cut-throats. The way Chittering talks, anyone would think that highly respected men in the City are prepared to hire murderers so as to get Lord Gentian out of the way. It’s nonsense.”
    â€œNice boy,” murmured Chittering.
    â€œDon’t be so bloody rude!”
    â€œAll right, David,” Mannering said. “I’ll have made up my mind what to do by the morning. Will you be in all the evening?”
    Levinson was scowling. “I suppose so.”
    â€œDavid,” Mannering said mildly, “there are more ways than one of being bloody rude.”
    Levinson flushed, looked at him straightly, and said in a chastened way: “I’m sorry, sir. Yes, I will be in this evening, unless something unexpected happens. Are you likely to need me?”
    â€œI might.”
    â€œThen I’ll telephone you if anything unexpected crops up,” Levinson said. He moved towards the door, and hesitated as if there was something on his mind. Suddenly, he burst out: “Chittering tells me that Sara Gentian was taken to a nursing home this evening.”
    â€œSome rumpus at her mews