The Baron Goes East by John Creasey

Lorna didn’t ask what was in it.
    Two Indians were at the airport when they arrived.
    They were in the Customs office, when Mannering talked earnestly to a clerk, opened the brief-case, handed over the package which had been officially sealed by the London office. The clerk marked it again and handed it back. Mannering stored it away in the brief-case and locked it, then, with Lorna holding his arm, walked to the waiting-room. Their plane, a Britannia, was warming up. Mechanics were standing about beneath the wings, near the fuel pump; chocks were in position. No one seemed to be in a hurry. It was a clear morning, with only a few high, fleecy clouds.
    The Indians stood by, apparently taking no special notice of the Mannerings.
    The loudspeaker blared.
    â€œPassengers for Karachi and further east, please make your way towards the aircraft on your left. Please put out your cigarettes before leaving the building, and do not smoke again until you are advised by your stewardess. Passengers for Karachi and further east . . .”
    The Mannerings led the little crowd, people they didn’t know at all but some of whom they would know well before the next three days were out. There were more men than women. One couple was young; obvious honeymooners, delighted with each other. A middle-aged woman was dressed in the height of fashion, made up superbly; most of the men noticed her.
    The two Indians were last in the line.
    A messenger came hurrying as Mannering stepped on to the gangway leading into the aircraft.
    â€œMr. Mannering?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSome telegrams, sir.”
    â€œOh, thanks.” There were four. Mannering took them and went in. The stewardess looked at their tickets and led them to their seats; the wings didn’t hide the view. There were moments of bustle, then the doors were closed. Lighted signs over the pilot’s cabin read: Fasten belts. No smoking.
    Ten minutes of warming up and of taxi-ing, then a deep-throated roar from the four engines. They raced along the runway.
    They were airborne!
    The Mannerings watched the countryside first flashing then crawling by and the earth gradually getting further away. Two stewardesses stood together near the pilot’s cabin, with bundles of newspapers under their arms and a dish of barley sugar. They started to hand out papers and sweets.
    The ground seemed a long way off.
    The two Indians sat together at the back of the plane, six seats behind the Mannerings.
    â€œNothing’s happened,” Lorna said.
    â€œYet.” Mannering began to open the telegrams; one was from Lorna’s mother and father, one from Larraby and Sylvester, the third from Bristow. He chuckled. “Good old Bill.” Lorna was attracted by something she saw below, and he opened the fourth telegram. It read: “Don’t go.”
    Lorna didn’t see him screw it up and drop it under his seat. The engines throbbed the same grim warning note:
    â€œDon’t go, don’t go.”
    Â 

CHAPTER SEVEN
BOMBAY
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    â€œExpectations fulfilled?” asked Mannering.
    There had been some running repairs to the aircraft, and they had been out into the streets of Karachi; into the heat, the colour and the filth, the squalor and the beauty. Mannering could see it all mirrored in Lorna’s eyes; a blurred picture, because neither eyes nor mind had been able to accept everything, and the conscious mind had rejected much.
    â€œWell?” asked Mannering as they climbed into the aircraft.
    â€œI suppose so.” Lorna sounded as confused and numbed as she looked. She looked out of the small, round window, as his gaze fell on the envelope tucked by the side of his seat. Sight of it would have burst the bubble of Lorna’s fascination.
    He sat down, slid it out, then went to the back of the plane, where the magazines were kept. He opened the envelope.
    There was a change of phrasing. This said: “Go back.”
    Lorna still did not know