“Would you mind going ahead of me?”
The guard backed out the door, and Simon followed him into — as he had suspected — the main area of a warehouse. It, like the smaller room, held nothing more interesting than empty crates.
“How did you get untied?” the guard asked.
“Tied?” Simon asked, wickedly. “I never was tied.”
A frown began at the guard’s crew-cut hairline and spread down over the rest of his wide face. “Whatta you mean you wasn’t tied? Sure you was tied.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
The guard pointed at him and said desperately: “Now look, you was tied, and don’t tell me you wasn’t tied.”
“Okay,” Simon said with a smile. “1 was just kidding. But I sure am grateful to whoever it was that untied me.”
The goon had started to relax, but now his face crinkled again, like the face of an extremely large baby about to erupt into squalls.
“You’re tellin’ me somebody untied you? Who do ya think—”
“I don’t know who he was,” Simon said nonchalantly. “Little guy.” He indicated with one palm very near the floor. “About so high. Two or three feet. Green pointed hat and a long white beard. Do you know him?”
“You’re pullin’ my leg,” the guard announced warily, after a moment’s consideration. “Nobody could have gotten in there anyways because I was right out here the whole time.”
“Whatever you say,” Simon murmured. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me why you’re letting me go.”
“They just come and tole me to let you go. They didn’t give no reason or nothin’ else.”
“Who come?” Simon queried, feeling like part of the cast of a Tarzan movie.
“Never mind who come,” the guard said belligerently. “Never mind anything. Just beat it!”
“I just wondered why anybody would go to all the trouble to give me a room for the night and then kick me out of it before morning. It is before morning, isn’t it? Somebody seems to have mislaid my wristwatch.”
“Probably that little green guy,” the guard said, and grinned with glee at his own wit. He looked at his wrist. “It’s one o’clock in the middle of the night. Now would you beat it so I can get home and get some sleep?”
“I don’t suppose I could have my gun back?” Simon asked.
“I ain’t got your gun or nothin’ else.”
Simon went to the door.
“Could you tell me where I am?” he enquired. “It might help me to get somewhere else.”
“You’re on the River, and you’re lucky you ain’t in it, so get goin’.”
“Well, thanks for the hospitality. Your floor’s very comfortable but your roaches need polishing.”
He glanced back and saw the guard picking up the discarded length of rope, from which he would try to unravel the mystery of the Saint’s escape.
Chapter 8
If the guard had something to be briefly puzzled about, the Saint had much more. As he walked out of the dark neighbour-hood of warehouses and loading ramps — noting that the place where he had been held was marked condemned — philadelphia fire department — his mind kept sifting the information he had so far, and getting nowhere. It didn’t make any sense at all that the group at The Pear Tree, who knew him as a man who had attacked a couple of their members the night before and burst into their communications centre demanding to see their Most High and Secret Leader, knew him as a potential if not a present danger, and had him in their clutches, would have tossed him casually back into the stream like a minnow not worth bothering about.
It was enough to wound a lesser man’s pride, but the Saint was already thinking of his next move. And that would be to backtrack and take up where he had left off a few hours before. Presumably he might be in an even better position now to negotiate as the representative of West Coast Kelly, or at least no worse. When he finally found a cab, he directed it straight back to The Pear Tree.
But even from the window of the taxi he could see that the place was dark.
“Do they usually shut down by one o’clock?” Simon asked the driver.
“Naw. More like four o’clock. Ain’t that a sign on the door?”
Simon got out, crossed the sidewalk, and looked at the card taped under the brass name plate.
THE MANAGEMENT REGRETS THAT THE PEAR TREE WILL BE CLOSED TEMPORARILY FOR REDECORATING.
He knocked on the door anyway, just in case somebody should still be round, but there was no response. When he got back to the New Sylvania, he phoned The Pear Tree’s number; there was no answer.
He walked to one of the windows of his room, looked out over the lights of the city, and pondered the enigma: closed for redecorating. Just like a prodded turtle drawing in its head and legs. And all because of one man? Had he been recognised as the Saint? Even if he had, it didn’t add up. Simon felt that somewhere he must have missed a pointer, a hint that would put some meaning into apparently senseless events. He felt that an embryonic answer was stirring somewhere in his subconscious, but he could not dredge it to the surface. He was too tired, still a little dopey from the drug. Tomorrow it would all be clearer.
He was checking the night latch on his door when his phone rang. Maybe this would be it, his mysterious opponent’s next move.
“Simon!” Carole cried. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. Are you all right? Didn’t you get my messages?”
“About five minutes ago, when I came in,” Simon said. “But I thought it was too late to call you. Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Asleep?” Carole said incredulously. “How on earth could I sleep? What happened to you?”
Simon chose his words carefully.
“I was detained. Unavoidably detained. Circumstances beyond my control. I’m just sorry you got upset.”
“Upset isn’t the word for it. I even had Daddy calling the police about you. Did they find you?”
“No. I found myself. Wasn’t that a little alarmist? What did you think had happened to me? You’re the potential kidnap victim, remember. Nobody would pay any ransom for me.”
“I didn’t know what had happened, but I was going crazy. What was it ‘detained’ you?”
“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Now you can call off the constabulary and we can all get some sleep.”
Her voice dropped with disappointment.
“Can’t you come up and tell me now?”
“I don’t think your papa would approve. Not at this hour of the morning. And I’m not feeling too bright right now. Some of these business conferences leave you with a thick head.”
“You’re mad at me,” she sulked.
“No. I’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow. How about that?”
She had to agree. They made the arrangements, but she was reluctant to hang up.
Her lingering gave Simon a chance to ask a question that was suddenly hammering for release.
“Your father really called the police?”
“Yes; I begged him to do it. He has a lot of friends there. He’s done a lot for them.”
“Who was it he called?”
“I don’t know,” Carole said. “I wasn’t in the room. Does it matter?”
“No,” he answered softly. “It doesn’t matter. Good night now.”
“Good night,” she said. “I love you.”
Simon settled the telephone slowly into its cradle and sat for a long time without moving. In his stomach there was a sinking, almost sick feeling.
Nobody knew that he had been missing last night, except the back-room boys at The Pear Tree... and Carole Angelworth. Therefore, nobody outside the Angelworth household could have ordered, or induced the Supremo to order his release. Therefore the Supremo had to be actually in the Police Department, or...