"You had better write them a note," Graner was saying.
Simon nodded and walked through the lounge like an automaton to one of the writing desks. His mind was reeling under such a disordered inrush of questions that none of them made any individual impression. Presently he would be able to restore some sort of order and tackle them one by one, but that first insane confusion left him in a daze.
He sat down and drew a sheet of paper towards him, aware that Graner had followed him and was standing over him while he wrote. He unscrewed his fountain pen, and gained a few seconds' respite while he addressed an envelope to Miss H. Uniatz-hoping that the wavy-haired boy's knowledge of English was as incomplete as he reckoned it to be. Then he wrote: DEAR MISS UNIATZ : I'm terribly sorry that I shall have to break our appointment for lunch today. As you know, I am not here on a pleasure trip, and the firm I am employed by insists that I must start at once.
I'm sorry, too, that I shan't have time to help you find an apartment as I had promised; although I still think it would be the best thing for you to do. Your best plan would be to ask Camacho's Excursions about it-they are the local Cook's agents, and very useful people. I hope you'll soon be successful, because I quite see that you won't want to stay at a hotel any longer than you have to.
With more apologies, and all good wishes, Sincerely yours, S. Tombs.
He sealed the envelope and gave it to the boy at the desk with a silent prayer that some of its insinuations would percolate into the globe of seasoned ivory on which Mr Uniatz wore his hat-or, if they didn't, that he would ask Christine what she made of it.
"The gentleman is leaving today," Graner explained in Spanish. "Will you make out his bill and send someone up for his luggage?"
"En seguida."
Graner rode up with Simon in the elevator, which had apparently been induced to function again since the previous night. The cigar burned down evenly in the amber holder clipped between his teeth. Simon studied him inconspicuously and found it incredible that, if there was any secret jubilation going on in Reuben Graner's mind, there should be so little sign of it on his face. Besides, if Graner's suspicions had been so aroused, would he be taking the risk of going up alone to a room where he could so easily be silently and efficiently knocked over the head? Or would he have let the Saint come there at all, where he could so easily announce that he intended to stay-where Graner could do nothing to prevent him? But there was still the inexplicable failure of Hoppy Uniatz to answer the telephone. . . . The Saint felt as if his brain was being torn apart with unanswerable questions.
They came to the door of his room, and he turned the handle and walked in-he hadn't even troubled to lock the door when he went out to put the Hirondel away the night before. And he was inside the room before he saw that Christine Vanlinden was sitting on the bed.
IV How Simon Templar Rose to the Occasion, and the Thieves' Picnic Got Further Under Way
IT WAS SO UNEXPECTED that the Saint had no chance to do anything. He was too far into the room to draw back; and Graner was so close behind him that he knew Graner must have seen. He wondered if there was still time to pretend he had blundered into the wrong room-but then, there was his luggage. And Graner wouldn't leave it at that, anyhow, whether it was the wrong room or the right one.
Simon stared at the girl blankly.
"What are you doing here ?" he demanded.
It was simply the first thing that came into his head; but the instant he had said it he knew that his instinct must have worked faster than his brain.
"I think you must have lost your way," he said coldly.
He heard the door close softly behind him, and was aware that Graner had moved up to his side. He felt something round and hard jab into his waist, and knew exactly what it was. But for the moment he pretended not to notice it.
Christine had stopped looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on Graner, and they were growing wider with terror.
"Yes, Christine." There was a catlike purr in Graner's precious accents. "You did lose your way, didn't you?"
Simon swung round on him.
"Do you know her?"
The other barely glanced at him.
"An excessively stupid question," he said drily.
"Then what's the game?" Simon shot back at him raspily. "Did you send her here?"
Graner looked at him a second time, swinging his thin little malacca cane in his left hand. His right hand bulged in the side pocket of his coat. But this time his small beady eyes didn't switch away again at once. The Saint read something in them that even Graner's self-control couldn't conceal; and at that instant he knew that nothing less than his own overworked guardian angel could have put into his head the wild inspiration on which he had acted. His unhesitating comeback had thrown Graner completely off his balance. For the first time since they had met, the other was actually at a disadvantage.
Simon drove on into the breach that his counterattack had opened up in Graner's guard.
"Is she supposed to be seeing what I've got in my luggage, or what's she doing?" he insisted furiously. "I'm telling you, Graner-there are too damn many fishy things about this job to suit me. I'll put up with a lot; but if you're not playing square with me, we're through!"
Graner's stick swung a little more jerkily.
"You have nothing to worry about," he replied harshly, as if that was intended to dismiss the subject; but the bluff lacked force, "Well, what's she doing?"
"I have no idea."
"Then how did you know she'd lost her way?"
"That is not your business."
"Then why d'you have to stick that gun in my ribs when you find her here ?"
"Be quiet!"
Simon leaned one shoulder on the wall and looked down contemptuously at the gun that was still stretching Graner's pocket out of shape.
"What are you playing with it for?" he jeered. "If you want it to shut me up, you've got to use the trigger. Of course you're not at home now, so it might be a bit awkward for you."
"I'm trying to prevent you making a scene," said Graner, and his voice was not as steady as it had been. "If you will stop making so much noise, we shall be able to get this straightened out."
He turned away abruptly; and Christine Vanlinden's eyes flashed from one face to the other like the eyes of a hunted animal. Her lips were parted, and one hand was crushed against her breast as if it hurt her.
Graner began to step towards her.
"It is fortunate that we found you so soon," he said silkily. "Santa Cruz is not a good place for you to be put on your own. I trust you are ready to come home now?"
She sprang suddenly to her feet.
"No!"
"My dear Christine! You must not let yourself get hysterical. Where is Joris? Perhaps we can take him as well."
"No!" she sobbed. "I won't go back! I'm never going back. You can't take me --"
His clawlike hand made a snatch and caught her wrist.
"Perhaps you have Joris' ticket?" he snarled.
She shrank back until the wall stopped her, staring at him as if she had been hypnotised by a snake, with the breath labouring in her throat. And at that moment there was a knock on the door.
Involuntarily her eyes turned towards the sound. Simon saw her take a quick breath that could have only one purpose, and flung himself off the wall against which he had been lounging as if a spring had been released behind him.