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
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
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