Physically, Vanlinden seemed to have more life than he had had the night before; only now his ability to move was more like that of a sleepwalker. It was his mind which had been drained of strength, which seemed to want nothing but to be left in timeless and effortless passivity.
As they reached the hall, Simon heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. He left Hoppy to look after the old man and went to the front door. There was a small grille in one of the panels, and the slide which should have closed it was partly open. Something made the Saint look through it as he put his hand on the latch to open the door; and that one glance was enough to make him whip his fingers away from the knob again as if it had stung him. For the car outside was not a taxi-it was Graner's Buick.
VII How Mr Palermo Continued to Be Unlucky, and Hoppy Uniatz Obeyed Orders
SIMON DIDN'T WAIT to see any more. He spun round as he heard Hoppy coming up behind him, and his eyes blazed a warning which even Mr Uniatz couldn't misunderstand. Hoppy came to a halt, with his jaw drooping.
The Saint's glance scorched round the hall, dissecting all its possibilities in one sizzling survey. It didn't offer cover for a mouse. Upstairs was a dead end. Outside the door were the new arrivals. Around him there was nothing but the door of the ground-floor apartment. Simon felt the handle. As he had anticipated, it was locked. He drew back to arm's length and flung his weight against it, and the lock ceased to function. . . .
The Saint caught Hoppy by the elbow with one hand and Joris Vanlinden with the other. He almost lifted them up bodily and threw them into the room.
'He'll take you to the hotel to wait for Christine,' he said to Vanlinden. Then he looked at Hoppy. 'Wait till the coast's clear. Take him to the Orotava, put him in the room next to mine-Christine's. Then go and look after her at the address I gave you. Don't worry about me. I'll get rid of these guys and follow along.'
Hoppy's mouth opened wider as the full meaning of these orders for desertion penetrated through his ears.
'Boss --'
'Don't argue!' said the Saint, and pushed him back into the room.
He closed the door in his face and leapt silently to the foot of the stairs as the key rattled in the lock of the front door. He realised what a desperate risk he was taking in every direction, but there was no other way. He couldn't send Vanlinden with Hoppy to Keena's apartment, because Aliston was searching for that hide-out and might already have found it, in which case Hoppy would have his hands full enough without any added encumbrances. The hotel was dangerous enough, with Graner's chauffeur watching it from the other side of the road; but at least he couldn't stop them going in, and Vanlinden would be safe there for a little while-so long as the gang didn't know about Christine's room. And the Saint himself had to stay behind, because apart from the more manifest obstacles to a joint getaway there was the matter of a loud crash when he disarranged the lock of the downstairs apartment which must have been audible outside and would want accounting for.
All these things streaked through his mind like a volley of tracer bullets as he dropped himself on the ground at the foot of the stairway; and as the front door opened he began ostentatiously picking himself up. He heard quick steps coming towards him, and raised his eyes to the figures silhouetted against the light of the open door.
'Put your hands up!'
It was Graner's voice.
Simon completed the job of fetching himself upright and went on brushing the dust off his clothes.
'Oh, it's you,' he said calmly, as if it had never occurred to him that the order was caused by anything but a mistake in his identity due to the dim light. 'Why the hell can't they put a light on these damn stairs? I nearly broke my neck. Did you ever hear anyone come down with such a thump?'
The other man who had come in was Lauber. He ranged himself at Graner's side; and both of them kept their guns trained in the Saint.
'What are you doing?' said Graner.
Simon continued to ignore the artillery.
'Didn't the girl tell you?' he asked innocently.
He had already formed his own theory about why she had taken such a long time to find a taxi, and the response to the feeler he had put out confirmed his suspicion in the next instant.
'She said you had had a fight with Palermo.'
'That's right,' said the Saint coolly. 'I beat the hell out of him too. Come upstairs and I'll show you.'
He turned and started up the stairs so confidently that he heard the other two following him without protest.
Mr Palermo still slept. The Saint turned him over and raised him by his collar to examine him. Palermo's head lolled back limply. The new bruise on his chin was coming along nicely. He moaned in his sleep as though he might be wondering whether it was time to wake up. Simon let him flop down so that the back of his head cracked heavily on the tiles, and hoped that that would discourage the idea for a while.
Graner and Lauber kept their guns in their hands while they studied Palermo in his slumber. Graner was the first to turn back to the Saint.
'What is this about?' he demanded in his aloof sneering way.
'I told the girl to give you a message.'
'She rang up for Aliston and gave the message for him.'
'For sheer half-wittedness give me a spick any day. I told her to tell you that Aliston was in it, in case you knew where he was!'
'Was this in Spanish?'
Simon shook his head and inwardly promised himself a kick in the pants at the first convenient opportunity.
