18 The Saint Bids Diamonds (Thieves' Picnic)

Graner was untouched by any such influence. He went on staring at the Saint with the vicious lines deepening on either side of his mouth.

'Where had they put it?'

Simon shrugged.

'I'm blowed if I know, Reuben. It doesn't seem to matter, either, because they've gone off to look for it.'

'And you sent them off --'

The Saint lounged back against the door frame and regarded him pityingly.

'My dear ass,' he said, 'how many more times have I got to tell you that you need more of my brains? I've got Christine, haven't I? And they don't know where she is, and they haven't an earthly chance of finding out. I told them the same thing that I told you-that she's my hostage for a square deal. D'you think Joris will let anyone start any funny business while his daughter is in my hands?'

The Saint's first blow had punched Graner in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. This one hit him under the chin. He took it with a slight involuntary backward jerk of his head which rearranged the expressive lines of his face. Comprehension hammered some of the cold malevolence out of his eyes.

'What else did you tell them?'

'I told them they could have till midnight to show me the ticket, or it would be too bad about Christine. When they've produced the ticket we'll go on talking business. It all came to me in a flash, after I'd sent the girl to phone you.'

'Did they hear what you told her?'

'Yes. But that only made it more effective. It was as if I'd saved their lives. I told them I'd find a way to square you, and turned 'em loose. It was a brain wave. Why shouldn't we let them work for us? They're holding more cards than we are-let them play the hand for us. We can still pick up the stakes. I told them the deal I'd made with Christine, and made 'em see that they'd got to accept it. They had to fall into line, and they can't fall out. They haven't any choice left, and I made them see it. No ticket, no Christine.'

Graner took the words into his system one by one and kept them there. The crisp, incontrovertible logic of the Saint's exposition crushed all the argument out of him.

Simon watched him with encouraging affability. He was beginning to get Graner's measure. The Saint treated his opponents like a boxer sizing up an antagonist in the ring, ruthlessly searching for the weaknesses that would open the way for a winning punch. Graner's weakness was his conceit of himself as a strategist: the appeal to a point of generalship was a bait that brought him on to the hook every time. And once again, as on the last occasion, Simon saw the murderous suspicion in Graner's gaze overshadowed by a glitter of unwilling respect.

The Saint's mocking blue eyes turned towards Lauber; and the expression on the big man's face completed the picture in its own way.

'I guess I'm due for an apology,' he said slowly. 'You were too far ahead of me.'

'I usually am,' said the Saint modestly. 'But you get used to that after a while.'

Graner seemed to become aware that he was still holding his automatic pointed at the Saint. He looked down at it absently and put it away in his pocket.

'If you can go on like this,' he said, 'you will have no reason to regret joining us. I can use someone like you; especially . . .'

He turned slowly round as a muffled groan inter­rupted him. Lauber turned also. They all looked at Palermo, who was sitting up with one hand holding his jaw and the other clasping the back of his head.

'. . . especially as there will be some vacancies in the organisation,' Graner said corrosively.

Palermo stared up at them, his face grey and pasty, while the meaning of his position was borne in upon him and he made a desperate effort to drag some reply out of his numbed and aching brain. Lauber drew a deep breath, and his under lip jutted savagely. He took three steps across the room and grasped Paler­mo's coat lapels in one of his big-boned hands, drag­ging him almost to his feet and shaking him like a rag doll.

'You dirty little double-crossing rat!' he snarled.

Palermo struggled feebly in the big man's savage grip.

'What have I done?' he demanded shrilly. 'You can't say that to me. He's the guy who's double-crossing us- Tombs! Why don't you do something about him --'

Lauber drew back his free fist and knocked Palermo spinning with a brutal blow on the mouth.

'Say that again, you louse,' he grated. 'Last night you were trying to make out I was double-crossing you. Now it's Tombs. It 'll be Graner next.'

Simon put his hands in his pockets and made him­self comfortable against the door, prepared to miss none of the riper gorgeousness of Lauber's display of righteous indignation. The spectacle of the ungodly falling out with one another could have diverted him for some time; but Reuben Graner intervened.

'That will do, Lauber,' he said in his soft, evil voice. 'Have you anything to say, Palermo?'

'It's a frame-up!' panted the Italian. 'Tombs came here and beat me up --'

'Did you have Joris and another man here?'

'I never saw them!'

'Tombs-and Maria-saw them here.'

'They're lying.'

'Then how do you explain the ropes on the bed? And why did you bring Tombs here? And why were you going to torture Tombs?'