The Saint Goes West s-23

by Leslie Charteris

  "Brrr," said Ginny. "You're giving me goose-pimples. Why don't you just call the cops?"

  "Because the Saint's a lot smarter than the cops," said Freddie. "That's what I hired him for. He can run rings round the cops any day. He's been doing it for years. Lissa knows all about him, because she reads things. You tell them about him, Lissa."

  He came over with Х clusters of Manhattans in his hands, poured out in goblets that would have been suitable for fruit punch.

  "Let her off," said the Saint hastily. "If she really knows the whole story of my life she might shock somebody. Let's do some serious drinking instead."

  "Okay," said Freddie amiably. "You're the boss. You go on being the mystery man. Let's all get stinking."

  The fact that they did not all get stinking was certainly no fault of Freddie Pellman's. It could not be denied that he did his generous best to assist his guests to attain that state of ideal ossification. His failure could only be attributed to the superior discretion of the company, and the remarkably high level of resistance which they seemed to have in comнmon.

  It was quite a classic performance in its way. Freddie concocted two more Manhattans, built on the same scale as milk shakes. There was then a brief breathing spell while they went to their rooms to change. Then they went to the Doll House for dinner. They had two more normal-sized cocktails before the meal, and champagne with it. After that they had brandy. Then they proceeded to visit all the other bars up and down the main street, working from north to south and back again. They had Zombies at the Luau, Plantнer's Punches at the Cubana, highballs at the Chi Chi, and more highballs at Bil-Al's. Working back, they freshened up with some beer at Happy's, clamped it down with a Collins at the Del Tahquitz, topped it with Daiquiris at the Royal Palms, and discovered tequila at Claridge's. This brought them back to the Doll House for another bottle of champagne. They were all walking on their own feet and talking intelliнgibly, if not profoundly. People have received medals for less notable feats. It must be admitted nevertheless that there had been a certain amount of cheating. The girls, undoubtedly educated by past experiences, had contrived to leave a reнspectable number of drinks unfinished; and Simon Templar, who had also been around, had sundry legerdemains of his own for keeping control of the situation.

  Freddie Pellman probably had an advantage over all of them in the insulating effect of past picklings, but Simon had to admit that the man was remarkable. He had been alcoholic when Simon met him, but he seemed to progress very little beyond that stage. Possibly he navigated with a little more difficulty, but he could still stand upright; possibly his speech became a little more slurred, but he could still be underнstood; certainly he became rather more glassy-eyed, but he could still see what was going on. It was as if there was a definite point beyond which his calloused tissues had no further power to assimilate liquid stimulus: being sodden already, the overflow washed over them without depositing any added exhilaration.

  He sat and looked at his glass and said: "There must be some other joints we haven't been to yet."

  Then he rolled gently over sideways and lay flat on the floor, snoring.

  Ginny gazed down at him estimatingly and said: "That's only the third time I've seen him pass out. It must be catchнing up with him."

  "Well, now we can relax," said Esther, and moved her chair closer to the Saint.

  "I think we'd better get him home," Lissa said.

  It seemed like a moderately sound idea, since the head waiter and the proprietor were advancing towards the scene with professional restraint.

  Simon helped to hoist Freddie up, and they got him out to the car without waking him. The Saint drove them back to the house, and the lights went up as they stopped at the door. The Filipino boy came out and helped phlegmatically with the disembarcation. He didn't show either surprise or disapнproval. Apparently such homecomings were perfectly normal events in his experience.

  Between them they carried the sleeper to his room and laid him on the bed.

  "Okay," said the boy. "I take care of him now."

  He began to work Freddie expertly out of his coat.

  "You seem to have the touch," said the Saint. "How long have you been in this job?"

  " 'Bout six months. He's all right. You leave him to me, sir. I put him to bed."

  "What's your name?"

  "Angelo, sir. I take care of him. You want anything, you tell me."

  "Thanks," said the Saint, and drifted back to the living-room.

  He arrived in the course of a desultory argument which sugнgested that the threat which had been virtually ignored all evening had begun to seem a little less ludicrous with the arнrival of bedtime.

  "You can move in with me, Ginny," Lissa was saying.

  "Nuts," said Ginny. "You'll sit up half the night reading, and I want some sleep."

  "For a change," said Esther. "I'll move in with you, Lissa."

  "You snore," said Lissa candidly.

  "I don't!"

  "And where does that leave me?" Ginny protested.

  "I expect you'll find company," Esther said sulkily. "You've been working for it hard enough."

  Simon coughed discreetly.

  "Angelo is in charge," he said, "and I'm going to turn in."

  "What, so soon?" pouted Esther. "Let's all have another drink first. I know, let's have a game of strip poker."

  "I'm sorry," said the Saint. "I'm not so young as I was this afternoon. I'm going to get some sleep."

  "I thought you were supposed to be a bodyguard," said Ginny.

  The Saint smiled.

  "I am, darling. I guard Freddie's body."

  "Freddie's passed out. You ought to keep us company."

  "It's all so silly," Lissa said. "I'm not scared. We haven't anything to be afraid of. Even if that note was serious, it's Freddie they're after. Nobody's going to do anything to us."

  "How do you know they won't get into the wrong room?" Esther objected.

  "You can hang a sign on your door," Simon suggested, "giving them directions. Goodnight, pretty maidens."

  He made his exit before there could be any more discusнsion, and went to his bedroom.

  The bedrooms trailed away from the house in a long L-shaped wing. Freddie's room was at the far end of the wing, and his door faced down the broad, screened verandah by which the rooms were reached. Simon had the room next to it, from which one of the girls had been moved: their rooms were now strung around the angle of the L towards the main building. There was a communicating door on both sides of his room. He tried the one which should have opened in to Freddie's room, but he found that there was a second door backing closely against it, and that one was locked. He went around by the verandah, and found Angelo preparing to turn out the lights.

  "He sleep well now," said the Filipino with a grin. "You no worry."

  Freddie was neatly tucked into bed, his clothes carefully folded over a chair. Simon went over and looked at him. He certainly wasn't dead at that point-his snoring was stertoнrously alive.

  The Saint located the other side of the communicating door, and tried the handle. It still wouldn't move, and there was no key in the lock.

  "D'you know how to open this, Angelo?" he asked. The Filipino shook his head. "Don't know. Is lock?"

  "Is lock."

  "I never see key. Maybe somewhere."

  "Maybe," Simon agreed.

  It didn't look like a profitable inquiry to pursue much further, and Simon figured that it probably didn't matter. He still hadn't developed any real conviction of danger over shadowing the house, and at that moment the idea seemed particularly far-fetched. He went out of the room, and the Filipino switched off the light.

  "Everything already lock up, sir. You no worry. I go to sleep now."

  "Happy dreams," said the Saint.

  He returned to his own room, and undressed and rolled into bed. He felt in pretty good shape, but he didn't want to start the next day with an unnecessary headache. He was likely to ha
ve enough other headaches without that. Aside from the drinking pace and the uninhibited feminine hazнards, he felt that a day would come when Freddie Pellman's conversational style would cease to hold him with the same eager fascination that it created at the first encounter. Evenнtually, he felt, a thousand dollars a day would begin to seem like a relatively small salary for listening to Freddie talk. But that was something that could be faced when the time came. Maybe he would be able to explain it to Freddie and get a raise....

  With that he fell asleep. He didn't know how long it lasted, but it was deep and relaxed. And it ended with an electrifyнing suddenness that was as devastating as the collapse of a tall tower of porcelain. But the sound was actually a little different. It was a shrill shattering scream that brought him wide awake in an instant and had him on his feet while the echo was still ringing in his ears.

  3 THERE WAS ENOUGH starlight outside for the windows to be rectangles of silver, but inside the room he was only just able to find his dressing-gown without groping. His gun was already in his hand, for his fingers had closed on it instincнtively where the butt lay just under the edge of the mattress at the natural length of his arm as he lay in bed. He threw the robe on and whipped a knot into the belt, and was on his way to the door within two seconds of waking.

  Then the scream came again, louder now that he wasn't hearing it through a haze of sleep, and in a way more deliberate. And it came, he was certain, not from the direction in which he had first automatically placed it, without thinking, but from the opposite quarter-the room on the opposite side of his own.

  He stopped in mid-stride, and turned quickly back to the other communicating door. This one was not locked. It was a double door like the one to Freddie's room, but the second handle turned smoothly with his fingers. As he started to open it, the door outlined itself with light: he did the only possible thing, and threw it wide open quickly but without any noise, and stepped swiftly through and to one side, with his gun balanced for instant aiming in any direction.

  He didn't see anything to aim at. He didn't see anyone there except Lissa.

  She was something to see, if one had the time. She was sitting upright in bed, and she wore a filmy flesh-colored nightнgown with white overtones. At least, that was the first imнpression. After a while, you realised that it was just a filmy white nightgown and the flesh color was Lissa. She had her mouth open, and she looked exactly as if she was going to scream again. Then she didn't look like that any more.

  "Hullo," she said, quite calmly. "I thought that'd fetch you."

  "Wouldn't there have been a more subtle way of doing it?" Simon asked.

  "But there was someone here, really. Look."

  Then he saw it-the black wooden hilt of a knife that stood up starkly from the bedding close beside her. The resignation went out of his face again as if it had never been there.

  "Where did he go?"

  "I don't know-out of one of the doors. If he didn't go into your room, he must have gone out on to the porch or into Ginny's room."

  Simon crossed to the other door and stepped out on to the verandah. Lights came on as he did so, and he saw Freddie Pellman swaying in the doorway at the dead end of the L.

  "Whassamarrer?" Freddie demanded thickly. "What goes on?"

  "We seem to have had a visitor," said the Saint succinctly. "Did anybody come through your room?"

  "Anybody come through my room? I dunno. No. I didn't see anybody. Why should anybody come through my room?"

  "To kiss you goodnight," said the Saint tersely, and headed in the other direction.

  There was no other movement on the verandah. He knocked briefly on the next door down, and opened it and switched on the light. The bed was rumpled but empty, and a shaft of light came through the communicating door. All the bedrooms seemed to have communicating doors, which either had its advantages or it didn't. Simon went on into the next room. The bed in there had the covers pulled high up, and appeared to be occupied by a small quivering hippopotamus. He went up to it and tapped it on the most convenient bulge.

  "Come on," he said. "I just saw a mouse crawl in with you."

  There was a stifled squeal, and Esther's head and shoulнders and a little more jumped into view in the region of the pillow.

  "Go away!" she yelped inarticulately. "I haven't done anything--"

  Then she recognised him, and stopped abruptly. She took a moment to straighten her dark hair. At the same time the other half of the baby hippopotamus struggled up beside her, revealing that it had a red-gold head and a snub nose.

  "Oh, it's you," said Ginny. "Come on in. We'll make room for you."

  "Well, make yourselves at home," said Esther. "This just happens to be my room--"

  "Little children," said the Saint, with great patience, "I don't want to spoil anybody's fun, but I'm looking for a hairy thug who seems to be rushing around trying to stick knives into people."

  They glanced at each other in a moment's silence. "Wh-who did he stick a knife into?" Ginny asked.

  "Nobody. He missed. But he was trying. Did you see him?"

  She shook her head.

  "Nobody's been in here," said Esther, "except Ginny. I heard a frightful scream, and I jumped up and put the light on, and the next minute Ginny came rushing in and got into my bed."

  "It was Lissa," said Ginny. "I'm sure it was. The scream sounded like it was right next door. So I ran in here. But I didn't see anyone." She swallowed, and her eyes grew big.

  "Is Lissa--?"

  "No," said the Saint bluntly. "Lissa's as well as you are. And so is Freddie. But somebody's been up to mischief toнnight, and we're looking for him. Now will you please get out of bed and pull yourselves together, because we're going to search the house."

  "I can't," said Esther. "I haven't got anything on." "Don't let it bother you," said the Saint tiredly. "If a burнglar sees you he'll probably swoon on the spot, and then the rest of us will jump on him and tie him up."

  He took a cigarette from a package beside the bed, and went on his way. It seemed as if he had wasted a lot of time, but actually it had scarcely been a minute. Out on the veranнdah he saw that the door of Lissa's room was open, and through it he heard Freddie Pellman's obstructed croak repetitiously imploring her to tell him what had happened. As he went on towards the junction of the main building, lights went on in the living-room and a small mob of chatterнing figures burst out and almost swarmed over him as he opened the door into the arched alcove that the bedroom wing took off from. Simon spread out his arms and collected them in a sheaf.

  "Were you going somewhere, boys?" There were three of them, in various interesting costumes. Reading from left to right, they were: Angelo, in red, green, and purple striped pyjamas, another Filipino in a pair of very natty bright blue trousers, and a large gentleman in a white nightshirt with spiked moustaches and a vandyke.

  Angelo said: "We hear some lady scream, so we come to see what's the matter."

  Simon looked at him shrewdly.

  "How long have you worked for Mr. Pellman?"

  "About six months, sir."

  "And you never heard any screaming before?"

  The boy looked at him sheepishly, without answering.

  The stout gentleman in the nightshirt said with some digнnity: "Ziss wass not ordinairy screaming. Ziss wass quite deefairent. It sounds like somebody iss in trouble. So we sink about ze note zat Meestair Pellman receive, and we come to help."

  "Who are you?" asked the Saint. "I am Louis, sir. I am ze chef."

  "Enfin, quand nous aurons pris notre assassin, vous aurez le plaisir de nous servir ses rognons, lщgшrement grillщs."

  The man stared at him blankly for a second or two, and finally said: "I'm sorry, sir, I don't ondairstand." "You don't speak French?"

  "No, sir."

  "Then what are you doing with that accent?"

  "I am Italian, sir, but I lairn this accent because she iss good business."

  Simon gave up for the time be
ing.

  "Well, let's get on with this and search the house. You didn't see any strangers on your way here?"

  "No, sir," Angelo answered. "Did anyone get hurt?"

  "No, but we seem to have had a visitor."

  "I no understand," the Filipino insisted. "Everything lock up, sir. I see to it myself."

  "Then somebody opened something," said the Saint curtly. "Go and look."

  He went on his own way to the front door. It was locked and bolted. He opened it and went outside.

  Although there seemed to have been a large variety of acнtion and dialogue since Lissa's scream had awakened him, it had clicked through at such a speed that the elapsed tune was actually surprisingly short. As he stood outside and gave his eyes a moment to adjust themselves to the darkness he tried to estimate how long it had been. Not long enough, he was sure, for anyone to travel very far ... And then the night cleared from his eyes, and he could see almost as well as a cat could have seen there. He went to the edge of the terrace in front of the house, and looked down. He could see the priнvate road which was the only vehicular approach to the place dropping and winding away to his left like a gray ribbon careнlessly thrown down the mountainside, and there was no car or moving shadow on it. Most of the street plan at the foot of the hill was as clearly visible also as if he had been looking down on it from an airplane, but he could see nothing human or mechanical moving there either. And even with all his deнlays, it hardly seemed possible that anything or anyone could have travelled far enough to be out of sight by that time-at least without making a noise that he would have heard on his way through the house.

  There were, of course, other ways than the road. The steep slopes both upwards and downwards could have been neнgotiated by an agile man. Simon walked very quietly around the building and the gardens, scanning every surface that he could see. Certainly no one climbing up or down could have covered a great distance: on the other hand, if the climber had gone only a little way and stopped moving he would have been very hard to pick out of the ragged patchwork of lights and shadows that the starlight made out of tumbles of broken rock and clumps of cactus and incense and grease-wood. By the same token, a man on foot would be imposнsibly dangerous game to hunt at night: he only had to keep still, whereas the hunter had to move, and thereby give his quarry the first timed deliberate shot at him.