Leslie Charteris - The Saint Bids Diamonds

"That is enough!"

The shrillness in Graner's voice had gone up a note or two. He stood up, as if in that position he felt it would be easier to re-establish the dominance that was slipping away from him.

"All right!" The Saint's voice also rose, intentionally, as he played into the rising tempo of the situation. "Then you do the talking. And you take the consequences. I don't care much if you all double-cross each other to death. I'll help you!"

"Are you going to answer my questions?"

"Anything you like. But don't blame me if the answers don't please everybody."

"Where's Joris?"

"When I last saw him he was at the hotel."

"And the other man?"

"I told you I lost him at the Casino."

"Was that the truth?"

"No, Reuben. It wasn't."

"Where is he?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea. He might be roaming around anywhere. He may be at the hotel too."

"When are you supposed to meet them?"

"I'm not. I've done all the meeting I have to do."

"What do you know about the ticket?"

"Nearly everything," said the Saint quietly.

Lauber's chair grated on the floor as he pushed it back. He got up like a whale rising to the surface.

"Let me talk to him," he said; and the Saint laughed at him.

"I'll bet you'd like to! But I warned you my answers wouldn't please everybody. You all asked for it. Now you can have it."

"You—"

Graner swung round.

"Be quiet, Lauber. I am doing the questioning." He turned back to the Saint, with his eyes hard and glittering behind his glasses. "You can go on answering me, Templar. Where is the ticket?"

"So far as I know, it's where Lauber put it."

"You god — damn liar!" Lauber roared savagely.

The Saint's cool blue eyes rested on him unruffledly, and the whole of the Saint's mind was at peace with the prevision of triumph. He could feel the volcanic pressure in the air, the clash of antagonised minds locked in a silent struggle with themselves and each other.

"Naturally you'd say that," he murmured. "I think you said much the same thing to Aliston and Palermo last night, but it didn't seem to upset them. They didn't think it was such a fool idea then."

"Graner!" Lauber faced thunderously across the table. "Are you going to let this—"

"There should be no harm in hearing his answer." Graner's voice had gone cold again, but the nervous tightness was still thinning its sarcastic nasal accents. "Perhaps you can justify your statement, Templar. It should be easy to verify. Where do you think Lauber put the ticket?"

"In the car."

"Which car?"

"The Buick. That's the car they chased Joris in last night, isn't it?"

"If it is there, it's because he put it there," said Lauber furiously. "The whole story's a plant." He turned to the others. "Don't you see what he's trying to do? He's trying to set us against each other—"

"I don't have to do that," said the Saint mildly.

"You did that yourselves. But why argue about it? The car's outside. Why doesn't one of you go and have a look? — if there is one of you that the others'll trust that far. You'll find the ticket where Lauber put it, after he'd taken it from Joris, when he woke up in the car coming back here—"

"You mean where you put it!"

Simon looked him in the eye.

"I mean where you put it," he said steadily, and turned his eyes towards Aliston. "Cecil, where did Lauber ride last night?"

Aliston swallowed.

"In the back," he answered hesitantly.

"And that's where Lauber hid the ticket when he thought of double-crossing the lot of you. Somewhere in the back — I don't know where. Under the cushion, or under the floor mat, or in the side pocket. But it won't take long to find it."

"Let him find it!" shouted Lauber. "He knows where he hid it."

Simon raised his eyebrows.

"In the back?" he repeated gently. His gaze swung through a half circle. "You tell him, Reuben. After all, you were with me. Could I have reached the back of the car to hide anything there when we were driving up here? Was I ever alone with the car? I was beside you all the time. You stayed at the wheel when I opened the gates. We came into the house together. Did I have a chance to hide the ticket where you're going to find it?"

The eyes of Aliston and Palermo turned on to Graner. They seemed to slide forward on to the edges of their chairs as they waited breathlessly for the answer.

Graner stared at the Saint for a long moment; and Simon felt that he could read Graner's mind as if it were moving in front of him like a picture on a television screen. Unless the Saint had lost every last gift he had ever had for divining the thoughts of his opponents, Graner was wishing that after all he had kept the bargain he had proposed at the German Bar.

At last Graner's lips shaped their answer.

"No."

The monosyllable dropped into the quivering silence like the plop of a dropped stone reaching the bottom of a well. And after it, like an echo, came the reflex catch of Aliston's and Palermo's breath… Palermo's sleeve rasped the edge of the table with a faint scuff as he jerked his hand back towards his pocket.

Lauber was quicker — he had an advantage, because his gun had been out all the time.

"Stop that!" he yelled.

He flung himself round the table, past Aliston; and Palermo stopped moving suddenly. Lauber's automatic was no longer trained on the Saint alone — it was swivelling from side to side in an arc that embraced everyone else in the room.

Out of the whole gathering, Simon Templar was the only one who remained at ease. Since he had carefully organised the development, it was presumably up to him to. enjoy it; and he did his best, lounging round with one elbow on the table and the other arm looped over the back of his chair, and watching with kindly interest as Lauber backed slowly towards the door, covering them all with his gun.

There was nothing else for Lauber to do, arid Lauber had been quick enough to see it. If he had gone on denying all knowledge of the whereabouts of the ticket, the others would still have searched where the Saint told them; and Lauber couldn't help knowing how much his life would have been worth if it had been proved that the Saint was telling the truth. And even if he had contrived to save his own skin, everything that he had gambled for would have been lost. Whatever happened, Lauber had to stop a deputation of the others going out to search the car. It would certainly shift the proceedings on to a totally different plane; but if the process of disrupting the newly found unity of the ungodly could be continued…

"All right, damn you!" Lauber's heels had reached the door to the hall, and his dark face was flushed with fierce defiance. "I did put the ticket in the car. I'm just a smart double-crosser like the rest of you — only I got more out of it than you will. And I'm keeping what I've got! The first one of you who sticks his face outside the house will get what I'm giving the Saint—"

Simon flung himself sideways as Lauber's gun banged, and heard the plonk of the bullet lodging in the polished table as he spilled over, taking the chair with him. As he rolled over he heard the slam of the door.

Aliston took two steps forward before wisdom stopped him; but Graner reached the door. He grabbed the handle, but the door stayed closed. Graner took out his gun, and a bullet crashed into the lock.

The slam of the front door whanged into the series of explosions as Graner smashed his way out into the hall.

"Don't do it!" screamed Aliston. "He knows where you're coming from, and we don't know where he is!"

Graner grinned back at him, and his drawn yellow face was like a death's — head mask.

"You don't understand," he said.

As Simon drew his legs stealthily up under him, he saw Graner bolting across the hall, straight in line with the open door. Graner's manicured forefinger stabbed at the switch in the opposite wall; and Graner stood there, with that diabolical grin frozen on his face…