[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
raced over everything, without stirring one fibre of that deep physical
repose.
So this was it ... It seemed simple enough, now, so simple that he had to
deride the energy he had squandered on all his preliminary alertness. Rogers
had seen him, recognised him, and beaten him to the draw. He didn't remember
ever having seen Rogers before, but that was no reason to think that Rogers
didn't know him-he had to be more than a name to at least some of the units in
the chain of conspiracy. Lafe Jennet might be back on the road at Olustee by
that time, but there were plenty of other ways for Jesse Rogers to have
learned that the cat was out and the Saint was on his trail. So Rogers-or the
men behind Rogers-had merely taken the dilemma by the horns . . .
"Of course," said the Saint easily. "I'll be right along."
Page 87
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The waiter bowed disinterestedly, and moved a little way off. And the Saint
found Karen's eyes fixed on him.
"Will you excuse me?" he said.
"We could have another dance first. And then Hoppy'll be back to keep me
company."
It seemed as if that was all she could think of to say, to delay him, without
making a confession or a betrayal that they both knew was impossible. He
smiled.
"Why not now?" he said quietly. "Hoppy'll be back, but I wouldn't have taken
him anyway. Rogers and I have a little personal business. I came here to see
him, so I might as well do it. I don't know what's in his mind, but I'll find
out. And if he knows that I work that way, and he's ready for it-I'll find
that out too."
She didn't speak or move for a moment.
Then her hand touched his hand, lightly; and the touch was a kiss, or an
embrace, or more than that, or nothing.
"Good luck, Saint."
"I've always been much too lucky," he said, and turned away at once, and_went
after the waiter.
He wanted it to be that way, to go into swift movement and the exalting leap
of danger that left no time for profitless introspection and static
gentleness; he was tired of thinking. There was no bravado in it. He wanted
whatever they had waiting-wanted it with an insolent and desperate desire.
"Lead on, Adolphus," he said, and the waiter's eyes barely flickered.
"Yes, sir. This way."
They went around the perimeter of the room, past the front of the orchestra,
and through the curtained doorway that served the floor show artistes for an
entrance. A passage turned to the left, parallelling the wall for a couple of
yards, and then turned straight back at right angles.
Simon stopped at the corner of the L and adjusted a shoelace that was
perfectly well tied. March and Friede had both been dancing when he crossed
the floor, but if it was part of their plan to follow him closely into the
back of the building he could do no harm by confusing the timetable. He spent
rather a long time over the shoelace, long enough for them to have blundered
into him, but no one followed.
He straightened up at last and went on.
The passage was about eighty feet long, ending in a door which from the iron
bars over its pebble glass panel he guessed to be an exit from the building.
The wall on the left gave out warmth for a few yards as he passed it, and a
muted rattle and dink of metal and china that came through it suggested a
kitchen. Aside from that blank space, there were plain doors on both sides. A
pretty blackhaired girl in a gaudy print brassiere and sarong came out of one
door, passed them with hardly a glance, and went on to wait for her
announcement. Further down, on the other side, a twittering of high-pitched
Page 88
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
male voices came through another door. It opened, and something in a strapless
sequin gown and a silver wig came out, leered at them, said "Wooo!", and
vanished through the door opposite like a leprechaun.
The waiter stopped just beyond that point, and Simon came up alongside him.
"The last door, sir, on the left"
"Thank you."
The Saint passed him and strolled on. The steadiness of his movement was a
triumph of cold nerve over instinct, but he felt as if there was a bullseye
stencilled between his shoulder-blades. His ears strained for the click of a
cocked gun or the premonitory swish of a blackjack, or even a breath too close
behind . . ,
Then he was at the last door, and as he turned towards it he was able to
glance sideways down the length of corridor through which he had come. The
waiter had turned his back and was walking slowly away. There was no one else
visible.
Simon laughed, silently and without humour. Perhaps he really was getting old
and jumpy, letting his imagination blind his judgment.
And yet there was nothing fanciful about the bullet that had been sent him by
the man he was going to see.
He paused for a moment at the door. Without intention, but simply from force
of habit, he knew that his feet had made no sound through the approach. But
during that pause he could hear nothing within the room-not the least rustle
of human speech or movement. There were only the distant undertones which had
become unnoticeable through acceptance-the waiter's retreating steps, the
chitter from other dressing-rooms, the dissonances of the kitchen, and the
distant drift of music. But in spite of that, or because of it, he lowered the
hand which he had raised to knock.
Instead, his fingers closed on the door knob. He took one long breath; and
then in one feline ripple of co-ordination he threw the door open and slid
diagonally into the room.
Two men with round stolid faces like Tweedledum and Tweedledee stood in one
comer with their hands held high. Jesse Rogers reclined on a shabby divan with
his hands behind his head, a lighted cigarette drooping from one corner of his
mouth. There was no weapon anywhere near him to account for the attitudes of
Tweedledum and Tweedledee. The single reason for that was a cumbersome .45
Colt which swung around in the hand of a fourth member of the congregation
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]