Free The Saint Bids Diamonds by Leslie Charteris Page A

feared that in his conversation with Graner he hadn’t exactly given the impression that he was a man who could be relied on to guard his tongue.
    But that was done, and it wasn’t much use worrying about it. Anyway he was in the house, which was where he had wanted to be-only he had got there about twelve hours too early. And the only thing left was to decide what he was going to do about it.
    Presently he got up and walked over to the window. It was shuttered in the Spanish style, but as far as he could discover the shutters were not made to open. The louvres could be turned up or down, to let in as much air or daylight as the inhabitant wanted; but the inhabitant would have had to slice himself into rashers to get himself out through the openings.
    Simon looked around the room. It was furnished comfortably enough, although the optical effect was shattered by the same dreadful conflict of colour schemes that characterised the room downstairs. But it contained nothing which could have been used to open the shuttering-unless one heaved the bed through it, which would be difficult to do without causing a certain amount of commotion.
    He moved very softly to the door and turned the handle without a sound. Somewhat to his surprise it was not locked: it opened without a creak of the hinges, and he slipped noiselessly out on to the veranda that ran round the patio. Down below he could hear a muffled mutter of voices, but it was so faint that it seemed impossible that the men who were speaking could have heard anyone moving about upstairs, even with a normal tread. The Saint didn’t even take that risk. He could move as silently as a cat, and the tiled flooring ruled out the possibility of any squeaking boards that might have given him away. He stood looking at the veranda. It was enclosed from top to bottom with fine-meshed fly-netting which was almost as effective an obstacle as the window shutters. Whether he could open some of it up with his knife —
“Wanting anything?”
    The voice made him spin round. He had not heard anyone come up the stairs; but Aliston was there, standing at the head of them with his hands in his pockets.
    “I was just looking for the bathroom,” answered the Saint calmly.
    “Second door down.”
    The Saint went on and let himself in. He was there long enough to note that the bathroom window was also closed with a similar shutter to the one in his own room. He was ready to believe that all the windows in the house were the same; and he realised that besides making it difficult to get out, the arrangement was also another difficulty in the way of getting in.
    When he came out of the bathroom Aliston was still standing at the head of the stairs. The Saint said good night to him, and Aliston answered conventionally.
    Simon sat on his bed again and gazed sourly at the heliotrope-distempered walls. He was inside, all right -he didn’t have to worry about that any more. And he knew now why Graner hadn’t locked him up. There was nothing about the door to indicate it, but he was certain that it contained some device which gave a warning when it was opened. Graner seemed to have a weakness for electrical gadgets, and very effective the Saint had to admit they were… . He also knew why Aliston had spoken to him instead of remaining hidden to watch him. They had let him use up the only plausible excuse he had for leaving the bedroom, so that any future excursions would want much more explaining.
    And that made him wonder if they were only waiting for a chance to trap him. Simon faced the possibility cold-bloodedly. From the beginning he had known that he was gambling on the darkness and the hat that had been pulled down over his eyes during the fight, as much as on the psychological fact that by walking straight into the lion’s den immediately afterwards he was giving himself as good an alibi as he could hope to have. But one of the three men might have had suspicions, although nothing had been said