The Saint Bids Diamonds by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t be helped, he had had too many other things to think of before. Fortunately he had located a garage during the afternoon. He opened the door of his room very quietly and went downstairs again.
    Already the square was almost deserted-Santa Cruz goes to bed early, for the convincing reason that there is nothing else to do. Simon got into the car and drove up the Calle Castillo. He drove slowly, feeling the effortless purr of the powerful engine soothing and smoothing out his mind, a cigarette slanting between his lips and his finger tips lightly caressing the wheel. The deep hum of the machine distilled itself into his senses, taking possession of him until it was as if the car led him on without any direction of his will. He had had no such thoughts when he left the hotel to put the car away… . But there was a turning on the right which he should have taken to go to the garage… . He passed it without a glance. The Hirondel droned on, up on to the La Laguna road- towards the house of Reuben Graner.
    3
Simon Templar began to sing, a faint fragment of almost inaudible melody that harmonised with the soft undertones of the engine. The cool night air was refreshing on his face. He was smiling.
    Possibly he was quite mad. If so, he always had been, and it was too late in life to worry about it. But it was his creed that adventure waited for no timetables, and everything he had ever done or ever would do was built up on that reckless faith. He was bound to visit Reuben Graner sometime. At the moment he felt as fresh and wide awake as if he had just got out of a cold bath; and the brief but breezy episode by the roadside a couple of hours before had only whetted his appetite. Why should he wait for some Spanish mańana to carry on with the good work?
    Not that he had a single plan of campaign in his head. His mind was a clean slate on which impulse or circumstance or destiny might write anything that happened to amuse them. The Saint was broadmindedly prepared to co-operate in the business of being amused… .
    A gleam of reminiscent humour touched his eyes as he recognised the spot where Joris Vanlinden had introduced himself so appropriately into the general course of events; and then he trod suddenly on the brakes in time to save the lives of a pareja, or brace, of guardias de asalto who stepped out into the path of his headlights and waved to him to stop. Looking around him he discovered that the road was littered with guardias of all shapes and sizes. He saw the sheen of the black oilcloth napoleonic hats of guardias civiles and the dull glint of carbines. There are various species of guardias in Spain, intended between them to perform the various functions of police work; and it is popularity believed that the word has no singular, since they are only seen in parejas, or braces, as inevitably as grouse. Even allowing for that, it seemed an unusual concentration; and the Saint’s gaze narrowed slightly as the pareja which had stopped him closed in on either side of the car. A torch flashed in his face.
    “Where are you going?” asked half the brace curtly, in Spanish; and Simon answered in the same language:
“To visit a friend. He’s expecting me.”
    “Baje usted.”
    Simon got out. The other guardia came round the car and attached himself again to his comrade. It was like a reunion of Siamese twins. Half the brace kept him covered while the other half searched him rapidly.
    The Saint remembered that since he had left the hotel with no nefarious intent he had not even troubled to take a gun. He had only one weapon-the slim razor-edged throwing knife strapped to his left forearm under his sleeve which he would not have exchanged for all the firearms in the world-but the search was not thorough enough to discover that.
    “ż Su documentación?”
    Simon produced his passport. It was examined and returned to him.
    “żTurista?”
    “Si.”
    “Bueno. Siga usted.”
    The Saint scratched his head.
    “What is