“I can’t,” said Esther. “I haven’t got anything on.”
“Don’t let it bother you,” said the Saint tiredly. “If a burglar 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 verandah 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 chattering 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?”