“You can hang a sign on your door,” Simon suggested, “giving them directions. Goodnight, pretty maidens.”
He made his exit before there could be any more discussion, and went to his bedroom.
The bedrooms trailed away from the house in a long L-shaped wing. Freddie’s room was at the far end of the wing, and his door faced down the broad, screened verandah by which the rooms were reached. Simon had the room next to it, from which one of the girls had been moved; their rooms were now strung around the angle of the L towards the main building. There was a communicating door on both sides of his room. He tried the one which should have opened in to Freddie’s room, but he found that there was a second door backing closely against it, and that one was locked. He went around by the verandah, and found Angelo preparing to turn out the lights.
“He sleep well now,” said the Filipino with a grin. “You no worry.”
Freddie was neatly tucked into bed, his clothes carefully folded over a chair. Simon went over and looked at him. He certainly wasn’t dead at that point — his snoring was stertorously alive.
The Saint located the other side of the communicating door, and tried the handle. It still wouldn’t move, and there was no key in the lock.
“D’you know how to open this, Angelo?” he asked.
The Filipino shook his head.
“Don’t know. Is lock?”
“Is lock.”