Brighter Buccaneer Read Online Free PDF

of a very artistically typewritten letter, which had been passed on to the Saint by a chance acquaintance.
    Dear Sir,
As you cannot fail to be aware, a state of Prohibition exists at present in the United States of America. This has led to a highly profitable trade in the forbidden alcoholic drinks between countries not so affected and the United States.
    A considerable difference of opinion exists as to whether this traffic is morally justified. There can be no question, however, that from the standpoint of this country it cannot be legally attacked, nor that the profits, in proportion to the risk, are exceptionally attractive.
    If you should desire further information on the subject I shall be pleased to supply it at the above address.
    Yours faithfully,
Melford Croon.
    Simon Templar called on Mr. Croon one morning by appointment; and the name he gave was not his own. He found Mr. Croon to be a portly and rather pale-faced man, with the flowing iron-grey mane of an impresario; and the information he gave-after a few particularly shrewd inquiries about his visitor’s status and occupation-was very much what the Saint had expected.
    “A friend of mine,” said Mr. Croon-he never claimed personally to be the author of the schemes on which he gave Financial Consultations-“a friend of mine is interested in sending a cargo of wines and spirits to America. Naturally, the expenses are somewhat heavy. He has to charter a ship, engage a crew, purchase the cargo, and arrange to dispose of it on the other side. While he would prefer to find the whole of the money-and, of course, reap all the reward—he is unfortunately left short of about two thousand pounds.”
    “I see,” said the Saint.
    He saw much more than Mr. Croon told him, but he did not say so.
    “This two thousand pounds,” said Mr. Croon, “represents about one-fifth of the cost of the trip, and in order to complete his arrangements my friend is prepared to offer a quarter of his profits to anyone who will go into partnership with him. As he expects to make at least ten thousand pounds, you will see that there are not many speculations which offer such a liberal return.”
    If there was one role which Simon Templar could play better than any other, it was that of the kind of man whom financial consultants of every size and species dream that they may meet one day before they die. Mr. Croon’s heart warmed towards him as Simon laid on the touches of his self-created character with a master’s brush.
    “A very charming man,” thought the Saint as he paused on the pavement outside the building which housed Mr. Croon’s offices.
    Since at various stages of the interview Mr. Croon’s effusive bonhomie had fairly bubbled with invitations to lunch with Mr. Croon, dine with Mr. Croon, shoot with Mr. Croon, watch Mr. Croon’s horses win at Goodwood with Mr. Croon, and spend week-ends with Mr. Croon at Mr. Croon’s house on the river, the character which Simon Templar had been playing might have thought that the line of the Saint’s lips were unduly cynical; but Simon was only thinking of his own mission in life.
    He stood there with his walking cane swinging gently in his fingers, gazing at the very commonplace street scene with thoughtful blue eyes, and became aware that a young man with the physique of a pugilist was standing at his shoulder. Simon waited.
    “Have you been to see Croon?” demanded the young man suddenly.
    Simon looked around with a slight smile.
    “Why ask?” he murmured. “You were outside Croon’s room when I came out, and you followed me down the stairs.”
    “I just wondered.”
    The young man had a pleasantly ugly face with crinkly grey eyes that would have liked to be friendly; but he was very plainly nervous.
    “Are you interested in bootlegging?” asked the Saint; and the young man stared at him grimly.
    “Listen, I don’t know if you’re trying to be funny, but I’m not. I’m probably going to be arrested this afternoon. In