Brighter Buccaneer Read Online Free PDF Page B

the last month I’ve lost about five thousand pounds in Croon’s schemes-and the money wasn’t mine to lose. You can think what you like. I went up there to bash his face in before they get me, and I’m going back now for the same reason. But I saw you come out, and you didn’t look like a crook. I thought I’d give you a word of warning. You can take it or leave it. Goodbye.”
    He turned off abruptly into the building, but Simon reached out and caught him by the elbow.
    “Why not come and have some lunch first?” he suggested. “And let Croon have his. It’ll be so much more fun punching him in the stomach when it’s full of food.”
    He waved away the young man’s objections and excuses without listening to them, hailed a taxi, and bundled him in. It was the kind of opportunity that the Saint lived for, and he would have had his way if he was compelled to kidnap his guest for the occasion. They lunched at a quiet restaurant in Soho; and in the persuasive warmth of half a litre of Antinori Chianti and the Saint’s irresistible personality the young man told him what he knew of Mr. Melford Croon.
    “I suppose I was a complete idiot—that’s all. I met Croon through a man I used to see in the place where I always had lunch. It didn’t occur to me that it was all a put-up job, and I thought Croon was all right. I was fed to the teeth with sitting about in an office copying figures from one book to another, and Croon’s stunts looked like a way out. I put three thousand quid into his Consolidated Albion Film Company: it was only on paper, and the way Croon talked about it made me think I’d never really be called on for the money. They were going to rent the World Features studio at Teddington-the place is still on the market. When Consolidated Albion went smash I had to find the money, and the only way I could get it was to borrow it out of the firm. Croon put the idea into my head, but - Oh, hell! It’s easy enough to see how things have happened after the damage is done.”
    He had borrowed another two thousand pounds-without the cashier’s knowledge-in the hope oŁ retrieving the first loss. It had gone into a cargo of liquor destined for the thirsty States. Six weeks later Mr. Croon broke the news to him that the coastal patrols had captured the ship.
    “And that’s what’ll happen to any other fool who puts money into Croon’s bootlegging,” said the young man bitterly. “He’ll be told that the ship’s sunk, or captured, or caught fire, or grown wings and flown away. He’ll never see his money back. My God-to think of that slimy swab trying to be a bootlegger! Why, he told me once that the very sight of a ship made him feel sick, and he wouldn’t cross the Channel for a thousand pounds.”
    “What are you going to do about it?” asked the Saint, and the young man shrugged.
    “Go back and try to make him wish he’d never been born- as I told you. They’re having an audit today at the office, and they can’t help finding out what I’ve done. I stayed away-said I was ill. That’s all there is to do.”
    Simon took out his chequebook and wrote a cheque for five thousand pounds.
    “Whom shall I make it payable to?” he inquired, and his guest’s eyes widened.
    “My name’s Peter Quentin. But I don’t want any of your damned —”
    “My dear chap, I shouldn’t dream of offering you charity.” Simon blotted the pink slip and scaled it across the table. “This little chat has been worth every penny of it. Besides, you don’t want to go to penal servitude at your age. It isn’t healthy. Now be a good fellow and dash back to your office-square things up as well as you can —”
    The young man was staring at the name which was scribbled in the bottom right-hand corner of the paper.
    “Is that name Simon Templar?”
    The Saint nodded.
    “You see, I shall get it all back,” he said.
    He went home with two definite conclusions as a result of his day’s work and expenses: first,