Enter the Saint Read Online Free PDF

the orchestra played, and at the other end, under the stairs, was the tiny bar. Stannard turned in there, and roused the white-coated barman from his perusal of La Vie Parisienne. “I don’t know what would meet the case,” he said, “but I want something steep in corpse-revivers.”
    The man looked him over for a moment with an expert eye, then busied himself with the filling of a prescription. The result certainly had a kick in it. Stannard was downing it when Hayn came in.
    The big man was looking pale and tired, and there were shadows under his eyes. He nodded curtly to Jerry. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said. “Just going to get a wash.”
    It was not like Mr. Hayn, who ordinarily specialized in the boisterous hail-fellow-well-met method of address, and Stannard watched him go thoughtfully.
    Braddon, who had remained outside, followed Hayn into the office. “Who’s the boy friend?” he asked, taking a chair.
    “Stannard?” Hayn was skimming through the letters that waited on his desk. “An ordinary young fool. He lost eight hundred upstairs in his first couple of months. Heaven knows how much he owes outside-he’d lost a packet before I started lending him money.”
    Braddon searched through his pocket for a cigar, and found one. He bit off the end, and spat. “Got expectations? Rich papa who’ll come across?”
    “No. But he’s got the clothes, he’d pass anywhere. I was using him.”
    “Was?”
    Hayn was frowningly examining the postmark on one of his letters. “I suppose I shall still,” he said. “Don’t bother me-this artistic hijacker’s got me all ends up. But he’s got a fiancee-I’ve only recently seen her. I like her.”
    “Any good?”
    “I shall arrange something about her.”
    Hayn had slit open the letter with his thumbnail, but he only took one glance at what it contained. He tossed it over to Braddon, and it was the manager of Laserre who drew out the now familiar sketch.
    “One of those came to my house by the first post this morning,” Hayn said. “It’s as old as the hills, that game. So he thinks he’s going to rattle me!”
    “Isn’t he?” asked Braddon, in his heavily cynical way.
    “He damned well isn’t!” Hayn came back savagely. “I’ve got the Snake and the men who were with him prowling round the West End just keeping their eyes peeled for the man who beat them up in the Brighton train. If he’s in London, he can’t stay hid for ever. And when Ganning’s found him, we’ll soon put paid to his joke!”
    Then he pulled himself together. “I’m giving Stannard dinner,” he said. “What are you doing now?”
    “I’ll loaf out and get some food, and be back later,” said Braddon. “I thought I’d take a look in upstairs.”
    Hayn nodded. He ushered Braddon out of the office, and locked the door behind him, for even Braddon was not allowed to remain in that sanctum alone. Braddon departed, and Hayn rejoined Stannard at the bar. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, old man,” he apologized, with an attempt to resume his pose of bluff geniality.
    “I’ve been amusing myself,” said Stannard, and indicated a row of empty glasses. “Have a spot?”
    Hayn accepted, and Stannard looked at his watch.
    “By the way,” he said, “there’s a man due here in about an hour. I met him the other day, and he seemed all right. He said he was a South African, and he’s sailing back the day after to-morrow. He was complaining that he couldn’t get any real fun in England, so I dropped a hint about a private gambling club I might be able to get him into and he jumped at it. I thought he might be some use- leaving England so soon, he could hardly make a kick-so I told him to join us over coffee. Is that all right?”
    “Quite all right, old man.” A thought struck Mr. Hayn. “You’re quite sure he wasn’t one of these clever dicks?”
    “Not on your life!” scoffed Stannard. “I think I know a busy when I see one by now. I’ve seen