Saint Errant Read Online Free PDF

much more about any of the three people who had just met at his table, or attach any immediate significance to the meeting-not even when he brought Patricia into his suite at the Ambassador for a night cap, and switched on the lights and found himself looking down the barrel of a gun in the hand of an unexpected guest who had beat them to it without an invitation.
    Simon Templar had looked down the barrels of guns before, and it had ceased to be a surprising experience for him. The turbulent course of his career had left enough survivors to constitute a sizable roster of characters whose principal ambition would always be to view the Saint again from behind the percentage end of a small piece of ordnance. The only remarkable thing about it was that Simon couldn’t at the moment think of any particular person in the vicinity who had reason to be trying to fulfill such a whim at that tune.
    “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “Look what people are doing now to get a hotel room.”
    “Shut the door, bub,” said the man. “But don’t put your hat down. You ain’t staying long.”
    He had blue-black hair and a blue chin, and his suit was cut just about the way you would expect a suit behind a gun to be cut. Something about him was vaguely familiar, but Simon couldn’t place it for the moment.
    “That’s one way to bring an invitation, anyhow,” said the Saint. “Where is this party we’re going to?”
    “You’ll find out when we get there,” said the man. “Just wait till I fix the girl friend so she don’t make a fuss about losing you.”
    He took a roll of adhesive tape from his pocket
“I think I’m going to faint,” said Patricia.
    She slumped back against the wall by the door, exactly where the light switch was. As her knees buckled she caught one arm on the switch and the lights clicked out.
    The gunman started to move to one side, peering blindly into the dark. He bumped into a standard lamp and set it rattling.
    That was the only sound he heard before an arm slid around his neck from behind and a row of steel fingers clamped on his right hand and bent it inwards to within a millimeter of breaking his wrist. His hand opened involuntarily and the gun dropped on the carpet. Simon located it with his toe and put his foot on it.
    “Okay, Pat,” he said. “I’ve got him.”
    The lights went on again.
    “Nice work,” said the Saint. “You read all the right stories.”
    He released his pressure on the gunman’s larynx before suffocation had seriously set in, pushed the man away, and picked up the gun.
    “Now, chum,” he said, “where did you say we were going?”
    The man rubbed his wrists tenderly and glanced at him with out answering.
    The first vague impression of familiarity that Simon had felt began to come into focus.
    “On second thoughts, you needn’t bother,” said the Saint. “I know where I’ve seen you before. At the Blue Paradise. You’re one of Rick Lansing’s boys.”
    “I ain’t talking,” said the man.
    “Then we’re going to find your company rather dull,” said the Saint. “Why don’t you beat it before you bore the hell out of us?”
    The gunman seemed to have difficulty coordinating his ideas and his ears.
    “Scram, bum,” said the Saint.
    The man gulped, opened the door, and departed hastily.
    “Nice work yourself,” said Patricia. “Why on earth did you let him go?”
    “I didn’t feel excited about having him live with us,” Simon told her. “I might have killed him, but the management wouldn’t like us to keep his body in the room, and if we threw it out of the window it might have hurt somebody.”
    “But aren’t you a bit curious about what he was doing here?”
    “I already know, darling. He was sent here to fetch me to Rick the Barber. That was obvious as soon as I placed him.”
    “But what does Rick Lansing want with you?”
    “That,” said the Saint, “is a question that Rick will have to answer himself.”
    Patricia picked up her