The Saint Abroad: The Art Collectors/ the Persistent Patriots Read Online Free PDF

as it could go.
    Simon felt vaguely unhappy with himself. If
the Mercedes had been followed while he was driving it, he should
have noticed. He had in fact kept his eyes open for anybody tailing him
on the way out from the city and had seen nothing that aroused
his suspicions. But the roads had been crowded, and if the
followers had held well back while An nabella Lambrini’s car was in the
main traffic stream they would have been hard to spot. On the other
hand, they might not have followed at all. Knowing as much as they ap peared to,
they would presumably have found out where she lived.
    “Did you see anything?” she was
calling to him.
    He turned and strode back up the slope, where
he was met by Annabella Lambrini and her chauffeur on the drive way.
    “Just an art connoisseur dropping in to
have a look at your collection,” he answered. “He’s shy,
though. I never got near him.” He looked back down toward the road.
“Too bad. I might have caught a ride back to Paris.”
    The woman’s lovely green eyes were much wider
when Simon turned back to meet them than they had been a few seconds
before.
    “You are not leaving!” she
exclaimed.
    “I didn’t know I was invited to
stay,” he said, with the most feather-light touch of challenge.
    “Oh, please do! Don’t leave us here alone
tonight—the last night before I finally get these paintings off my
hands. Hans isn’t feeling well, and I—”
    “I feel good,” Hans said. “I am
not longer ill.”
    “I don’t think Hans trusts me,”
murmured the Saint.
    Annabella Lambrini smiled indulgently. They
were moving slowly back up the front steps of the house.
    “Hans is just overprotective. He’s a
worrier, aren’t you, Hans?”
    “I don’t know why,” Simon said.
“Working for a girl with such a nice uncomplicated life as yours.”
    Hans turned to the Saint as they entered the
hall.
    “It is no personal, ah, feeling against
you, Sir,” he said stiffly. “The lady iss not safe, und
only I am here to protect her. No father, no family. Und I am not young
und not strong. Ve must be foresighted … dot is …”
    “Careful?” Simon offered.
    “Ja, careful. You understand?”
    “I understand. In fact, I think your
attitude is more sensi ble than the lady’s.” He watched her
wryly as he was speaking. “Here I am, one of the most notorious pirates on
the face of the earth, and she’s offering to take me under her
roof for her own protection.”
    She looked him in the eye.
    “I trust you are an honorable man …
Simon.”
    The way she pronounced his first name, for
the first time, would have been enough to send warm tremors up and down the spinal
ganglia of a less controlled man. As it was, the Saint held himself detached
from the more obvious effects of that sensuous voice and merely decided that
becoming Miss Lambrini’s personal cavalier might have more rewards than he had anticipated.
    “If you trust that I’m honorable,
you’re very trusting,” he remarked.
    “I have reason to trust you … and
without you I seem quite certain to lose not only my paintings but possibly
my life.”
    They were in the living room now, and Hans
Kraus turned on the lights. The sun was already below the horizon, and the
molten glow of the sky was cooling to darkness. Annabella Lambrini
drew the curtains over the large window.
    “Have you any idea who these characters
might be?” Simon asked her. “The ones who are so anxious to get
their hands on you and your property?”
    “No. Not the slightest.”
    “Or how they might have found out about
the paintings?”
    “No.” She looked at Kraus, who was
standing near the door as if waiting for orders. “Go rest now.
Monsieur Templar will be staying—won’t you, Simon?”
    “My fate seems to be sealed,” he said resignedly.
“I will be staying.”
    “Good,” the chauffeur said. “I
make it certain that all is locked.”
    “Are there any outside lights?”
the Saint asked. “If there are, I suggest you