The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace
before they shoot the lock in. I
don’t think they’ll risk the noise, but with these types you never
know.”
    They were standing in a sort of archway
leading to an inner courtyard of what had once been a large palais. Like so
many big Viennese houses it was no longer tenanted by impoverished
aristocratic owners and had been converted to flats. Without a word
Frankie ran to a side door in the courtyard, which she opened with
another key.
    They passed through into a large almost pitch-dark en trance hall. A wide flight of bare stone steps led
upwards, and Simon followed the girl
up them. On the first landing she paused
and opened a door with yet another key. The Saint stopped for a moment and listened but there were
no sounds of pursuit. Their enemies
had probably decided that it would not be politic to break down the outer door.
After all, even Gestapo agents would
have to explain their actions to aroused tenants and the police if they were called, and apparently for some
reason the present exercise was one that they had been ordered to carry out with great discretion.
    Simon followed Frankie through the door and
closed it after
him. The change from the bleak stone of the stairway and landing was dramatic. They were now in a long passage, thickly carpeted and hung with portraits lit by
indirect light ing. The baroque
plaster-work of the walls and ceiling was scrolled and touched with gold leaf, and the air was warm and
comforting. Several doors opened off this wide hallway. They were big and stately, with ornamented panels and
heavy gilded door-knobs.
    Simon knew that the post-war housing laws in
Vienna were very strict, and no owner, unless he could show good
cause, or was very influential, was allowed to have more than a
certain number of untenanted rooms in his premises. He guessed that Max was
probably one of the privileged and that there were no
“lodgers” in these several rooms.
    At the end of the passage was a wide double
door. Frankie opened it without knocking, and they passed through into
a large handsomely furnished drawing-room, brilliantly lit by a chandelier
and wall sconces. All the lights were on, as if to push more than just
darkness from every comer. One felt that anything unpleasant
or even disturbing could not breach the security of this
room.
    A blazing wood fire in the hearth made the
room come alive with its variegated lights. Max was sitting in a
chair by it, the Siamese cat on his lap.
    He looked up as they entered. For a moment
he appeared startled. Then he gave a cry of pleasure.
    “Frankie, Gott sei dank!”
    He leapt to his feet and Thai cascaded to
the floor. The cat gave them all an affronted look and jumped up on to a sofa where he
sat glaring distrustfully.
    Max’s eyes met those of the Saint.
    “Ah, Mr er … er… Taylor. How
delightful to meet you again! As a tourist, you certainly get around
Vienna!”
    Frankie moved quickly to the fire and held
out her hands towards the comforting blaze.
    “They are downstairs,” she told
Max in German.
    “Who?”
    “The men who kidnapped me. I think they
are Gestapo.”
    Max glanced at Simon.
    “I think it would be polite to our
guest to speak English,” he said in that tongue.
    The girl followed suit.
    “If you like, but he speaks fluent German.
Max, may I introduce Mr Simon Templar, otherwise known as the Saint?”
    For a long while Max stared at Simon. Then he
gave a low whistle.
    “So, we are indeed honoured!”
    “The pleasure is all mine,” Simon
replied blandly. “I’ve had a very entertaining evening. And I find
the Gestapo adds a new dimension to life.”
    Max grimaced.
    “It certainly does! Unfortunately it is
not such a nice one. Anyway, you will have a whisky while you are
here, no?”
    “Not no,” said the Saint.
“Yes, thank you very much.”
    He sat down next to Thai on the sofa and
accepted the drink which Max brought him. The cat looked at the whisky with interest, his ears pricked, as if inviting the Saint to
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