The Saint Around the World Read Online Free PDF Page B

gardener.
    “Goodmorning, sir,” he said, with studiously impersonal politeness.
    “Goodmorning.”
    Simon paused to light a cigarette. His gaze swept around the panorama again, and from that vantage point he could see more than two-thirds of the private island.
    “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said. “Exactly how did Mr. Dayne leave here when he disappeared? Did he get a phone call first? Or did someone come to see him? Did he say anything when he left?”
    “I’m afraid I have no idea, sir. I’d gone into Somerset to do some shopping, and when I came back Mr. Dayne was gone.”
    “Well, when you came back, was another of the boats from here over at the landing, besides the one you’d taken?”
    “No, sir. Just the one I’d used.”
    “Then someone must have come and picked him up in a boat.”
    “That must be right, sir.”
    The Saint rubbed his chin for a moment.
    “By the way,” he said, “I noticed a small Chris-Craft tied up at the dock last night. Is that working?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I think we might use it to run into Hamilton this morning.”
    “Yes, sir, of course—to get your ticket.”
    Simon’s eyes flickered fractionally.
    “How did you know I was going anywhere?”
    “Mrs. Dayne just told me what happened last night, sir. She’s in the kitchen, fixing breakfast. I’m sorry, sir,” the caretaker said stiffly.
    “So am I,” said the Saint briefly, and went on into the house.
    He put his head in the kitchen door and asked: “How soon are you serving?”
    “In about five minutes, or whenever you’re ready,” she answered, and added: “You’ll find an electric razor in our bathroom.”
    “Thanks,”
    In well under ten minutes he had shaved, rinsed himself under a shower, dressed, and was sitting down to a platter of perfectly cooked eggs and bacon.
    “I see you were brought up right,” he said. “Frying an egg sounds like the easiest job in the world, but I’m always amazed how seldom it’s done properly, without making bubbles in the white and a leathery brown crust underneath. Even in France, the land of the great chefs, nobody has the faintest notion of how to fry an egg.”
    “You don’t have to cover up,” she said steadily. “I know how the idea of running away must be hurting you. So I’ve decided that if you think it’s the wrong thing to do, you mustn’t do it—even if I beg you to.”
    “I have to make a plane reservation anyhow,” he said. “Has it dawned on you that you’re being watched? I’d never met you till yesterday evening; and yet I was the main thing our pal had on his mind when he phoned you last night.”
    Her eyes widened a little.
    “You mean Ivalot himself could have been at the Van Hes-sens’—or at the restaurant where we had dinner–-” .
    “Not necessarily. He may have an accomplice, or even a gang—we don’t know. But he’s pretty sure to find out whether I’ve booked myself out of here as ordered. Then if his phone call meant anything at all, he’ll be practically forced to wait and see whether I do leave. And maybe I’ll wait and see, too.”
    He stared out of the window of the dining alcove with such a preoccupied air that she would have sworn that his thoughts were on anything but the view which it framed, so that it surprised her when he said presently: “This is an even dreamier spot in the daytime. I wonder why the owner doesn’t live here all year round.”
    “Perhaps his home in Canada is even nicer.”
    “D’you know anything about him?”
    “Only that his name is Stanley Parker. And I believe he’s quite elderly. Why do you ask?”
    “I’m practising—I’ve got a lot of questions to ask in a hurry today. As soon as we’re finished, I’m going to Hamilton and start in earnest. I guess you’d better come with me so I won’t have to worry about you. We’ll take the speedboat, because it’s quicker than a taxi, and it’ll make it tougher for anyone who’s thinking of