The Saint Goes On Read Online Free PDF Page A

child, and the various contacts which his face had had with blunt instruments since then had not improved it. But it has sometimes been known for such faces to be lighted with a radiance of spirituality and intellect in which their battered irregularity of contour is easily forgotten.
    The physiognomy of Mr. Uniatz was illuminated by no such light. Reluctant as Simon Templar always was to disparage such a faithful friend, he could never honestly claim for Mr. Uniatz any of those intellectual qualities which might have redeemed his other failings. A man of almost miraculous agility on the draw, of simple and unquestioning loyalties, of heroic appetite, and of a tank-like capacity for absorbing incredible quantities of every conceivable blend of alcohol- yes, Mr. Uniatz possessed all those virtues. But a strenuous pursuit of most of the minor rackets of the Bowery had never left him time to develop the higher faculties of that curious organisation of reactions which can only apologetically be called his brain. Simon Templar perceived that Mr. Uniatz could not have enlightened anybody. He was in painful search of enlightenment himself.
    Simon dropped an arm over the back of the seat and hauled up another hitherto invisible passenger, on whom Mr. Uniatz had been thoughtlessly resting his feet.
    “This is Sunny Jim, Pat,” he explained.
    “Hoppy did manage to tell me that much,” said Patricia Holm with great patience. “But did you really have to bring him away?”
    “Not really,” said the Saint candidly, allowing the passenger to drop back again on to the floor. “But it struck me as being quite a good idea. You see, Sunny Jim is supposed to be dead.”
    “How do you know he isn’t?”
    Simon grinned.
    “There might be some argument about it,” he conceded. “At any rate, he’s among the Saints.”
    “But what was it all about?”
    The Saint lighted his cigarette and stretched himself out.
    “Well, it was this way. Hoppy and I blew up the fire-escape, as arranged, and went in through the bathroom window. When we got inside, what should we hear but the voice of good old Claud Eustace Teal, holding converse with Sunny Jim. Apparently Claud was just on the point of getting a squeak out of him, and I was just getting down to the keyhole to take a look at the seance and hear what Sunny had to say, when a gun went off and broke up the party. As far as I’ve been able to make out, somebody opened the front door and took a pot at Sunny Jim at the crucial moment, and Teal went chasing the assassin down the stairs, along with a perfectly twee little policebody from Eton that he had with him.”
    Simon drew at his cigarette with a reminiscent smile, while the grey car whirled around Piccadilly Circus and plunged down the Haymarket.
    “Anyway, Hoppy and I beetled in while they were away, and took a gander at Sunny Jim. And as a matter of fact, he isn’t dead; though he’s had the narrowest shave that any man ever had, and his head’s going to ring carillons when he wakes up. He’s been creased as neatly as I’ve ever seen it done-the bullet just parted his hair in a new place and knocked him out, but his skull hasn’t any holes in it. That’s when I had my brilliant idea.”
    “I was hoping we’d get to that,” said the girl.
    “But haven’t you seen it already?” Simon demanded. “Look at what I’ve told you! Here’s Sunny Jim preparing to squeal, and somebody tries to rub him out. Why? Squealers don’t get bumped off, not in this country, just because they may have a little tit-bit to give away. Sunny Jim must have known something worth knowing; and there he was, sitting in his chair, out to the world, and nobody to get in our way. The bumper-offer can’t be sure what’s happened to him, and Claud Eustace is probably quite sure he’s dead. But nobody knows… . Isn’t it all pretty obvious?”
    “It’s getting clearer.”
    “Of course it is! I tell Hoppy to grab the body and hustle it down the