The Saint in the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

gumption to search him right now, he’s probably still got those jewels on him-“
    “I’m sorry, Bertha,” Simon said. “But there never was any hold-up. I only asked the Inspector to act as if there had been one, and I promised him that you would do the confessing. He took quite a lot of convincing, and I hate to think what he’d ‘ve done if you’d let me down.”
    Mrs Noversham had one succinct response to that, and she squeezed it through her teeth with all the venom of the professional.
    “Stool pigeon!
    “It was rather against my principles,” said the Saint, and he meant it. “In some ways I’d rather have stolen your jewels and called it quits. But you and Danny-boy started the routine by trying to get me in trouble, and then I wanted to get the record straight for Natalie.”
    The little inspector cleared his throat irritably.
    “Madame, this is not a performance at the Comédie Française. You understand that you will have to accompany us?”
    “Only too well, Alphonse,” said Bertha Noversham insultingly.
    She started regally towards the door; but as the two agents nervously made way for her she turned back.
    “Mr Templar,” she said almost humbly, “why?”
    “To use a phrase of your own,” said the Saint, “you shouldn’t have thrown Natalie to the wolves-or wolf. You made her out to be such an outrageous all-time phony that after I got over the first shock I started to think that if any woman could be such a colossal barefaced liar, so could any other. But I’d never caught Natalie in the smallest dishonesty, myself, whereas I always knew that there’s no such person as the Duke of Camford. And once the question of credibility had come up, there was no doubt about which of you had done the hottest job of selling me the idea of robbing the other … There are several morals in this, Bertha, but I’d say the best one is that before you start beating a path to the door of a man who makes better mousetraps, you should be sure that you’re not a mouse.”
    “Madame,” said the inspector impatiently, “one cannot wait for you all night.”
    However, he had the grace to pause, albeit restively, before following his cohorts and their evidence and his prize.
    “I am indebted for your assistance, Monsieur le Saint, and if perhaps some day I can-“
    “I knew you’d think of that, Alphonse,” Simon took him up cheerily; and the little man winced. “Mrs Sheridan may be home already, or she should be at any moment, and I’m sure you won’t mind waiting to vouch for the true story of the last twentyfour hours. There’ll be so many other nights when you can go to bed early, and sleep like a cherub, once you know I’ve got something better to do than climb in and out of windows, at my age.”
    ST TROPEZ: THE UGLY IMPRESARIO
    “That,” observed Simon Templar, “is quite a sight, even for these parts.”
    “And that,” said Maureen Herald, “is what I’ve got to talk to.”
    They lay on the dazzling sands of Pampelonne, which are the beaches of St Tropez, gazing out at the sun-drenched Mediterranean where a few white-sailed skiffs criss-crossed on lazy tacks, an assortment of speedboats with water-skiers in tow traced evanescent arabesques among them, and, much closer in, the object of Simon’s comment cruised southwards along the shore line where its occupants could comfortably observe and be observed by the heliophiles on the strand.
    It was an open Chris-Craft runabout which would have photographed exactly like any other similarly expensive standard model, except in color. The color was a brilliant purple which no shipyard can ever have been asked to apply to a hull before. And to offset it, the upholstery of the cockpit and the lounging pad covering the engine hatch were an equally brilliant orange. As an aid to identifying the owner of this chromatic monstrosity, the sides of the craft were emblazoned with a large capital J nestling inside a still larger capital U, the monogram