The Saint in Trouble Read Online Free PDF

sat in, a Montecristo cigar in one hand and a champagne glass in the other, and he looked very much the part. He watched as the car stopped in front of the villa and the Saint shepherded his charges across the drive.
    Curdon’s grey eyes were as revealing as a sea fog. A girl swam to the edge of the pool, and he put down his cigar and glass and obligingly poured champagne into her waiting mouth, while his free hand slid under the cushion at his side and clicked off the safety catch of an automatic.
    The two kidnappers turned hostages followed the movement of the Saint’s gun barrel, and moved to one side to allow Curdon and the Saint an uninterrupted view of each other.
    Simon smiled his most Saintly smile, but his eyes never strayed from the scene, keeping all three males within his field of vision, and paying particular attention to the cushion that Curdon’s hand rested on.
    “You sent for me, did you, chum? I must say, the Secret Service are living well these days. I thought that was only in the movies,”
    Curdon ignored him, taming instead to the executive kidnapper who was shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. The effort Curdon was making to remain calm showed in the grating of his voice.
    “Cartwright, I do not expect to have my operatives brought back to me as the prisoners of those they were sent to bring in.”
    The Saint nodded understandingly.
    “Oh, I do know how you feel, Willie. But don’t blame yourself. So hard to get reliable help these days. Even D16 evidently has to take what it can get.”
    Curdon’s control cracked at last, and he shouted at the hapless aide: “Tell me, Cartwright, just who do you suppose this person to be?”
    The mid-Atlantic drawl disappeared, making Cartwright sound like a truant offering excuses to his housemaster.
    “It’s Sebastian Tombs, sir. The man who threatened Professor Maclett at the conference.”
    Curdon’s eyes closed as if in pain. When he opened them again they were fixed on the Saint.
    “All right, Templar, what’s your play in this game?”
    Simon used a free hand to pour himself a glass of champagne which he raised in a mocking toast.
    “Emma Maclett was worried about her father. She asked me to look after him.”
    “Calling him a fraud in public is an odd way of doing that.”
    “Oh really, Willie! It’s ploy number three in your beginner’s manual.” Simon paused. “You are past that by now, I hope.”
    “Looking after Professor Maclett happens to be my department’s job.”
    “Perhaps if you’d let Emma Maclett know that, she wouldn’t have felt she needed me.” The Saint looked at Cartwright and the Renault driver, and sighed. “Or maybe she would have felt she needed me. Mind you, I couldn’t do my protesting half as handsomely.”
    “This villa belongs to a rich cousin of mine. Sells swamp land in Florida.”
    “And the girls?”
    “He’s very selective about his staff.”
    “So I can see. Two redheads, two blondes, two brunettes. Just like the civil service, everything in duplicate.”
    Sir William Curdon’s tone was defensive, almost apologetic.
    “One gets a bit sick of being considered disqualified from living because one happens to work for the government. The only thing the department’s paying for is the champagne, and even that’s non-vintage.”
    “I don’t know how you manage.”
    The rage that was bubbling near the surface finally boiled over as the Saint had expected it would.
    “I don’t like you, Templar. I don’t like your attitude to authority. I don’t like your meddling in the affairs of the Service. Most of all, I don’t trust your motives in this affair. I’m warning you, put one foot wrong and I’ll have it nailed to the floor.”
    “Better do it yourself, then,” the Saint replied coolly, and jerked his thumb at Cartwright. “This one’d probably hit his own thumb. By the way, how did your bloodhounds find me?”
    “Cartwright was at the conference and he followed you