The Saint Meets the Tiger Read Online Free PDF

Box.
    “You’re a card, Templar,” said Carn as they sat over Martinis in the sitting room, and the Saint„ raised indulgent eyebrows.
    “Because I called your bluff?”
    “Because you didn’t hesitate.”
    “He who hesitates,” said the Saint sententiously, “is bossed. No mughopper will ever spiel this baby.
    They talked politics arid literature through supper (the Saint had original and heretical views on both Subjects) as dispassionately as the most ordinary men, met together in the most ordinary circumstances, might have done.
    After Orace had served coffee and withdrawn, Carn produced a cigar case and offered it to the Saint. Templar looked, and shook his head with a smile.
    “Not even with you, dear heart,” he said, and Carn was aggrieved.
    “There’s nothing wrong with them.”
    “I’m so glad you haven’t wasted a cigar, then.”
    “If I give you my word—”
    “I’ll take it. But I won’t take your cigars,”
    Carn shrugged, took one himself and lighted it. The Saint settled himself more comfortably in his armchair.
    “I’m glad to see you don’t pack a gun yourself,” observed the Doctor presently.
    “It makes one so unpopular, letting off artillery and things all over Devonshire,” said Simon. “You can only do that in shockers: in real life, the police make all sorts of awkward inquiries if you go slaughtering people here and there because they look cock-eyed at you. But I don’t advise anyone to bank on my consideration for the nerves of the neighbourhood when I’m in my own home.”
    Carn sat forward abruptly.
    “We’ve bluffed for an hour and a half by the clock,” he said. “Suppose we get down to brass tacks?
    “I’ll suppose anything you like,” assented Simon. “I know you’ve got some funny game on; and I know you aren’t one of those dude detectives, because I’ve made inquiries. You aren’t even Secret Service. I know something about your record, and I gather you haven’t come to Baycombe because you got an idea you’d like to vegetate in rural England and grow string beans. You aren’t the sort that goes anywhere unless they can see easy money ^0r big trouble waiting for collection.”
    “I might have decided to quit before I stopped something.”
    “You might—but your sort doesn’t quit while there’s a kick left in ‘em. Besides, what do you think I’ve been doing all the time I’ve been down here?”
    “Huntin’ the elusive Wugga-Wugga, presumably,” drawled the Saint,
    Carm made a gesture of impatience.
    “I’ve told you you’re clever,” he said, “and I meant every letter of it—in capital italics. But you don’t have to pretend you think I’m a fool, because I know you know better. You’re here for what you can get, and I’ve a good idea what that is. If I’m right, it’s my job to get in your way all I can, unless you work in with me. Templar, I’m paying you the compliment of putting the cards on the table, because from what I hear I’d rather work with you than against you. Now, why can’t you come across?”
    The Saint had sunk deeper into his armchair. The room was lighted only by the smoky oil lamp that Grace had brought in with the coffee, for the sky had clouded over in the late afternoon and night had come on early.
    “There are just one million reasons why I shouldn’t come across,” said the Saint tranquilly. “They were lost to the Confederated Bank of Chicago quite a time ago, and I want them all to myself, my good Carn.”
    “You don’t imagine you could get away with it?”
    “I can think of no limits to my ingenuity in getting away with things,” said the Saint calmly.
    He moved in the shadows, and a moment later he said quietly:
    “There is a million-and-first argument which prevents me coming across just now, Carn—and that is that I never allow Tiger Cubs to listen-in on my confessions.”
    “What do you mean?” asked Carn.
    “I mean,” said the Saint in a clear strong voice, “that at this