The Saint Returns Read Online Free PDF

the edge of one of her pink-painted
fingernails.
    “I don’t think they did. They seemed to
have an appointment with the gentleman you weren’t running away
from—Eugene Drew.”
    She showed no reaction at the name.
    “You wouldn’t have heard of him, of
course,” Simon continued, “considering the sheltered life you’ve
led. But he’s one of the biggest industrialists in Northern Ireland.”
    Mildred stopped pacing, and sucked in her
lower lip.
    “Maybe he’s one of them,” she
theorized suddenly. “I heard them mention a man called Kleinschmidt, who changed his name and was some kind of Nazi agent here even before the
war. He’s probably scheduled to take over all of Ireland when they make their
move.”
    The Saint looked at her with a kind of
ambiguous admiration.
    “Fantastic,” he said. “In a
single day you’ve changed my whole picture of the history of our
times.”
    The phone rang, and Simon answered. It was Pat Kelly.
    “I’m back in me own little room,” he
said, “and sober as a judge, in case ye’re wonderin’. Shall we
meet in the lobby in twenty minutes?”
    “Fine,” said Simon. “I’m just
about ready now.”
    He was travelling light, and he had not even
removed most of his clothes—the ones for fishing and country wear—from
the suitcase during his short stay at the hotel. So he had only to
pack his toilet kit, and then he was ready to call for the porter.
    “I think we’ll send you down the stair
well,” he said to Mildred. “Your guardians wouldn’t be
likely to use it, and I’ll meet you …”
    There was a knock at the door. Mildred froze
and her eyes grew wide.
    “It’s them,” she whispered.
    “Clairvoyant too?” asked the Saint.
    Mildred looked like a frightened rabbit.
    “Who else could it be?”
    “Maybe I’ve just won the
sweepstakes,” the Saint sug gested. “But in case you’re right, get
in the wardrobe.”
    She obeyed, and Simon hurried into the bathroom
as the knocking continued. He took the bath brush from its rack and laid it
on the edge of the washbasin so that the brush was under the faucet. He put an
empty plastic soap dish on the brush and turned on the tap just enough to produce a
fast drip. Within a short time the soap dish would fill enough with
water to unbalance the brush and make it fall into the basin. The whole
operation took only a few moments.
    Simon closed the bathroom door, making sure
the key was in the outside. Then he pushed the door of the wardrobe firmly
shut and went to answer the knocking. While he was prepared for
anything, the Saint was nevertheless a little surprised to see Mildred’s SS
guardians standing there. He had considered the bath brush ticket a probable
waste of energy.
    But he did not show his surprise any more than
he betrayed any concern over the pistol in the fat man’s hand. His
face was as serene as his afternoon had been before they and
Mildred had interrupted it.
    “Looking for the clown auditions?”
he asked obligingly. “The circus manager’s room is next
door.”
    “Never mind,” said the one with the
gun, displaying a notable lack of a sense of humor. “Stand back.”
    Simon obeyed, being sure that his calm
retreat took him toward the closed bathroom door.
    “Did you enjoy your swim?” he
inquired.
    “Where is she?” demanded the thin
one.
    “Who?” asked Simon.
    “The girl.”
    “Gone about her father’s business, I
suppose.”
    “Mister,” said the fat one,
“you’re getting in our way. I dislike violence, but if I have to I’ll rub
you out like a chalk
mark.”
    At that point the brush clattered into the
washbasin, and Simon made an exaggerated move to put himself be tween the
men and the bathroom door. The one with the gun stepped forward, then
gestured for the thin one to investigate. There was a brief moment when the thin one was just inside the bathroom, and the fat one was
off his guard, turning to peer over
his companion’s shoulder. That was the
moment the Saint