The Saint Returns Read Online Free PDF Page B

chose to use his foot, for the second time that day, on the
posterior of the plumper of the pair, who was propelled forward through
the door way, striking his partner with
something like the effect of a
billiard on a ping pong ball. The thin man caromed into the shower stall, while
the fat one carried enough momentum to
send him stumbling to another corner of the little room. Simon quickly closed and locked the door, and almost before the captives had had time to
start shouting and thumping he had
opened the wardrobe and let Mildred
out.
    “Our friends have a great affinity for water,” he said, picking up the telephone and dialing Kelly’s room.
    “Oh, you’re wonderful!” said
Mildred. She stationed herself at the door for a quick getaway.
“How did you do
it?”
    “Pat,” Simon said, when his friend
answered. “I’m afraid the turnover in this hotel is a little fast for us. We’ll have
to hurry along and meet you at your house.”
    Before the startled Irishman could reply,
Simon hung up, lifted one of his suitcases in either hand, and fol lowed Mildred
out into the corridor toward the elevator.
    “What if … Kleinschmidt is down in the lobby?” she asked.
    “Kleinschmidt?” said Simon.
“Oh—the one who’s taking over Ireland after the uprising. Well, I
think I could handle
him. If you prefer using the fire escape, go right ahead.”
    She chose to come with him in the elevator.
    “Here, now, sir,” the aged operator
said, hurrying to take the suitcases. “Couldn’t ye get a boy for
helpin’ with those?”
    “We were in a hurry,” the Saint
answered. “Some people were anxious to see us, but we weren’t
so anxious to see them.”
    “Ah, and that’s understandable
enough,” said the oper ator with a wink, casting an appreciative eye
over Mildred’s
shape and virgin ring finger. “We’ll have some one get those bags out front for ye now in a jiffy.”
    Simon tipped him and walked with Mildred to
the desk, where he paid his bill and asked for his car to be brought
around to the main entrance.
    “I heard a lot of banging on my
floor,” he said to the clerk. “Like somebody trying to break a
door down.”
    “I’ll see to that, sir,” the clerk
said, and rang for a porter.
    “Oh, Mr. Templar,” Mildred said
admiringly as they went out to the street, “how did you ever lock up
both those
men?”
    “It’s no more miraculous than the fact
that they knew where we were.” He looked at her closely. “Is
it?”
    “I … guess not.
They’re … diabolical. They’ve got agents everywhere. And maybe they
did recognize your face this afternoon, and found out where you were staying.”
    The doorman stood by Simon’s car at the curb.
    “It’s possible,” Simon said as he
helped Mildred in. “But I’m sure there’s a simpler explanation. When
we’ve had a chance to catch our breath, I want you to tell me the truth
about it. If that won’t be too frightful an effort.”
     
    4
     
    As the Saint drove west through Dublin along
the Liffey, he had the unmistakable feeling that his request for truth
had put a damper on Mildred’s ordinary talka tiveness. She did not
say anything, indeed, for more than twenty minutes. That fact was not totally
without its charm, so Simon did not try to change the situation until they were driving through the dark countryside toward Leixlip
and Kilcock.
    “Now,” he said, “how about telling me your real
story.”
    Mildred performed a flouncing jerk and twisted around so that she was facing her own side of the car. A
moment later Simon heard whimpering
sounds.
    “I realize the thought of being honest
must be terribly painful for you,” said the Saint, “but try to
bear up.”
    There were snuffling noises, and then Mildred sud denly
turned and looked through the back window.
    “I think they’re
following us,” she said in an urgent voice.
    “You’re changing the subject.”
    “No,” she insisted, wiping her eyes
excitedly as she went on looking.