Read Online Featuring the Saint by Leslie Charteris - Free Book Online

was horrified at the haggard limpness of his master.
    “Fetch the police,” croaked Lemuel and the man went quickly.
    Chief Inspector Teal himself had just arrived to give some instructions to the detective-sergeant who had taken over the investigations, and he it was who answered the summons.
    “Sixty-five thousand pounds? That’s a lot of money to keep in a little safe like this.”
    Teal cast sleepy eyes over the object, and then went down on his knees to examine it more closely. His heavy eyelids merely flickered when he saw the chalkmarks inside.
    “Opened it with your own key too.”
    Lemuel nodded dumbly.
    “I suppose he warned you?” said Teal drowsily-he was a chronically drowsy man.
    “I had two ridiculous letters—”
    “Can I see them?”
    “I-I destroyed them. I don’t take any notice of threats like that.”
    Teal raised his eyebrows one millimetre.
    “The Saint’s a pretty well-known character,” he said. “I should hate to have to calculate how many square miles of newspaper he’s had all to himself since he started in business. And the most celebrated thing about him is that he’s never yet failed to carry out a threat. This is the first time I’ve heard of anyone taking no notice of his letters.”
    Lemuel swallowed. Suddenly, in a flash of pure agony, he understood his position. The Saint had ruined him-taken from him practically every penny he possessed-and yet he had left him one fragile thing that was perhaps more precious than ten times the treasure he had lost-his liberty. And Lemuel’s numbed brain could see no way of bringing the Saint to justice without imperilling that last lonely asset.
    “What was the Saint’s grouse against you?” asked Teal, like a sleep-walking Nemesis, and knew that he was wasting his time.
    All the world knew that the Saint never threatened without good reason. To attempt to get evidence from his victims was a thankless task; there was so little that they could say without incriminating themselves.
    And Lemuel saw the point also, and clapped quivering hands to his forehead.
    “I-I apologize,” he said huskily. “I see you’ve guessed the truth. I heard about the burglary, and thought I might get some cheap publicity out of it. There was nothing in the safe. I drew the picture inside-copied it from an old newspaper cutting… .”
    Teal heard, and nodded wearily.
    But to Francis Lemuel had come one last desperate resolve.
    8
There were many men in London who hated the Saint, and none of them hated him without cause. Some he had robbed; some he had sent to prison; some he had hurt in their bodies, and some he had hurt in their pride; and some, who had not yet met him, hated him because they feared what he might do if he learned about them all the things that there were to learn -which was, perhaps, the most subtle and deadly hatred of all.
    Simon Templar had no illusions about his general popularity. He knew perfectly well that there were a large number of people domiciled between East India Dock and Hammersmith Broadway who would have been delighted to see him meet an end so sticky that he would descend to the place where they thought he would go like a well-ballasted black-beetle sinking through a pot of hot glue, and who, but for the distressing discouragements which the laws of England provide for such natural impulses, would have devoted all their sadistic ingenuity to the task of thus settling a long outstanding account. In the old days Simon had cared nothing for this; in those days he was known only as the Saint, and none knew his real name, or what he looked like, or whence he came; but those days had long gone by. Simon Templar’s name and address and telephone number were now common property in certain circles; it was only in sheer blind cussedness, which he had somehow got away with, that he had scorned to use an alias in his dealings with Francis Lemuel and the Calumet Club. And there had already been a number of enterprising gentlemen