Read Online Saint and the Templar Treasure by Leslie Charteris, Charles King, Graham Weaver - Free Book Online Page A

What is wrong with it?”
    “The radiator is holed. Henri was trying to get it fixed for me.”
    “I saw him heading for the chai as I drove up. He must have switched the call through to here in case they phoned back while he was out. What will you do now?”
    “I don’t know. I wouldn’t get more than two hundred metres before the engine seized. What’s the hotel situation like around here?”
    “A hotel? Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mimette. “We wouldn’t hear of such a thing. Of course, you will stay here.”
    “After what you have done for us, that is the least we can offer,” said Philippe warmly.
    Simon had to admire the man’s ability to react so quickly to events. The about-face was so complete that a doubt about his assessment even entered the Saint’s suspicious mind.
    “But that’s giving you too much trouble,” he protested hypocritically.
    “Not at all,” boomed Philippe, as if there had never been any question of an alternative in his mind.
    He rang the bell and the major-domo entered so quickly that he must have been standing within feet of the door.
    “Charles, please take Monsieur Templar’s valise back to his room. He will be staying to dinner.”
    “Oui, m’sieu.”
    Once again the Saint handed over his car keys. When Charles had left the salon Simon said: “I’m afraid I’m giving him a lot to do. Is it a problem to get staff so far out in the country?”
    “We have only Charles and his wife who live in. There are two others who come in daily.” Mimette sighed. “When I was a little girl we kept a whole army of servants here, but we can no longer afford them.”
    “Still longing for the good old days,” scoffed Philippe Florian. To the Saint he said: “I must tidy myself up a little. You will join us again for another drink in, perhaps, three quarters of an hour?” He stalked briskly from the room, and Simon looked at Mimette hopefully.
    “Can we continue our talk?”
    “There’s not much more to tell,” she replied, and once again he noted the tiredness in her voice.
    He felt very sorry for her. In one respect at least he agreed with her uncle. She might well be taking her responsibilities a little too seriously.
    She stubbed out her cigarette with a vindictiveness that displayed the depth of her struggle to control her emotions.
    “We are in serious financial trouble. Philippe wants to own the chateau, more importantly he wants to own us. He has always been jealous of my father. He hates the fact that Ingare came to my father and not to him. That he is not regarded as a true Florian.”
    “But surely he is a fully paid-up member of the family, even if he is only your father’s half-brother?”
    “There is more to being a member of a family than just being tied to people by blood,” Mimette retorted fiercely.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
    Mimette picked up another cigarette, fiddled with it aimlessly for a moment, and then crushed it in her hand. She brushed the debris from her hands into the empty grate. She looked intently at the Saint, a sarcastic smile curling her lips.
    “You are not the only one. Philippe does not understand anything. That some people have long memories. Or that if it were not for my father he would long ago have been a dead man.”
    “I give up,” said the Saint, not too patiently. “What’s the answer?”
    “Perhaps I will tell you soon—I must have time to think.” Mimette seemed to wonder if she had already said too much, and to be glad of an excuse to back away again. “Now I must get dressed for dinner. Shall I have Charles show you back to your room?”
    “I think I can find my own way now,” said the Saint.
    “Alors, a tout a l’heure.”
    While he changed into the plain dark suit which he assumed would be expected of him, he reviewed the events of the day and came up with practically nothing but riddles.
    Mimette’s outburst added another dimension to the picture he had been building up, but it was