Read Online Saint Intervenes by Leslie Charteris - Free Book Online Page A

and
tried it. Telephone calls were made to London. A whole two hours passed before
Simon Templar dropped the machine
beside Mr. Newdick’s sheds and re lieved
the inventor of the agonies of anxiety which had been racking him.
    “I was
afraid you’d killed yourself,” said Mr. Newdick with emotion; and indeed the thought that
his miraculous benefactor might have passed
away before being separated from his
money had brought Mr. Newdick out in several cold sweats.
    The Saint grinned.
    “I
just buzzed over to Reading to look up a friend,” he said
untruthfully.“I like your helicopter. Let us goinside and talk
business.”
    When he
returned to Patricia, much later that day, he was jubilant but
mysterious. He spent most of the next day with Mr. Newdick, and half
of the Saturday which came after, but he refused to tell her what he was
doing. It was not until that evening, when he was pouring beer once
more for Monty Hayward, that he mentioned Mr. Newdick again; and then his
announcement took her breath away.
    “I’ve
bought that helicopter company,” he said casually.
    “You’ve what?” spluttered Monty.
    “I’ve
bought that helicopter company and everything it owns,” said the
Saint, “for forty thousand pounds.”
    They gaped
at him for a while in silence, while he calmly continued with the
essential task of opening bottles.
    “The
man’s mad,” said Patricia finally. “I always thought so.”
    “When
did you do this?” asked Monty.
    “We
fixed up the last details of the deal today,” said the Saint.
“Oscar is due here at any minute to sign the papers.”
    Monty
swallowed beer feverishly.
    “I
suppose you wouldn’t care to buy my shares as well?” he
suggested.
    “Sure,
I’ll buy them,” said the Saint affably. “Name your price.
Oscar’s contribution gives me a controlling interest, but I can
always handle a bit more. As ordered by Patricia, I’m going into business. The
machine is to be rechristened the Templar helicopter. I shall go down to
history as the man who put England in the air. Bevies of English beauty,
wear ing their Templar longerons—stays, braces, and everything complete—— ”
    The
ringing of his door-bell interrupted the word-picture and took him from the
room before any of the questions that were howling through their bewildered
minds could be asked.
    Mr.
Newdick was on the mat, beaming like a delighted fox. Simon took his
hat and umbrella, took Mr. Newdick by the arm, and led him through into the
living-room.
    “Boys
and girls,” he said cheerfully, “this is our fairy godmother, Mr.
Oscar Newdick. This is Miss Holm, Oscar, old toadstool; and I
think you know Mr. Hayward—— ”
    The
inventor’s arm had stiffened under his hand, and his smile had vanished.
His face was turning pale and nasty.
    “What’s
the game?” he demanded hoarsely. “No game at all, dear old
garlic-blossom,” said the Saint innocently. “Just a coincidence.
Mr. Hayward is going to sell m e his shares too. Now, all the papers are
here, and if you’ll just sign on the dotted line —— ”
    “I
refuse!” babbled Newdick wildly. “It’s a trap!”
    Simon
stepped back and regarded him blandly. “A   trap,   Oscar?   What on earth are you
talking about? You’ve got a jolly good helicopter, and you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Come, now, be brave. Harden the Newdick heart.   There may be a wrench at parting with your
brain child, but you can cry afterwards. Just a signature or two on the dotted
line, and it’s all over. And there’s a cheque for forty thousand pounds
waiting for you… .”
    He thrust a
fountain-pen into the inventor’s hand; and, half-hypnotised, Mr.
Newdick signed. The Saint blotted the signatures carefully and put the
agreements away in a drawer, which he locked. Then he handed Mr. Newdick a
cheque. The inventor grasped it weakly and stared at the writing and figures on
it as if he expected them to fade away under his eyes. He had the
quite natural