Read Online Send for the Saint by Leslie Charteris, Peter Bloxsom - Free Book Online
Authors: Leslie Charteris, Peter Bloxsom
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Literary Criticism, Short Stories, Detective and Mystery Stories; English, Traditional British
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of despair. “They bleed me, those people. Advance Information Limited. Hah! Should read the limited in front.” He turned to Ariadne. “Today you will go over all the schedules with Templar. But first, take a note. Corinthian Tankers …”
At a quarter to one, the Saint and Ariadne Two were seated side by side on the sofa in the drawing-room, going over the last of the schedules and notes for Patroclos’ meetings. Abruptly Simon stood up and stretched.
“Well, I think that’s enough for this morning. It’s getting near lunch time. Can we have a drink ?”
“Thanks,” said Ariadne Two, with perceptibly more warmth in her voice than previously. “That’s a cocktail cabinet, over in the corner. I’ll have a medium sherry. A large one.”
She watched as he poured her drink and mixed himself a dry martini on the rocks. She had begun by mistrusting him, but now she was less sure. About this man with the cavalier smile there was something wildly, untameably adventurous, reckless even, and yet at the same time something innocent and … saintly. The word came to her of its own accord, though she knew, from what her boss had told her, that this was the man whom people called the Saint — a man who had known many dangerous adventures across the globe, and who lived always by his own individual, perhaps peculiar, code of justice.
“It’s funny,” she mused aloud. “Now I know you better it makes even less sense.”
Simon handed her a brimming glass of Dry Sack and took an appreciative sip of the cocktail he had poured for himself.
“What does?”
“That you should bluff your way into this house… All that nonsense about knowing me before!”
He eyed her curiously.
“You mean you still don’t remember that langouste in Monte Carlo?”
Of course, there had never been any such meeting. But he would have expected an impostor, afraid of being tripped up, to pretend to recall it.
“No, I don’t. Look, Mr Templar — “
“Simon,” he put in quickly.
“Well — Simon.” She looked him straight in the eye, ingenuously. “But I’ve never even been to Monte Carlo.”
The blue eyes widened; they wore their most saintly expression, but in them was a hint of the clear mocking light that the girl had seen before.
“Strange,” he said speculatively. “I wonder — could there be two Ariadnes ?”
The Saint watched her closely as he spoke the line which of all lines must put her acting or her innocence to the test. And the girl looked genuinely puzzled still, seeming not to have taken his remark as seriously meant. She sipped her drink defensively, and had still not answered when the telegram arrived.
They heard the doorbell ring, and the murmur of voices; and then a footman knocked and handed the telegram to Ariadne. She opened and read it, frowned, looked perplexed, read it again, and finally waved away the footman, who was waiting for instructions.
Simon crossed the room and shamelessly read the telegram over her shoulder. It was addressed to Patroclos, and said simply:
INFORMATION RECEIVED STOP PROJECT NOW COMPLETED STOP NO FURTHER ACTION REQUIRED
It was unsigned, but Simon had little doubt that it was intended for him to see. Which was interesting, given that it must be a fake, since he knew that the codebook had never reached Athens.
Ariadne Two shrugged.
“I don’t know what it’s about. Maybe a secret deal — I don’t always travel with him and he doesn’t tell me everything.”
She took the telegram into the library where Patroclos Two was busy with work of his own, and the Saint heard phrases of their conversation that drifted through the open door.
“No!” Patroclos Two’s voice was raised in anger. “… know what the hell it is about ? Why couldn’t the idiot put his name?”
Then a pause, with Ariadne’s voice occasionally murmuring. And then the Saint heard the man say: “Did you show it to Templar ? Well, he is my detective for the moment — let him
At a quarter to one, the Saint and Ariadne Two were seated side by side on the sofa in the drawing-room, going over the last of the schedules and notes for Patroclos’ meetings. Abruptly Simon stood up and stretched.
“Well, I think that’s enough for this morning. It’s getting near lunch time. Can we have a drink ?”
“Thanks,” said Ariadne Two, with perceptibly more warmth in her voice than previously. “That’s a cocktail cabinet, over in the corner. I’ll have a medium sherry. A large one.”
She watched as he poured her drink and mixed himself a dry martini on the rocks. She had begun by mistrusting him, but now she was less sure. About this man with the cavalier smile there was something wildly, untameably adventurous, reckless even, and yet at the same time something innocent and … saintly. The word came to her of its own accord, though she knew, from what her boss had told her, that this was the man whom people called the Saint — a man who had known many dangerous adventures across the globe, and who lived always by his own individual, perhaps peculiar, code of justice.
“It’s funny,” she mused aloud. “Now I know you better it makes even less sense.”
Simon handed her a brimming glass of Dry Sack and took an appreciative sip of the cocktail he had poured for himself.
“What does?”
“That you should bluff your way into this house… All that nonsense about knowing me before!”
He eyed her curiously.
“You mean you still don’t remember that langouste in Monte Carlo?”
Of course, there had never been any such meeting. But he would have expected an impostor, afraid of being tripped up, to pretend to recall it.
“No, I don’t. Look, Mr Templar — “
“Simon,” he put in quickly.
“Well — Simon.” She looked him straight in the eye, ingenuously. “But I’ve never even been to Monte Carlo.”
The blue eyes widened; they wore their most saintly expression, but in them was a hint of the clear mocking light that the girl had seen before.
“Strange,” he said speculatively. “I wonder — could there be two Ariadnes ?”
The Saint watched her closely as he spoke the line which of all lines must put her acting or her innocence to the test. And the girl looked genuinely puzzled still, seeming not to have taken his remark as seriously meant. She sipped her drink defensively, and had still not answered when the telegram arrived.
They heard the doorbell ring, and the murmur of voices; and then a footman knocked and handed the telegram to Ariadne. She opened and read it, frowned, looked perplexed, read it again, and finally waved away the footman, who was waiting for instructions.
Simon crossed the room and shamelessly read the telegram over her shoulder. It was addressed to Patroclos, and said simply:
INFORMATION RECEIVED STOP PROJECT NOW COMPLETED STOP NO FURTHER ACTION REQUIRED
It was unsigned, but Simon had little doubt that it was intended for him to see. Which was interesting, given that it must be a fake, since he knew that the codebook had never reached Athens.
Ariadne Two shrugged.
“I don’t know what it’s about. Maybe a secret deal — I don’t always travel with him and he doesn’t tell me everything.”
She took the telegram into the library where Patroclos Two was busy with work of his own, and the Saint heard phrases of their conversation that drifted through the open door.
“No!” Patroclos Two’s voice was raised in anger. “… know what the hell it is about ? Why couldn’t the idiot put his name?”
Then a pause, with Ariadne’s voice occasionally murmuring. And then the Saint heard the man say: “Did you show it to Templar ? Well, he is my detective for the moment — let him
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