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Authors: Leslie Charteris, Robert Hilbert;
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Urivetzky. But in any case there are worse crimes in this country than burglary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—murder.”
Major Perez kept still, watching him with evil intentness.
“What murder?”
“Pongo,” said the Saint kindly, “I may have a face like an innocent little child, which is more than you have, but appearances are deceptive. I was not born yesterday. I’ve been listening in this room for some time, and I’d done a good deal of thinking before that, and I think I know nearly as much about this racket of yours as is worth knowing.”
“What racket?”
The Saint sighed.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s have it in words of one syllable. A good many things have been done in Spain to get funds for your precious revolution, and since nearly all the official Spanish dough is in Madrid a good many of your tricks have had to sail pretty close to the wind. Well, your contribution was to think up this idea of pledging forged bonds around the place to get money to pay the Germans and Italians for their guns and airplanes and tanks and bombs and poison gas and other contributions to the cause of civilization. Somebody thought of hiring Comrade Urivetzky to do the forging, and you were all set.”
He leaned back against the mantelpiece and blew a smoke ring at a particularly hideous ormolu clock.
“The next thing was to get stooges to pledge the bonds, because if any of them were spotted you didn’t want all your credit to be shot to hell at once. Among others you collected Comrade Ingleston. You met him on one of his trips to Spain—he spoke Spanish very well, and he had plenty of friends among your crowd, Sevilla being a red-hot monarchist and Fascist stronghold, unless it’s changed since I was last there. You made him a proposition, and he took it on. Unfortunately he wasn’t such an idealist as you may have thought, and when he began to find himself with pocket-fuls of bearer bonds he heard the call of easy money. He started to go short on his returns. You got suspicious and started to keep tabs on him, and before long there wasn’t much doubt left about it. Ingleston was playing you for suckers, and something had to be done about it. Pongo did it.”
There was no doubt now that he was holding his audience. They were drinking up every word with a thirsty concentration that would have made some men hesitate to go on; but the Saint knew what he was doing.
“Last night,” he proceeded with easy confidence, “Pongo was waiting for Ingleston in the street when he came home. He hailed him like a brother and was invited upstairs. While Ingleston was pouring out a drink Pongo jumped on him from behind with a hammer. Then after Ingleston was dead he had a look round for the last consignment of forged bonds. He was unlucky there, of course, because I’d already got them.”
“That is very interesting,” Quintana said deliberately.
“You’ve no idea how interesting it is,” answered the Saint earnestly. “Suppose you just look at it all at once. Here’s Ladek Urivetzky, a well-known forger and a wanted man, taking shelter here and being like a brother with the pair of you. Here’s Ingleston murdered by a major of the Third Division of the army of the Spanish Patriots, also among those present. Well, boys, I’m well known to be a broad-minded bloke, and I can’t say that any of it worries me much. Forgers and Fascists are more or less in the same class to me; and Ingleston seems to have been the kind of guy that anyone might bump off in an absent-minded moment. I don’t feel a bit virtuous about either side, so I haven’t got any sermons for you. But what I don’t like is you boys thinking you can make yourselves at home and raise hell in this town without my permission. London is the greatest city in the world, and our policemen are wonderful, so I’m told,” said the Saint proudly, “and I don’t like to have them bothered. So if you want to have your fun I’m afraid
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—murder.”
Major Perez kept still, watching him with evil intentness.
“What murder?”
“Pongo,” said the Saint kindly, “I may have a face like an innocent little child, which is more than you have, but appearances are deceptive. I was not born yesterday. I’ve been listening in this room for some time, and I’d done a good deal of thinking before that, and I think I know nearly as much about this racket of yours as is worth knowing.”
“What racket?”
The Saint sighed.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s have it in words of one syllable. A good many things have been done in Spain to get funds for your precious revolution, and since nearly all the official Spanish dough is in Madrid a good many of your tricks have had to sail pretty close to the wind. Well, your contribution was to think up this idea of pledging forged bonds around the place to get money to pay the Germans and Italians for their guns and airplanes and tanks and bombs and poison gas and other contributions to the cause of civilization. Somebody thought of hiring Comrade Urivetzky to do the forging, and you were all set.”
He leaned back against the mantelpiece and blew a smoke ring at a particularly hideous ormolu clock.
“The next thing was to get stooges to pledge the bonds, because if any of them were spotted you didn’t want all your credit to be shot to hell at once. Among others you collected Comrade Ingleston. You met him on one of his trips to Spain—he spoke Spanish very well, and he had plenty of friends among your crowd, Sevilla being a red-hot monarchist and Fascist stronghold, unless it’s changed since I was last there. You made him a proposition, and he took it on. Unfortunately he wasn’t such an idealist as you may have thought, and when he began to find himself with pocket-fuls of bearer bonds he heard the call of easy money. He started to go short on his returns. You got suspicious and started to keep tabs on him, and before long there wasn’t much doubt left about it. Ingleston was playing you for suckers, and something had to be done about it. Pongo did it.”
There was no doubt now that he was holding his audience. They were drinking up every word with a thirsty concentration that would have made some men hesitate to go on; but the Saint knew what he was doing.
“Last night,” he proceeded with easy confidence, “Pongo was waiting for Ingleston in the street when he came home. He hailed him like a brother and was invited upstairs. While Ingleston was pouring out a drink Pongo jumped on him from behind with a hammer. Then after Ingleston was dead he had a look round for the last consignment of forged bonds. He was unlucky there, of course, because I’d already got them.”
“That is very interesting,” Quintana said deliberately.
“You’ve no idea how interesting it is,” answered the Saint earnestly. “Suppose you just look at it all at once. Here’s Ladek Urivetzky, a well-known forger and a wanted man, taking shelter here and being like a brother with the pair of you. Here’s Ingleston murdered by a major of the Third Division of the army of the Spanish Patriots, also among those present. Well, boys, I’m well known to be a broad-minded bloke, and I can’t say that any of it worries me much. Forgers and Fascists are more or less in the same class to me; and Ingleston seems to have been the kind of guy that anyone might bump off in an absent-minded moment. I don’t feel a bit virtuous about either side, so I haven’t got any sermons for you. But what I don’t like is you boys thinking you can make yourselves at home and raise hell in this town without my permission. London is the greatest city in the world, and our policemen are wonderful, so I’m told,” said the Saint proudly, “and I don’t like to have them bothered. So if you want to have your fun I’m afraid
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