Read Online The Saint Meets His Match by Leslie Charteris - Free Book Online

to remember that I never asked you to become a customer.
You’re making the most blind par alytic fool
of yourself that ever a woman made of anything that God had given her such a long start on! But that’s your own idea, isn’t it? Now go ahead and prove
it’s right. Go to Birmingham, take
that diseased blot of a Stephen Weald
with you—— ”
    Weald stepped forward.
    “What did you say,
Templar?”
    “I said ‘diseased blot
of a Stephen Weald,’ ” said the Saint pleasantly. “Any
objection?”
    “I have,” said
Weald. “This—— ”
    He struck the Saint three times in the face
with his fist.
    “… and this–for
the first time I met you.”
    Simon sat like a rock.
    “You’ve found some
courage since then,” he remarked, in
a voice of steel and granite. “Been taking pink pills or something?”
    Then the girl stepped
between them.
    “That’ll do,”
she said curtly. “Weald, go and get your coat. Pinky, you and Dyson can
carry Templar down stairs.”
    “So it’s to be the
cellar and the hose pipe, is it?” drawled the
Saint, unimpressed.            
    “Just the cellar, for
the present,” she answered coolly. “I’ll
decide what else is to be done with you when I come back.”  
    “ If . If you
come back,” said the Saint indulgently.  
     
    2
     
    Simon lay in the cellar
where he had been carelessly dropped, and meditated his
position by the light of the single dusty globe which
provided the sole illumination in the place. Having dropped him there,
Budd and Dyson departed, but the hope that
they might have gone for good, thereby
leaving him to try all the tricks of escape he knew upon the ropes with which he had been tied, was soon
dispelled. They returned in a few moments, Budd carrying a table and Dyson a couple of chairs. Then they closed the door and sat down.
    Clearly, the watch was
intended to be a close one. Budd took a pack of greasy
cards from his pocket, and the two men settled down
to a game.
    Cautiously, as well as he could without
attracting at tention, the Saint tested his
bonds. The process did not take him
long. His expert tests soon proved that the rop ing had been done by a practised hand. It remained, therefore, to depend on the loyalty of Slinky
Dyson. And how much was that worth?
In an interval in the game he caught Dyson’s eye. Slinky’s expression
did not change, but Simon found something
reassuring in that unpromis ing
fact.
    For a quarter of an hour the game continued,
and then Slinky wiped his mouth with a soiled
handkerchief.
    “This is a thirsty
job,” he complained.
    “Ain’t it?” agreed
Budd. “Would you like a drink?”
    “Not ‘arf. Is there
anything?”
    Budd nodded.
    “I’ll see if I can
find something. You keep your eyes skinned for Templar,
see?”
    “You bet I
will.”
    Budd rose and went out,
leaving the door open, and Simon listened without speaking
as the sound of the man’s heavy footsteps faded up the stairs.
    A moment later he found
Dyson beside him.
    “I don’t want to
hustle you,” said the Saint easily, “but if you’ve nothing else
to do at the moment——”
    Dyson swallowed.
    “If Budd comes back
and catches me at this I’m a goner,” he said.
    He had opened a
murderous-looking jackknife, and Simon felt the ropes loosen about his arms and
legs as Dyson slashed clumsily at them. Then, beyond the
sound of Dyson’s laboured breathing, he heard Budd coming
back. Slinky gave a little grunt of panic.
    “You’ll see I’m all
right, Mr. Templar, won’t you?”
    “Sure,” said the
Saint.
    He stood up and swiftly
untwisted the loose cords that held him and dropped them
on the floor.
    Pinky Budd saw him standing
up free beside the table, and very carefully heput down the tray he was
carrying.
    “So that’s the
idea!” breathed Budd.
    “It is,” said the Saint gently.
“And now we’re going to have a fight,
aren’t we?”
    Dyson was still holding the
murderous jackknife, but the Saint pushed him