Read Online The Saint Meets the Tiger by Leslie Charteris - Free Book Online

foe he had an incalculable advantage over the others, although it made him wonder how long it would be before the search became more systematic and electric torches were brought into service. Or would they decide to wait until daylight? The Saint began to appreciate the numerous advantages attached to a garden wall which so effectively shut out the peering of the stray passerby.
    Simon Templar, however, declined to let these portents oppress his gay recklessness. There seemed to be some reorganization going on among the ungodly, following the unfortunate case of mistaken identity, and it occurred to the Saint that the fun was losing the boisterous whole-heartedness which had ennobled its early exuberance. No sooner had this chastening thought struck him than he set out to restore the former state of affairs;
    Creeping along toward the main gate, where he expected to find a guard posted, he almost fell over a man crouching by a tree. Templar had the sentinel by the throat before he could cry out; then, releasing the grip of one hand, he firmly but unmistakably tweaked the man’s nose. Before the sentinel had recovered from the surprise, the Saint had thrown him into a thorny bush and was sprinting for the cover on the other side of the drive. He had scarcely gained the gloom of another clump of bushes before the man’s bellow of rage drifted like music to his ears. The cry was taken up from four different points, and the Saint chuckled.
    A moment later he was frozen into immobility by the sound of a voice from the house rising above the clamour.
    “Stop shouting, you blasted fools! Kahn—come here!”
    “Tush murmured the Saint. “I can’t have dotted you a very stiff one, honey, but it certainly hasn’t improved your temper!”
    He waited, listening, but he could make nothing of the mutter of voices. Then came the muffled sounds of someone running across the lawn, followed by the dull thud of a wooden bar being thrown back. Then a clinking of metal.
    Suddenly there was a snuffling whine, which sank again into a more persistent snuffling. The whine was taken up in three other different keys. Abruptly, the fierce deep-throated baying of a great hound rent the night air. Then there was only a hoarse whimpering.
    “Damn their eyes’” said Templar softly. “This is where, item, one Saint, slides off in the direction of his evening bread and milk.”
    Even then he was fumbling for the bolts which held the heavy main gates. He had one back and was wrestling with the other when a dog whimpered eagerly only a few yards away. The Saint tore desperately at the metal, thanking his gods for the darkness of the night, and the bolt shot back. At the same instant there was a thunderous knocking on the door, and a vociferous barking replaced the whining of bloodhounds temporarily distracted from the scent.
    “To be continued in our next, I think, grinned the Saint.
    He pulled back the heavy door.
    “So glad you’ve come, brothers,” remarked the Saint in loud and hospitable accents. “We’re hunting a real live burglar. Care to lend the odd paw?”
    “Quietly,” advised a voice.
    A blinding beam of light flashed from the hand of the man who had stepped first through the opening. It stabbed at the Saint’s eyes, dazzling him for a moment; then into the ray of it came a hand which held a small automatic pistol with a curious cylindrical gadget screwed to the muzzle. The Saint knew the gadget for a silencer, and there was no doubt whatever about the accuracy of the aim.
    “Quietly, Mr. Templar,” repeated the crooning voice.
    “Dear me!” said the Saint, who never swore when he was seriously annoyed, and put up his hands.
    Chapter V
    AUNT AGATHA IS UPSET
    Patricia Holm landed safely on her feet in the road outside the wall and set off steadily for home. She ran easily and smoothly, as a healthy girl can who has spent most of her life away from tubes and ”buses and taxis, although she was somewhat out of breath from