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Authors: Leslie Charteris
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flatfooted
periwin kle shall be heard in the land—— ”
He was still burbling foolishly when Patricia fled; but when she
returned he was resplendent in Gents’ Evening Wear and wielding a
cocktail-shaker with a wild exuberance that made her almost giddy to watch.
“For heaven’s sake,” she said, catching his arm, “pull
your self together and tell me something!”
“Sure,” said the Saint daftly. “That nightie of yours is a dream. Or is it meant to be a dress? You can never tell, with these long
skirts. And I don’t want to be personal, but are you sure you haven’t
forgotten to put on the back or posterior part? I can see all
your spine. Not that I mind, but … Talking of swine—spine—there was a very fine specimen at
the Embassy the other night. Must have
measured at least thirty- two inches
from snout to—— They say the man who
landed it played it for three weeks.
Ordinarily trout line and gaff, you know.
…”
Patricia Holm was almost hysterical by the time they reached the
Carlton, where the Saint had decided to dine. And it was not until he
had ordered an extravagant dinner, with appropriate wines,
that she was able to make him listen to a sober question. And
then he became the picture of innocent amazement.
“But didn’t you get me?” he asked. “Hadn’t you figured it out for
yourself? I thought you were there long ago. Have you forgotten my little
exploit at the Bird’s Nest? Who d’you think paid for that bit of
coloured mosquito-net you’re wearing? Who bought these studs I’m wearing?
Who, if it comes to that, is standing us this six-course indigestion? .
. . Well, some peo ple
might say it was Montgomery Bird, but personally——”
The girl gasped. “You mean that other man at the Bird’s Nest was the Scorpion?”
“Who else? … But I never rumbled to it till tonight! I told you
he was busy putting the black on Montgomery when Teal and I butted in.
I overheard the whole conversation, and I was certainly
curious. I made a mental note at the time to investigate that
bearded battleship, but it never came into my head that it must have
been Wilfred himself—I’m damned if I know why!”
Patricia nodded.
“I’d forgotten to think of it myself,” she said.
“And I must have been fast asleep the whole time! Of course it
was the Scorpion—and his graft’s a bigger one than I ever dreamed. He’s
got organisation, that guy. He probably has his finger in
half the wicked pies that are being cooked in this big city. If he
was on to Montgomery, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t have
got on to a dozen others that you and I can think of; and
he’ll be drawing his percentage from the whole bunch. I grant
you I put Montgomery out of business, but —— ”
“If you’re right,” said Patricia, “and the Scorpion hasn’t done a bunk, we may find him anywhere.”
“Tonight,” said the Saint. “Or, if not tonight, some
other night. And I’m prepared to keep on looking. But my income tax has got
to be paid tomorrow, and so I want the reunion to be tonight.”
“Have you got an idea?”
“I’ve got a dozen,” said the Saint. “And one of them says that
Wilfred is going to have an Evening!”
His brain had suddenly picked up its stride again. In a few minutes he
had sketched out a plan of campaign as slick and agile as anything his
fertile genius had ever devised. And once again he was proved a
true prophet, though the proceedings took a slight twist which he had not
foreseen.
For at a quarter past eleven they ran Wilfred Garniman to earth at
the Golden Apple Club. And Wilfred Garniman cer tainly had an Evening.
He was standing at the door of the ballroom, sardonically surveying
the clientele, when a girl walked in and stopped beside him. He glanced
round at her almost without thinking. Having done which, he stayed
glancing—and thought a lot.
She was young, slim, fair-haired, and exquisite. Even Wilfred
Garniman knew that. His rather tired eyes,
periwin kle shall be heard in the land—— ”
He was still burbling foolishly when Patricia fled; but when she
returned he was resplendent in Gents’ Evening Wear and wielding a
cocktail-shaker with a wild exuberance that made her almost giddy to watch.
“For heaven’s sake,” she said, catching his arm, “pull
your self together and tell me something!”
“Sure,” said the Saint daftly. “That nightie of yours is a dream. Or is it meant to be a dress? You can never tell, with these long
skirts. And I don’t want to be personal, but are you sure you haven’t
forgotten to put on the back or posterior part? I can see all
your spine. Not that I mind, but … Talking of swine—spine—there was a very fine specimen at
the Embassy the other night. Must have
measured at least thirty- two inches
from snout to—— They say the man who
landed it played it for three weeks.
Ordinarily trout line and gaff, you know.
…”
Patricia Holm was almost hysterical by the time they reached the
Carlton, where the Saint had decided to dine. And it was not until he
had ordered an extravagant dinner, with appropriate wines,
that she was able to make him listen to a sober question. And
then he became the picture of innocent amazement.
“But didn’t you get me?” he asked. “Hadn’t you figured it out for
yourself? I thought you were there long ago. Have you forgotten my little
exploit at the Bird’s Nest? Who d’you think paid for that bit of
coloured mosquito-net you’re wearing? Who bought these studs I’m wearing?
Who, if it comes to that, is standing us this six-course indigestion? .
. . Well, some peo ple
might say it was Montgomery Bird, but personally——”
The girl gasped. “You mean that other man at the Bird’s Nest was the Scorpion?”
“Who else? … But I never rumbled to it till tonight! I told you
he was busy putting the black on Montgomery when Teal and I butted in.
I overheard the whole conversation, and I was certainly
curious. I made a mental note at the time to investigate that
bearded battleship, but it never came into my head that it must have
been Wilfred himself—I’m damned if I know why!”
Patricia nodded.
“I’d forgotten to think of it myself,” she said.
“And I must have been fast asleep the whole time! Of course it
was the Scorpion—and his graft’s a bigger one than I ever dreamed. He’s
got organisation, that guy. He probably has his finger in
half the wicked pies that are being cooked in this big city. If he
was on to Montgomery, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t have
got on to a dozen others that you and I can think of; and
he’ll be drawing his percentage from the whole bunch. I grant
you I put Montgomery out of business, but —— ”
“If you’re right,” said Patricia, “and the Scorpion hasn’t done a bunk, we may find him anywhere.”
“Tonight,” said the Saint. “Or, if not tonight, some
other night. And I’m prepared to keep on looking. But my income tax has got
to be paid tomorrow, and so I want the reunion to be tonight.”
“Have you got an idea?”
“I’ve got a dozen,” said the Saint. “And one of them says that
Wilfred is going to have an Evening!”
His brain had suddenly picked up its stride again. In a few minutes he
had sketched out a plan of campaign as slick and agile as anything his
fertile genius had ever devised. And once again he was proved a
true prophet, though the proceedings took a slight twist which he had not
foreseen.
For at a quarter past eleven they ran Wilfred Garniman to earth at
the Golden Apple Club. And Wilfred Garniman cer tainly had an Evening.
He was standing at the door of the ballroom, sardonically surveying
the clientele, when a girl walked in and stopped beside him. He glanced
round at her almost without thinking. Having done which, he stayed
glancing—and thought a lot.
She was young, slim, fair-haired, and exquisite. Even Wilfred
Garniman knew that. His rather tired eyes,
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