Free The Saint Around the World by Leslie Charteris Page A

money from an uncle in Australia; and right on top of that they’d taken out mutual insurance policies.”
    “So then he became a capitalist.”
    “He still wasn’t so awfully rich, but he moved up a notch. He helped to produce some shows in London, which were mostly flops. But he always got other people to invest with Mm, so his own money lasted longer than you’d think. He was getting a bit short, though, when he married his second wife.”
    “The American?”
    “Yes. That was after the War, when the tourists started coming over again. He married her, and they went to America together—after taking out insurance policies for each other. Six months later she was electrocuted. She was lying in the bath listening to a small radio, apparently, and it fell in.”
    “Just doing his bit to improve Britain’s dollar balance,” Simon remarked.
    “Then it was the same story all over again—a night club, plays, a film company that never produced anything, and some other business schemes. Never anything crooked that you could put your finger on, except that his partners somehow always lost more money than he did. And about a year ago he married the present Mrs. Clarron.”
    “He sounds like a real cagey operator. At least, until that shooting accident misfired—if we should use the expression.”
    She nodded.
    “That was when the Southshire Insurance Company got very interested, as I told you. Being stuck three times in a row was a bit too much. Of course it could all be coincidence, but it had to be looked into.”
    Simon regarded her appreciatively.
    “They’re not so stupid. I’d have taken a long time to spot you as a detective.”
    “It’s a new discovery,” she said spiritedly. “They found out that investigators could do a lot more if they didn’t look like investigators, and somebody told them that a woman with brains isn’t obliged to look like a hippopotamus.”
    He grinned.
    “I must tell Teal that the same could apply to policemen,” he said.
    “What does he think about you butting in—or doesn’t he know?”
    “Oh, he knows all right, and he disapproves strongly. But there’s nothing he can do about it. I told him that the insurance company stood to lose ten thousand pounds if Clarron managed to get away with killing another wife, and they couldn’t afford to bet that much on Scotland Yard being smart enough to stop him.”
    Simon chuckled aloud.
    “I’m beginning to think of you as a soul-mate. But you still haven’t told me how you visualize me in this set-up.”
    “In rather the same way,” she said seriously. “I know it’ll sound ridiculous, but I’ve always been your wildest fan. I started reading about you in my teens, and idolizing you in a silly way. I can’t have altogether grown out of it. When I heard you asking about Clarron in Skindle’s, and heard your name, it just hit me like a mad flash of inspiration. I’d give anything to get even with Teal for the patronizing way he’s talked to me, and I knew you’d sympathize with that, and besides, this case would be a great big feather in my cap. That is—if we could get together …”
    The Saint finished his plate and leaned back. The tranquil glow that he felt was fueled by more subtle calories than a good meal satisfyingly washed down. For his luck, it seemed, was as unchangingly blessed as ever. He had been in England only a few hours, and already the old merry-go-round was rolling at full throttle in his honor. A problem, a pretty girl, and Chief Inspector Teal to bedevil. What more had he ever asked? It was as if he had never been away.
    “You just got yourself soul-hitched, darling,” he said. “Now what’s the music you think we might make together?”
    “I’ve told you everything I know, for a start. But what do you know?”
    “Not another thing. The worthy watchdogs of the Yard undoubtedly spotted my name in a routine check for incoming undesirables, and Teal came huffing out to the airport to warn me