Free Saint Errant by Leslie Charteris Page B

inside the club to overlay the scene with the beguiling placidity of a nocturne. Simon took another grip and heaved the Admiral quite gently into the deeper shadows of some shrubbery, where he began to bind and gag him deftly with the Admiral’s own handkerchief, neck tie, and suspenders.
    “You, too, can be a fine figure of a man, bursting with vibrant health and super strength,” recited Patricia. “Send for our free booklet, They Laughed When I Talked Back to the Truck Driver.”
    “If Mary Livingstone ever loses her voice, you can get a job with Jack Benny,” said the Saint. “Now while I finish this up, will you be a good girl and go in and engage Esteban in dulcet converse-with his back to the door. I’ll be with you in two seconds.”
    To be drearily accurate, it was actually sixty-eight seconds later when the Saint entered the gaming room again. He found Esteban facing a vivacious Pat, and it was clear from his back that it would take something rather important to drag him away from her.
    The Saint was able to provide this. It manifested itself as a pressure in the center of Esteban’s spine. -
“This isn’t my pipe, Esteban,” he breathed in the entrepreneur’s ear. “Shall we adjourn to your private office, or would you like bits of your sacroiliac all over the joint?”
    Esteban said nothing. He led the way, with the Saint walking apparently arm in arm with him, and Pat still chattering on the other side.
    “-and I am going to write to my mother, Mr Esteban, and tell her what a romantic place you-“
    “Now we can wash this up,” the Saint said.
    He closed the door behind them. Esteban stood very still.
    “What do you expect this to get you, Mr Templar?”
    “A peek in your safe,” said the Saint softly.
    “The safe is locked.”
    “This is still the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Sacroiliacs,” Simon reminded him. “The safe can be unlocked.”
    “You wouldn’t dare to shoot!”
    “Not until I count to three, I wouldn’t. It’s a superstition with me. One… two…”
    “Very well,” Esteban said.
    Little beads of sweat stood on his olive brow as he went to the wall safe and twirled the dial.
    Simon handed his gun to Pat.
    “Cover him. If he tries anything, shoot him in his posterity.” He added to Esteban: “She will, too.”
    Esteban stood to one side as the Saint emptied the safe of bundles of currency, account books, and sheaves of businesslike papers. He was pleased to find that Esteban was a neat and methodical man. It made the search so much quicker and easier. He had known before he started what kind of thing he was looking for, and there were not too many places to look for it. He was intent and efficient, implacable as an auditor, with none of the lazy flippancy that normally glossed his purposes.
    Another voice spoke from the doorway behind him.
    “So we’re havin’ a party. Put that gun down, Miss Holm. What would this all be about, son?”
    “Come on in, daddy,” Simon said. “I was just deciding who you were going to arrest.”
    Esteban’s sudden laugh was sharp with relief.
    “I think, my friend, the sheriff knows that already. Mr Haskins, I shall be glad to help you with my evidence. They stick me up in my own club, bring toe in here, and force me to open the safe. Fortunately you catch them red-handed.”
    “That’s the hell of a way to talk about a guy who’s just going to save your worthless neck,” said the Saint.
    Newt Haskins pushed his black hat onto the back of his head.
    “This had shuah better make a good story, son,” he observed. “But I’m listenin’.”
    “It wasn’t too hard to work out,” Simon said seriously. “Lida Verity was being blackmailed, of course. That’s why she told us she was in trouble, instead of calling on you. Blackmail has been a side line in this joint for some time-and a good hunting ground this must be for it, too. This town is always full of wives vacationing from their husbands, and vice versa,