Free The Saint and the People Importers by Leslie Charteris

Haroon is to get … such things as that.”
    “This is the boat that smuggles the immigrants into England?” Tammy asked.
    Mahmud was showing signs of almost painful weariness in addition to his nervous fear.
    “I do not know,” he sighed. “I do not know more. I have told everything-and now they will kill me.”
    He began to make feeble efforts to get up again, and Simon thought it best to let him leave if he wanted to. He gave the Pakistani a helping hand and steadied him when he was standing.
    “They won’t kill you because of anything we let them know,” Simon assured him. “I suppose you made sure nobody followed you.”
    “Yes. I was very sure.”
    “Where can we take you?” Tammy asked. She glanced at the Saint. “My car just has room for two.”
    “And I came by taxi,” Simon said.
    Mahmud interrupted.
    “I would not want to have the danger that somebody would see me with you,” he insisted. “It is better that I go in a taxi. If you would please ring for one …”
    “Of course,” Tammy said, and picked up the phone.
    “I do not think I can walk until I come to a busy road where I could find one,” the waiter said apologetically as she dialled.
    “Don’t worry about it,” the Saint told him. “You were a brave man to come here, especially after what happened to you tonight.”
    “I was angry,” Mahmud said. “I thought I would rather be dead than lie still while they walked on me and broke my bones.” He leaned tiredly against the wall next to the door. “And what will you do?” he asked. “You will help?”
    Simon nodded.
    “I think I’ll do a little country pub-crawling.”
    “We, not I,” Tammy put in. She looked sympathetically at Mahmud. “The taxi’s on its way. Would you like a drink or something?”
    “No, thank you. I will go down and wait. Please do not come with me.”
    Tammy opened the door.
    “How can we get in touch with you?”
    “I have no telephone,” the Pakistani said. “It is best if you do not try to see me at all. I have come here and told you all I know, but I do not want more trouble.”
    Tammy asked him to telephone her if he found out anything new.
    “I will,” he promised, “but for some weeks I will be not working. A waiter who cannot write orders or carry trays is no good waiter.”
    He managed a faint smile and then said goodnight and walked very slowly away towards the stairs.
    “Should we just let him go like that?” Tammy said sotto voce when she had closed the door again. “I mean, he’s so weak.”
    “He’s right about not wanting to risk being seen with us,” Simon said. “Your room is on the front. Turn out the light and we can watch from the window and at least be sure he gets into his taxi with no trouble. I assume he won’t have much walking to do when it drops him wherever his room is.”
    “Oh, Lord, I should have asked him where he lives,” Tammy said.
    “I don’t think he’d have told us,” the Saint replied matter-of-factly. “Now let’s get that light out and have a look.”
    Tammy flicked off the living-room lights leaving the flat in darkness. The only illumination now came from the street lamps outside. Simon went to the window and partially drew aside the curtain.
    “Is he down there yet?” Tammy asked.
    “He’s just coming out,” the Saint reported.
    The girl came and stood beside him so that she could share his view of the sidewalk. When she realised that her shoulder was pressing against his she edged quickly away.
    “He’s pretty brave to do this, you know,” she commented a little nervously.
    “Yes. Almost too brave.”
    Tammy nodded in agreement. Mahmud was a somehow pathetically small shadow among other shadows at the edge of the garden that bordered the street. The lights and then the black gleaming shape of a taxi came into sight and slowed in front of the house.
    “Lord,” Tammy said tensely, as if she half expected the quietness of her neighbourhood to erupt into an ear-shattering