Free Send for the Saint by Leslie Charteris, Peter Bloxsom Page B

understand.”
    “Then we’ll discuss them later. Also your own position — even your fee. Yes, Templar, I think I understand the position in which you found yourself. You were working for him first, yes? You believed that he was the real Patroclos. And then /employed you. So, it was difficult for you. Whom to trust ? But you have done what I asked. You have played your part in ridding me of this nuisance. So we will talk later. For the moment, this young lady and I”
    — he indicated Ariadne One — “are going to the police!” Ariadne One flinched.
    “Oh no, please .”
    Patroclos spread his hands reassuringly.
    “Your position too was difficult. I will not make any charges. But you must give a full statement of all this. I must dissociate myself from the damage this man has done.”
    “You don’t waste a second, do you?” said the Saint. “You’re the real Patroclos all right.”
    Patroclos smiled.
    “We will see you presently,” he said, taking Ariadne One by the arm and steering her out.
    Ariadne Two — who after all was the real Ariadne — still looking bemused, watched them go.
    “Well, that’s that.”
    “Is it?” asked the Saint, with that bantering lift to the eyebrows that she had come to know.
    “Well …” The girl hesitated. “Well, isn’t it?”
    “End of story? Everything neatly wrapped up and explained? Not in my book, sweetheart. Not by a long shot.” Simon had begun searching through the desk drawers, tossing papers out and carelessly stuffing them back. “What about the pilot?”
    “He was killed with the impostor.”
    “But he must have known that the plane was low on fuel. After all, he’d just flown it here from London. So why did he take off?”
    “Maybe he was forced to?”
    The Saint shook his head.
    “Fly a plane at gunpoint — to almost certain death? No, I don’t think so. And there’s something else.”
    “What?”
    Simon slid a filing cabinet drawer shut with a thud.
    “The codebook. It never left London.”
    “It never left ? But I don’t understand. We couldn’t find it when we looked.” Ariadne stared at him.
    “Oh, I took it out of the safe all right,” the Saint explained. “I got it as far as the airport. Your Patroclos picked it up.”
    She followed him as he moved to the inner office.
    “So if the codebook didn’t reach Athens, the ships — “
    “Couldn’t have been diverted from here,” supplied the Saint. “Right. Your Patroclos must have done the diverting from London. He had the book all the time. You see, it just doesn’t fit. And it’s too pat — plane crashes, impostor killed, case solved. And,” the Saint added softly, “Templar forgiven.”
    The girl digested the implications in silence for a few minutes, watching him systematically rifle Patroclos’ big mahogany desk.
    “What are you looking for?” she asked.
    “Cargo manifests, showing what’s on those ships.”
    Ariadne opened a filing cabinet and started to shuffle through papers; and she didn’t see the Saint’s brows angle together in interest at what he had found in the bottom drawer of the desk. A Dictaphone fitted snugly into the drawer — loaded, with a record ready to play.
    There was an earphone lying in the drawer; Simon plugged it in, held it loosely up to one ear, and switched the machine on. He listened thoughtfully to the harsh voice of Diogenes Patroclos.
    It said: “Templar — lam told you have seen the impostor. Why are you wasting time telephoning instead of watching him ?… I am here in Athens. If you have seen the impostor, it should make your job easier. Please do not waste my time telling me that I am being impersonated. That I already know. Goodbye.”
    Simon reversed the machine, re-started it, and held out the earphone to Ariadne. She listened with a blank expression.
    “Does Dio always record his own telephone conversations?” he asked.
    “I never knew about it. Perhaps he wanted a record sometimes, for his own protection, or