Free Saint and the Templar Treasure by Leslie Charteris, Charles King, Graham Weaver

have read that in 1305 a certain Esquiu de Floyran of Beziers offered to betray ‘the secrets of the Templars,’ whatever they may have been, first to James the Second of Aragon, and then to King Philip of France. To force the Pope’s hand, Philip was able to denounce the Templars to the Inquisition, since the Grand Inquisitor was his personal confessor and protege. In 1307 the arrest of the Templars began. It is thought that Floyran may have received Ingare as part of his reward, and that the name ‘Florian’ was derived from his.”
    “One sees the family resemblance to Baron Robut,” observed Mimette acidly.
    “Who knows what reasons people may have had, so many centuries ago?” said Yves goodhumouredly.
    Charles came in to announce that dinner was ready, and there was a move towards the dining table.
    Yves Florian took the head of it, and seated the Saint on his right and Mimette on his left. Philippe was placed next to Mimette, Gaston and Henri next to the Saint. As he unfolded his serviette, Yves looked at the empty seat beside Philippe and frowned.
    “And where is our worthy professor this evening?” he wondered.
    “Still prospecting, I suppose,” said Mimette and the others laughed at what was clearly a standing joke.
    As Mrs. Charles, as Simon had dubbed the major-domo’s wife, wheeled in a trolley with a large serving platter of truites amandine and hot plates which she proceeded to distribute, Norbert entered. He apologised for his lateness and sat down.
    “Any luck today?” Mimette asked pleasantly.
    The professor regarded her as he might have regarded an impudent student.
    “It is not a question of luck but of knowledge and application,” he said primly.
    “Then we can be sure you will succeed if you only have enough time,” Henri said with studiously veiled sarcasm.
    Mrs. Charles brought the platter to each place in turn for the guests to help themselves, while Charles himself circulated with a bottle of the chateau’s white wine; and Yves turned courteously to the Saint to interpret the cryptic conversation.
    “The Templars were believed to have amassed a tremendous fortune at the height of their prosperity. Louis Norbert has a theory that some of it could well have been stored in such a Templar stronghold as this.”
    “If it had been, everyone would have been looking for it when the castle fell,” Philippe said confidently. “It is hardly likely that it would still be hidden after six hundred and forty years.”
    “More likely the Templars took it with them,” Henri said.
    “Perhaps they did not have the opportunity,” ventured Gaston.
    “At any rate, it is an interesting dream,” said Yves, with soothing impartiality. “And it harms nobody.”
    The Saint was not so sure about that, but he said nothing.
    In a few minutes, he had been presented with more information than he should have dared to hope for, but he did not propose to take sides in the debate. On the contrary, he had a sudden urge to efface himself as much as possible.
    It was almost a relief when Mimette changed the subject by asking her father if he had heard the weather forecast for the next day, and Simon’s rampant curiosity could take a breather while the conversation reverted to banalities.
    The trout were followed by rare roast beef, presliced in the kitchen and presented in the same style by Mrs. Charles on a similar platter with its garniture of fresh vegetables. The Saint suppressed a pang at the reminder that French custom and cuisine, for all its artistry and refinement, would never admit that the best and only way to roast rare beef is on the rib, under its natural overcoat of self-basting fat, instead of trimming it down to a totally cholesterol-free dietician’s boneless dream, dried on the outside and without richness within. The vegetables, however, were expectable perfection, a classic contrast to the Anglo-American school of stick-‘em-in-a-quart-of-water-and-boil-to-a-pulp. As an uninvited