Free The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace by Leslie Charteris, Christopher Short

never have
been thought of.”
    “I take it,” said the Saint,
“that guests are expendable. I mean, the guest wing isn’t wired, or is it?”
    Anton shook his head.
    “No, sir. There is nothing of great
value there.”
    “I suppose that goes for me,”
murmured the Saint, as Anton opened the door to the dining-room for
him.
    Max, Frankie and Leopold were seated at the table and had already begun their meal. Thai was once again
curled in his favourite position round his master’s shoulders. It was a pleas ant domestic scene of upper-crust life in Central
Europe. But it had overtones which jarred slightly.
    For one thing, Annellatt, suave and
well-mannnered though
he was, was not upper-crust. The Saint could not help but feel that the other
two were only there because of Max’s dubious
respect for conventional ethics and procedures. Of course, that should not be held against them.
Their part nership with Max was a purely pragmatic one. In the ordinary course of society life they and Max would have
been in different orbits.
    But there was more to it than that. The Saint
felt almost as if he were looking at one of those drawings in magazine
com petitions which incorporate deliberate errors. There was something
wrong with this picture, although he couldn’t quite put his finger
on what it was. Perhaps it was no more than the rather
bizarre events which had brought them all together.
    He decided that for the time being he was not
going to let it bother him. He was hungry and in a cheerful mood.
    “Ach, good morning, Simon,” cried
Annellatt, getting to his feet. “I trust you slept well?”
    “Like the proverbial baby,” said the
Saint. “Except that real babies usually seem to wake up
yowling.” He tickled the Siamese cat behind the ears. “How did he get here—don’t tell me he drove his own little car.”
    “Frankie brought him, in his travelling
basket. I did not want
to risk having to leave him at the flat in an emergency.” Max pulled out a
chair. “Please forgive us for having started lunch, but I did not want to hurry you.”
    The Saint smiled at Frankie as he took his
seat.
    He said: “I did have a nasty dream that I was kidnapped by the Gestapo. Most realistic it was.”
    “Max has told us about your unpleasant
adventure,” she said. “Really, Austria has become quite
barbaric since the Germans took over.”
    Her voice was warm, and her concern seemed
genuine and spontaneous.
    Simon was struck anew by her unusual charm.
He won dered how much of it was deliberate—or conversely, to what degree it was natural. One
never knew with Austrians. Charm was a
national characteristic which with them was both he reditary and
cultivated. They used it delightfully—and quite ruthlessly.
    Leopold, who had also risen to his feet, gave Simon a short stiff little bow and sat down again. As far as the
Saint was concerned, the young Count’s
Austrian charm must have been sent to the cleaners. It certainly wasn’t around,
and hadn’t been since they met.
    Anton and a serious young footman called
Erich waited on the table, and the conversation touched only on general topics. For
some reason, the Saint took an instant dislike to Erich. He was at a
loss to explain this to himself, for Erich was respectful,
polite, and efficient, which is all that is really required of footmen.
But there was something about the young man’s carefully blank dark eyes, and the way his
sandy hair and bleached eyebrows seemed to
make his personality fade away, that made the Saint vaguely uneasy about
him.
    Coffee and liqueurs were served after lunch
in the drawing- room,
and when the servants had withdrawn, Herr Annellatt quickly got down to business.
    “Now, about the Necklace,” he
announced briskly, “we must complete our plan.”
    Simon rotated his balloon glass gently,
swirling its pale gold contents up the sides.
    “I thought we already had a general
plan,” he said. “All it needs is a man of exceptional strength,
agility