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

and cunning, who can climb in and out of castles like a
cat and fight his way
out of trouble if necessary—or think his way out if needs be.”
    “In fact, someone like the Saint,”
Annellatt said. For a moment Simon thought he was actually purring,
but then he realised it must be the cat.
    “Since you don’t seem to have anyone who
fits the bill,” Simon replied modestly.
    The Count sprang to his feet.
    “Mr Templar would be worse than useless,” he blurted out
angrily. “He is a foreigner and speaks no Hungarian. If anybody goes it
should be me.”
    “I can’t see that it makes any difference whether one speaks
Hungarian or not,” said the Saint. “If the breaker-in is discov ered they’ll merely shoot him out of hand or slap
him in jail for the rest of his life. It won’t do him any good to protest in his best Magyar that he’s just a plumber who’s
forgotten his tools.”
    “So how do you plan to break into the
Castle?” asked Frankie in her most adoring manner.
    “Yes, how?” echoed Leopold, in a
contrastingly scornful tone.
    The Saint felt sorry for him. The young man was obviously in love with Frankie and was insanely jealous of
her undisguised fascination with the Saint. Flattering though it was, it was a
complication that Simon could have done without. But since it was inescapable, as some philosopher said
about some thing similar, he might
as well relax and enjoy it.
    His smile was like a kiss in her direction.
It was no ordeal for him to play her game in spite of recognising the
innate ruthlessness of her character.
    “The plumber routine might be a gambit,
at that,” he said. “But I’d rather save it for a defence.
I’ve always preferred a head-on surprise attack to complicated plots
which are liable to trip over their own webs.”
    “But this is not some farm cottage,” retorted Leopold.
“It is a castle, with modem improvements.”
    “And I’m an oldfashioned retired
burglar,” Simon replied amiably, “which is the last kind of
person they’d expect to be having a go at their battlements.” Max drew on
his cigar.
    “In Vienna, I showed you as much as I could,” he said. “That agricultural drain will bring you close
to the castle—”
    “And Frankie may know something about
its weaknesses from the inside. Like secret passages and what not.”
    The girl shook her head.
    “We were never at Este very much. My
father liked his cas tle in Bohemia better.”
    “I see,” said the Saint.
“What you might call an embarras de ch â teaux.”
    “I don’t know any secret passages, and I was not brought up to look at it like a burglar,” Frankie
said, with a flash of hauteur.
“I can show you where the wine cellars were, and from there one could make
one’s way quite easily to where the
Necklace is hidden.”
    “Suppose Mr Templar did get in,”
said Max, “how would he get out again?”
    “That would be quite easy. If he took a
rope he could let himself down from almost any of the outside windows.
He’d have to wait until it was dark, of course. But there are so many rooms
that I don’t think even the Gestapo can have oc cupied them
all.”
    “Right,” said the Saint. “If
I took a rope, a sleeping bag, a picnic basket, and a good book, I could stay
for a week if I liked the place.” He turned to Annellatt. “I
shall have to give you a shopping list.”
    Max nodded.
    “Nat ü rlich. Anything you need can be obtained.”
    “The rope isn’t a bad idea,” said
the Saint seriously. “And a few tools. Also, some clothes. Dressed as we
are now, any of us would attract attention, whatever we were doing. We
need the sort of things that any local workman would wear.”
    “—or a peasant girl,” Frankie put
in.
    “You are not going,” Leopold insisted.
    Frankie drew herself up.
    “If anyone is going to fetch the
Necklace, I shall have to be there. I am its Keeper, and only I know where it
is.”
    “You and Mr Templar,” said Max.
“Don’t forget you have told