Free Catch the Saint by Leslie Charteris

done, a fine imitation of the real Rembrandt.
This forgery will be suitably aged by the best dishonest methods. Then it will
be presented to the client, and the client will
be told that what he’s getting is of course the restoration of his
painting. The client will believe that he has his old canvas back looking much prettier than it did when he
brought it in, and Pargit will keep
the real Rembrandt. The client will be told that his painting turned out to be by a minor artist of the Rembrandt school,
but not by Rembrandt himself. Cyril is now free to take the original
genuine Rembrandt to the States and sell it for at least half a million. Do you get the point now?”
    Julie nodded.
    “And so they’ve got
Adrian painting a copy of the Rem brandt?”
    “Because Pargit knew
his talent for imitation,” Simon affirmed. “And that’s probably one
of the main reasons Pargit needed to bring Caffin in on the deal. Cyril
isn’t a strong-arm type himself. Those were
Caffin’s boys who visited you here the night
Adrian didn’t come home, and they’re the ones who’ll be making Adrian
comfortable while he works.”
    “But why would Adrian do it?” she
protested. “He mayn’t be a great artist
yet, but I know he wouldn’t be a crook.”
    “Not even if they
gave him a sales talk about what they might do
to you if he didn’t co-operate?”
    Julie sat pondering for a
moment, then abruptly raised her eyes to meet Simon’s:
“What’ll they do with him when he’s finished the painting?”
    “I’m sorry you asked
that question,” the Saint replied. “I’m not
sure that Pargit knows yet. He’s probably hoping that things will work out so
that he can just let Adrian go when it’s all over. Your
brother won’t be told everything that’s going on. Pargit may think that a pay-off and a warning to keep his mouth shut will be
enough. But Caffin’s a cautious type; and a rougher type. I’m afraid he may
come up with a more drastic way of guarantee ing
that Adrian will keep the secret.”
    Julie jumped to her feet.
    “We can’t just sit
here talking about it! We’ll have to get the police,
and …” She started towards the telephone, changed her mind after two steps, and swarmed over the wire player with all ten fingers. “We even heard where they’re keeping him. Let’s play it back. How do you work this thing?”
    “You’re going to feel
awfully silly if you erase the evidence,” said
the Saint with dry restraint.
    But Julie had managed to
light upon the rewind control, and the tape responded
with shrill backward gibberish. She kept pushing at the side of
it as if that could prod it to go faster.
    “If you want to become a model you’ll have
to learn what to do with your hands,”
Simon remarked.
    The conspicuous members of her anatomy upon
which he was commenting flapped near his
face like a pair of distraught pi geons.
    “How’ll we find the
place where they talk about where he is?” Julie begged.
    “Just wait a few more
seconds.”
    As if he could somehow make sense out of the
high-pitched squawking of the reversed wire, the Saint sat alertly watching the machine. Then reached out and with a quick
movement brought the rewind to a halt.
    “I’d better ring up
the police now,” Julie said. “We’ll be hunt ing
through that recording all night.”
    “No we won’t,”
Simon contradicted. “Listen.”
    He started the tape
forward, just at the moment in the clandes tine
meeting when Caffin ended a sentence with: “so everything is going
fine, but the sooner you can get your blooming Rembrandt Junior to finish his job the happier I’ll be,” and Pargit began a sentence
with: “Very well. How exactly do 1 find this place where you’re keeping him?”
    Julie gaped at Simon,
pointing at the recorder.
    “Now how in the
world did you know exactly where to stop it?”
    “Being born almost
superhuman is a big help,” he said mod estly.
    “Oh, you!”
    “We’re missing the
whole thing,” he