Free Catch the Saint by Leslie Charteris Page A

said, and ran the wire back
so that they could hear Pargit ask his question again.
    Caffin’s voice replied: “One of my boys
can give you a ride when you want it.”
    “I’m perfectly
capable of driving myself down there,” Pargit insisted. “Norcombe’s not your personal
property. And that’s my Rembrandt you’ve got down
there.”
    “Fifty per cent
yours,” Caffin corrected. “But as far
as I’m concerned, Rembrandt Junior is all yours. He’s more trouble than a whole bloody old folks’ home.”
    “Eccentric
type,” Pargit agreed. “How do I find
him?”
    “Like you were going
to Bournemouth on the road round the top
of the New Forest. But when you come to the River Avon you continue on across it into Dorset. Then … you’d
best look for The Happy Huntsman on your right
after you …” Caffin must have moved across the room, for his voice faded and
the next few words were indistinct. “… old
road between stone walls. It’s an old
farmhouse, the only place round, stone like the
walls, with a red kind of thing in front where there used to be a well.”
    “I’ll recognise
it.”
    “Don’t expect a
candle burning in the window for you. There’s only
a couple of rooms we use, upstairs. Just to be sure none of my chaps bashes you, knock on the front door like this — three times fast, three times
slow.” Knuckles rapped on wood. “And don’t try walking in until somebody opens up for
you.”
    Simon shut off the
recorder. “That’s it. Everything but a map.”
    “May I call the
police now?”
    “We are not going to
call the police,” said the Saint firmly. “And in case you
get any ideas about calling them when I’m not listening,
I can assure you that you’ll be putting your brother’s life in serious danger.”
    “Why?” she demanded.
    “Because he’s the
most damaging evidence round, and a lot more trouble to hide than a painting.
If that gang gets any idea that the kitten is out of
the sack, you can credit yourself with making
him instantly expendable.”
    Julie was stymied. She
tried to think of some retort, then crossly folded her arms.
    “And I suppose you
can take care of the whole thing perfectly all by yourself?”
    “I think so,” the
Saint replied calmly.
    “Well, when?”
    “In the morning. Your
brother’s safe for now, and there’s something else I
want to do tonight.”
    He left her still questioning and protesting,
but more or less resigned to the necessity of obeying his orders.
    “If you can’t sleep,
pack a few things,” he told her. “Including some
walking shoes.” He paused at the door. “Do you enjoy watching birds?” he asked.
    “Birds?” she exclaimed, in the
final throes of exasperation.
    “Just a
thought,” he said lightly. “See you in the morning. Eat a good breakfast.”
    When he arrived to pick her
up, at 9:30 in the morning, she was waiting at the door
with an inexpensive suitcase already in the
hall.
    “Beautiful day for a
drive, isn’t it?” he drawled. “You look lovely.
The weather’s perfect. What more could a man ask?”
    In his festive mood he
suddenly swept up her hand and kissed it. She blushed but did not pull away.
    “You look very
pleased with yourself, I must say,” she re marked.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” “Immensely!”
    He picked up her suitcase,
watched her lock the door, and led the way briskly out
to his waiting Hirondel.
    “Out on the town, I
suppose,” she said jealously. “As a matter of fact, no. I was
breaking and entering.”
    “Breaking and
entering what?” she asked with alarm.
    “The Leonardo
Galleries.”
    She sank into the
passenger seat, looking a little stunned. Only afte r
Simon had gunned the engine to life and pulled away from t he kerb did she manage her next question. “You don’t mean that you actually broke in there?” “That’s exactly what I do mean.” He slipped the car into second gear and it hurtled forward breath-takingly. “There were one or two things