Charteris, Leslie by The Saint's Getaway

Author:The Saint's Getaway
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-09-30T22:51:51.434000+00:00

VIII.

HOW SIMON TEMPLAR CONTINUED TO BE

DISCREET, AND MONTY HAYWARD IMPROVED

THE SHINING HOUR

SIMON TEMPLAR pulled the door shut behind him and went over to the dying man. He started

to fumble with the buttons of the stained black waistcoat, but Krauss only smiled.

"Lassen Sie es nur," he said huskily. "It is not worth the time. The old fox has finished his journey."

Simon nodded. The first glance had told him that there was nothing he could do. He sat down

beside the stricken thief and supported him with an arm round his shoulders; and Krauss looked at him with the same calm and patient eyes.

"I have only seen you once before, Herr Templar. That was when you saved me from the

screw." A shiver passed over the man's bulky frame. "If I had lived, I should have repaid that kindness by robbing you. You know that?"

"Does it matter?" asked the Saint.

Krauss shook his head. There were beads of perspiration starting through the pink grease

paint on his face, and each breath cost him an effort.

"Now the time is too short for these things," he said.

Simon eased him up a few inches, settling him more comfortably into the corner. He knew

that the end could be no more than a few minutes away, and he had time to spare. The man who

had fired the shot, whose back he had seen scuttling down the corridor, could wait those few

minutes for his turn. However the killer might choose to dispose of himself meanwhile, he would still be available when he was wanted—unless he elected to step right off the train and break his neck. And the Saint would watch the old fox creep into the last covert, according to the rules of the game as he knew them. It had never occurred to him to refuse the unspoken appeal that

had leapt at him out of the doomed man's weary eyes as he sidled that casual glance into the

compartment; and yet he never guessed on what a strange twist of the trail that unthinking

chivalry was to lead him.

He looked at the litter of curled wood shavings on the opposite seat, and then up at the

partition.

"I suppose you heard all you wanted to?" he said.

The reply came as a surprise to him, in a wry grin that warped its way across the man's face

of bitter fatalism.

"I heard nothing, mein lieber Freund. Marcovitch heard— that little cub of the young jackal.

If my gun had not stuck in my pocket you would have found him here instead of me."

"He was listening here when you found him?"

"Ja. And I think he has heard too much. You had better kill him quickly, Herr Templar—he will be troublesome."

Krauss coughed painfully; and there was blood on his handkerchief. Then he raised his eyes

and saw the uniform of another ticket inspector in the corridor outside, and he seemed to smile cynically under his make-up. As the door grated open again he pulled himself together with an

effort of will that must have been almost super-human. It was the most eerie

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