The Saint and the People Importers by Leslie Charteris

Author:Leslie Charteris [Charteris, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction, English Fiction, Large Type Books, Large Print Books
ISBN: 9782253022879
Publisher: Ace Books
Published: 1956-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

“Sometimes known as the barrel?” Simon said.

“Right. Where the shell comes out. And when he did shoot he didn’t hit me, but it scared me so much I lost my grip.”

“I’m thinking you lost your grip a little earlier, about the time you decided you were a crime reporter. But let’s not worry about the past when we’ve got so little of the future ahead of us. Here we are, all bundled up, waiting for Fowler to view us before the coup de grâce. Thus endeth verse, page, chapter, and book, unless we can think of something to do.”

“Who is this Captain Fowler?” Tammy asked.

“I don’t know,” said Simon. “Next question?”

“We could start yelling and screaming,” Tammy suggested thoughtfully. “There might be a constable in the neighbourhood.”

“Which vocal performance would last about five seconds, till our hosts got back and gagged us. Besides, I’m pretty sure there’s nobody around these parts to hear us.”

The girl lowered her voice almost to the point of inaudibility.

“I’ve still got my tear gas ring, and I reloaded it before we left my flat.”

“That’s good news,” the Saint said. “Let the hostile legions tremble.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” she retorted. “It might work this time.”

“It might be better than nothing,” Simon admitted, without conviction, “and nothing is just about what we have to work with now …” He paused thoughtfully. “Unless it’s that big ladykiller’s swelled head.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think Goliath may have an Achilles’ heel, if you’ll pardon the mixed mythology.”

He did not go on. Tammy stared at him suddenly. A car was pulling into the drive and stopping outside the boathouse.

4 HOW CAPTAIN FOWLER WAS DISPLEASED, AND ABDUL HAROON’S HOSPITALITY WAS IMPOSED ON

The Saint shot his blond fellow-prisoner a silencing look and neither of them said anything. Above the sound of his own controlled breath, Simon listened for any clue that his ears might draw from the commonplace sounds outside the walls. Presumably the new arrival would be the co-conspirator referred to by Kalki as “Captain Fowler”: if so, Simon thought with the ridiculous optimism that would never allow him to take disaster as seriously as he should, a temporary setback could already have brought them miraculously close to what after all had been their goal from the beginning.

“What …” Tammy began, but the Saint stopped her with a shake of his head.

He listened intently. The car sounded heavy, and its engine had a smooth expensive quietness, before it was switched off. A single door of the automobile opened and slammed hurriedly. The footsteps that spurned the gravel had a purposive male rhythm. There was no knock at the boathouse door, which opened, closed, and set off a babble of excited voices over which there suddenly rose a single incredulous infuriated shout: “Here?”

The voice which uttered the almost despairing cry had a tantalisingly familiar tone, but Simon had no immediate chance to hear any more of it. The single word, like a lion trying to hurl itself out of a trap, was instantly smothered in a net of appeals and explanations.

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