courtyard off St Ann Street, and Simon thought it only polite to turn back and wave to him as he went up the outside stairs to Number 27.
From the window, he watched the shadow confer with an other shape that emerged from an obscure recess of the patio. Then after a while the shadow went away, but the established watcher sidled back into his nook and stayed.
Simon crossed the living room and peered down from a curtained window on the other side. The back overlooked an alley which was more black than dark, so that it was some time be fore the glimmering movement of a luminous wrist-watch dial betrayed the whereabouts of the sentinel who lurked patiently there among the garbage cans.
Simon put on the kitchen lights and inspected his casserole. He added a little more wine, lighted the oven, and put the dish in. He hummed a gentle tune to himself as he poured a drink in the dinette and settled down in the living room to wait.
The apartment was very effectively covered-so effectively that only a mouse could possibly have entered or left it unobserved. So effectively that it had all the uncomfortable ear marks of a trap… .
The question now was-what was the trap set for, and how did it work?
It was a quarter to midnight when the girl came in. He heard her quick feet on the stone steps outside, but he only moved to refill his glass while her key was turning in the lock. She came in like a light spring breeze that brought subtler scents than magnolia with it.
“Hullo,” she said, and it seemed to him that her voice was very gay. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”
“Just long enough. There’s a bolt on the inside of the door -you’d better use it,” he said, without looking up. He heard the bolt slam, after a pause of stillness, and turned with an extra glass in his other hand. “Here’s your nightcap, baby. You may need it.”
He thought of a foolish phrase as he looked at her-“with the wind and the rain in your hair.” Of course there was no rain, and her hair was only just enough out of trim to be interesting, but she had that kind of young, excited look, with her cheeks faintly freshened by the night and her gray eyes bright and arrested. The incongruity of it hurt him, and he said brusquely: “We don’t have any time to waste, so don’t let’s waste it.”
“What’s happened?”
“The joint is pinched,” he said bluntly. “The Gestapo didn’t stop at me-they checked on you too, since you were Lady Offchurch’s mysterious pal, and they know all about you. Wendel told me. They’ve got both sides of the building covered. Look out the windows if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you,” she said slowly. “But-why?”
“Because Wendel means to catch somebody with the goods on them.”
It was only an involuntary and static reaction, the whitening of her knuckles on the hand that held her purse; but it was all he needed. He said: “You had the imitation necklace today. You pulled the switch tonight. You made a deal, but you kept your fingers crossed.”
“No,” she said.
Now there were heavy feet stumping methodically up the stairway outside.
“You were followed every inch of the way back. They know you haven’t ditched the stuff. They know it has to be here. And they know you can’t get it out. What are you going to do- throw it out of a window? There’s a man watching on both sides. Hide it? They may have to tear the joint to shreds, but they’ll find it. They’ve got you cold.”
“No,” she said, and her face was haggard with guilt.
A fist pounded on the door.
“All right, darling,” said the Saint. “You had your chance.
Give me your bag.”
“No.”
The fist pounded again.
“You fool,” he said savagely, in a voice that reached no further than her ears. “What do you think that skin we love to touch would be like after ten years in the pen?”
He took the purse from her hand and said: “Open the door.” Then he went into the
From the window, he watched the shadow confer with an other shape that emerged from an obscure recess of the patio. Then after a while the shadow went away, but the established watcher sidled back into his nook and stayed.
Simon crossed the living room and peered down from a curtained window on the other side. The back overlooked an alley which was more black than dark, so that it was some time be fore the glimmering movement of a luminous wrist-watch dial betrayed the whereabouts of the sentinel who lurked patiently there among the garbage cans.
Simon put on the kitchen lights and inspected his casserole. He added a little more wine, lighted the oven, and put the dish in. He hummed a gentle tune to himself as he poured a drink in the dinette and settled down in the living room to wait.
The apartment was very effectively covered-so effectively that only a mouse could possibly have entered or left it unobserved. So effectively that it had all the uncomfortable ear marks of a trap… .
The question now was-what was the trap set for, and how did it work?
It was a quarter to midnight when the girl came in. He heard her quick feet on the stone steps outside, but he only moved to refill his glass while her key was turning in the lock. She came in like a light spring breeze that brought subtler scents than magnolia with it.
“Hullo,” she said, and it seemed to him that her voice was very gay. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”
“Just long enough. There’s a bolt on the inside of the door -you’d better use it,” he said, without looking up. He heard the bolt slam, after a pause of stillness, and turned with an extra glass in his other hand. “Here’s your nightcap, baby. You may need it.”
He thought of a foolish phrase as he looked at her-“with the wind and the rain in your hair.” Of course there was no rain, and her hair was only just enough out of trim to be interesting, but she had that kind of young, excited look, with her cheeks faintly freshened by the night and her gray eyes bright and arrested. The incongruity of it hurt him, and he said brusquely: “We don’t have any time to waste, so don’t let’s waste it.”
“What’s happened?”
“The joint is pinched,” he said bluntly. “The Gestapo didn’t stop at me-they checked on you too, since you were Lady Offchurch’s mysterious pal, and they know all about you. Wendel told me. They’ve got both sides of the building covered. Look out the windows if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you,” she said slowly. “But-why?”
“Because Wendel means to catch somebody with the goods on them.”
It was only an involuntary and static reaction, the whitening of her knuckles on the hand that held her purse; but it was all he needed. He said: “You had the imitation necklace today. You pulled the switch tonight. You made a deal, but you kept your fingers crossed.”
“No,” she said.
Now there were heavy feet stumping methodically up the stairway outside.
“You were followed every inch of the way back. They know you haven’t ditched the stuff. They know it has to be here. And they know you can’t get it out. What are you going to do- throw it out of a window? There’s a man watching on both sides. Hide it? They may have to tear the joint to shreds, but they’ll find it. They’ve got you cold.”
“No,” she said, and her face was haggard with guilt.
A fist pounded on the door.
“All right, darling,” said the Saint. “You had your chance.
Give me your bag.”
“No.”
The fist pounded again.
“You fool,” he said savagely, in a voice that reached no further than her ears. “What do you think that skin we love to touch would be like after ten years in the pen?”
He took the purse from her hand and said: “Open the door.” Then he went into the
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