you say things like
that,” she said.
“I never have loved him,” said
Monty Hayward cold-blood edly; “but I might dislike him a little
less if he left off gaping at the scenery and told us where we’re
supposed to be making for.”
Simon lighted a cigarette and inspected his
watch under the shielded
bulb on the dash. He leaned forward, with his face chiselled out in lines of gay alertness, and his mouth curved to a smile.
“The frontier, of course,” he
said. “That’s the first move, any way; and praise the Lord there’s only a
few miles to go. Be sides, it might have the
practical advantage of keeping the cops a little way behind. You wouldn’t believe how I’m devoted to the
police, but I don’t think we want to get intimate with them to-day.”
He had begun to work away on the jewels
while he talked. With the blade of his pocketknife he was prising the
stones loose from their settings and spilling them into a handkerchief spread
out on his lap. Under his swift fingers, rubies, pearls, sapphires, and
diamonds cascaded down like drops of frozen fire, carelessly heaping themselves
into a coruscating little molehill of multicoloured crystals which the
Saint’s expert eye valued at something in the neighbourhood of a cool quarter of a million. The Maloresco emeralds flopped solidly onto the pile,
ruthlessly ripped from their pendant of gold filigree— five flawless,
perfectly matched green lozenges the size of pig eons’ eggs. A couple
of dozen miscellaneous brilliants and three fifty-carat sapphires trickled
down on top of them. The Ullsteinbach blue diamond, wedding gift of the
Emperor Franz Josef to the Archduke Michel of Presc, slumped into the cluster
with a shimmer of azure flame. It went on until the handkerchief was
sagging under the weight of a scintillating pyramid of relucent
wealth that made even Simon Templar blink his eyes. Shorn of their
settings, the stones seemed to take on a lustre that was dazzling—the sheer
lambent effulgence of their own naked beauty.
But these things he appreciated only
transitorily, much as a surgeon can only transitorily appreciate the
beauty of a woman on
whom he has been called to perform an urgent operation. And the same unswerving professional thoroughness was vis ible in
the way he wielded his knife, deftly twisting and cut ting away the priceless metal-work and flicking it nonchalantly over the side of the car. Every setting was a work
of art, but that very quality made
each one too distinctive to be trusted. The size and perfection of the jewels themselves were more than hall mark enough for the Saint’s unobtrusive
taste in articles of vertu; and,
besides, the settings were three times as bulky as the gems they carried. With the frontier only a few minutes distant, Simon Templar felt in his most
unobtrusive mood. The speed and skill
with which he worked were amazing : he
had scarcely finished his cigarette when the last scrap of fretted gold
vanished into the darkness, and the accumula tion was complete.
He looked up to find Patricia staring at the
stones over his shoulder.
“What are they worth, boy?” she
whispered.
The Saint laughed.
“Enough to buy you a new pair of
elastic-sided boots and an embroidered nightcap for Monty,” he
said. “And then you could write two cheques for six figures, and
still have enough change left to stand yourself two steam yachts and a
Rolls. That is, if you could sell the loot in the open market. As things are, Van
Roeper’ll probably beat me down to a lousy couple of million guilders,
which means we shall have to pass up one of those cheques and
Monty’s nightcap. But all the same, lass, it’s Boodle with the peach of a
B!”
He knotted the corners of his handkerchief
diagonally over the spoils, tested the firmness of the bundle, and tossed
it effervescently into the air. Then it vanished into his pocket, and he helped
himself to another cigarette and settled down in his corner to enjoy the
drive.
Monty
that,” she said.
“I never have loved him,” said
Monty Hayward cold-blood edly; “but I might dislike him a little
less if he left off gaping at the scenery and told us where we’re
supposed to be making for.”
Simon lighted a cigarette and inspected his
watch under the shielded
bulb on the dash. He leaned forward, with his face chiselled out in lines of gay alertness, and his mouth curved to a smile.
“The frontier, of course,” he
said. “That’s the first move, any way; and praise the Lord there’s only a
few miles to go. Be sides, it might have the
practical advantage of keeping the cops a little way behind. You wouldn’t believe how I’m devoted to the
police, but I don’t think we want to get intimate with them to-day.”
He had begun to work away on the jewels
while he talked. With the blade of his pocketknife he was prising the
stones loose from their settings and spilling them into a handkerchief spread
out on his lap. Under his swift fingers, rubies, pearls, sapphires, and
diamonds cascaded down like drops of frozen fire, carelessly heaping themselves
into a coruscating little molehill of multicoloured crystals which the
Saint’s expert eye valued at something in the neighbourhood of a cool quarter of a million. The Maloresco emeralds flopped solidly onto the pile,
ruthlessly ripped from their pendant of gold filigree— five flawless,
perfectly matched green lozenges the size of pig eons’ eggs. A couple
of dozen miscellaneous brilliants and three fifty-carat sapphires trickled
down on top of them. The Ullsteinbach blue diamond, wedding gift of the
Emperor Franz Josef to the Archduke Michel of Presc, slumped into the cluster
with a shimmer of azure flame. It went on until the handkerchief was
sagging under the weight of a scintillating pyramid of relucent
wealth that made even Simon Templar blink his eyes. Shorn of their
settings, the stones seemed to take on a lustre that was dazzling—the sheer
lambent effulgence of their own naked beauty.
But these things he appreciated only
transitorily, much as a surgeon can only transitorily appreciate the
beauty of a woman on
whom he has been called to perform an urgent operation. And the same unswerving professional thoroughness was vis ible in
the way he wielded his knife, deftly twisting and cut ting away the priceless metal-work and flicking it nonchalantly over the side of the car. Every setting was a work
of art, but that very quality made
each one too distinctive to be trusted. The size and perfection of the jewels themselves were more than hall mark enough for the Saint’s unobtrusive
taste in articles of vertu; and,
besides, the settings were three times as bulky as the gems they carried. With the frontier only a few minutes distant, Simon Templar felt in his most
unobtrusive mood. The speed and skill
with which he worked were amazing : he
had scarcely finished his cigarette when the last scrap of fretted gold
vanished into the darkness, and the accumula tion was complete.
He looked up to find Patricia staring at the
stones over his shoulder.
“What are they worth, boy?” she
whispered.
The Saint laughed.
“Enough to buy you a new pair of
elastic-sided boots and an embroidered nightcap for Monty,” he
said. “And then you could write two cheques for six figures, and
still have enough change left to stand yourself two steam yachts and a
Rolls. That is, if you could sell the loot in the open market. As things are, Van
Roeper’ll probably beat me down to a lousy couple of million guilders,
which means we shall have to pass up one of those cheques and
Monty’s nightcap. But all the same, lass, it’s Boodle with the peach of a
B!”
He knotted the corners of his handkerchief
diagonally over the spoils, tested the firmness of the bundle, and tossed
it effervescently into the air. Then it vanished into his pocket, and he helped
himself to another cigarette and settled down in his corner to enjoy the
drive.
Monty
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