adopt as their own, forgetting that he was the one who implanted
it. Third, the presentation of a contrary theory so apparently absurd
that the most mediocre intellect would reject it. And throughout and
overall, a display of objectionable cockiness that was guaranteed to strangle
the noblest impulse to show him his error kindly and disinterestedly.
For Mr . Way was not one of those
ingratiating swindlers who work on the softer side of their prey. The
most bril liantly original facet of his art was in his development
of a natural gift for making himself detestable. In a few scintil lating
minutes, he could inspire the mildest citizen with seductive thoughts of
mayhem. But since he was too ludi crously puny for the average man to
punch in the nose, most of them sublimated this healthy impulse into a
willing ness, indeed an eagerness, to take it out of his noisily prof fered
bankroll.
The fact that Simon Templar was not among the
first of those who volunteered to fade him may have been due not so much to
the Saint’s mastery of theoretical figures as to his appreciation of live ones,
and particularly the specimen who chose that moment to make her entrance.
It should be superfluous, after that
sentence, for this chron icler to expatiate at much length upon the
proportions and attractions of Hilda Mason, which in cold truth were not intrinsically
different from those of any other girl who gets herself into these
stories. They were, however, striking enough for him to have judged her at
once to be the most interesting girl on the Interplanetary Hotel beach on the
first day he cased it, with an outstanding chance of defending that title
against all comers from plenty of other beaches and for quite a few
orbits. Let it be on the record that she had light brown hair
and light brown eyes and was almost criminally young and glowing, and that
the puffy balding- gray man with her who looked easily old enough to be her father
proved on investigation to be her father—a phenome non which in Miami
Beach in the season was not merely epochal but had also made the Saint’s casual
campaign al most effortless.
“I’m not late, am I?” she said.
“Not one second,” he smiled.
“And I’d allowed for half an hour. Which gives us time for just one
family-style drink together.”
“I accept with pleasure,” said her
father, sinking into an other chair. “But I assure you, that’s as
long as you’ll be stuck with me. I only came this far to keep Hilda company in case
you happened to be late. I brought her up according to the oldfashioned
doctrine that punctuality is the most inexpensive of grand gestures; but one
can’t count on every one else having the same philosophy.”
Simon ordered the drinks from a waiter who was
already w aiting, fortunately, for more customers were beginning to
s eep in. But the room was still populated sparsely enough f or Mr.
Way’s discordantly jeering voice to snag the attention of the newcomers as
it rose in raucous triumph a few minutes later.
“October! Here’s another guy born in
October! And he’s only Number Five. Now who says I didn’t prove my point?”
“What is this all about?” George
Mason asked.
Simon gave him a factual synopsis, untrimmed
with any personal comment, and Mason shook his head.
“The man must be out of his mind. Or
else he’s got money to burn and he’d rather burn it than admit he’s
wrong.”
The group that was gravitating towards the
noise focus of the bar evidently shared this opinion, and furthermore had no scruples about taking advantage of either contingency. Nor were
they discouraged by the accident that had cost them a few dollars on
the first sampling of nativities.
“Any fool can be lucky,” growled the
good bridge player who had been finessed into becoming spokesman for the op position.
“But that doesn’t prove he’s right. If you want to convince
me the odds are what you say, you’d have to win two out of three
times. With six total
it. Third, the presentation of a contrary theory so apparently absurd
that the most mediocre intellect would reject it. And throughout and
overall, a display of objectionable cockiness that was guaranteed to strangle
the noblest impulse to show him his error kindly and disinterestedly.
For Mr . Way was not one of those
ingratiating swindlers who work on the softer side of their prey. The
most bril liantly original facet of his art was in his development
of a natural gift for making himself detestable. In a few scintil lating
minutes, he could inspire the mildest citizen with seductive thoughts of
mayhem. But since he was too ludi crously puny for the average man to
punch in the nose, most of them sublimated this healthy impulse into a
willing ness, indeed an eagerness, to take it out of his noisily prof fered
bankroll.
The fact that Simon Templar was not among the
first of those who volunteered to fade him may have been due not so much to
the Saint’s mastery of theoretical figures as to his appreciation of live ones,
and particularly the specimen who chose that moment to make her entrance.
It should be superfluous, after that
sentence, for this chron icler to expatiate at much length upon the
proportions and attractions of Hilda Mason, which in cold truth were not intrinsically
different from those of any other girl who gets herself into these
stories. They were, however, striking enough for him to have judged her at
once to be the most interesting girl on the Interplanetary Hotel beach on the
first day he cased it, with an outstanding chance of defending that title
against all comers from plenty of other beaches and for quite a few
orbits. Let it be on the record that she had light brown hair
and light brown eyes and was almost criminally young and glowing, and that
the puffy balding- gray man with her who looked easily old enough to be her father
proved on investigation to be her father—a phenome non which in Miami
Beach in the season was not merely epochal but had also made the Saint’s casual
campaign al most effortless.
“I’m not late, am I?” she said.
“Not one second,” he smiled.
“And I’d allowed for half an hour. Which gives us time for just one
family-style drink together.”
“I accept with pleasure,” said her
father, sinking into an other chair. “But I assure you, that’s as
long as you’ll be stuck with me. I only came this far to keep Hilda company in case
you happened to be late. I brought her up according to the oldfashioned
doctrine that punctuality is the most inexpensive of grand gestures; but one
can’t count on every one else having the same philosophy.”
Simon ordered the drinks from a waiter who was
already w aiting, fortunately, for more customers were beginning to
s eep in. But the room was still populated sparsely enough f or Mr.
Way’s discordantly jeering voice to snag the attention of the newcomers as
it rose in raucous triumph a few minutes later.
“October! Here’s another guy born in
October! And he’s only Number Five. Now who says I didn’t prove my point?”
“What is this all about?” George
Mason asked.
Simon gave him a factual synopsis, untrimmed
with any personal comment, and Mason shook his head.
“The man must be out of his mind. Or
else he’s got money to burn and he’d rather burn it than admit he’s
wrong.”
The group that was gravitating towards the
noise focus of the bar evidently shared this opinion, and furthermore had no scruples about taking advantage of either contingency. Nor were
they discouraged by the accident that had cost them a few dollars on
the first sampling of nativities.
“Any fool can be lucky,” growled the
good bridge player who had been finessed into becoming spokesman for the op position.
“But that doesn’t prove he’s right. If you want to convince
me the odds are what you say, you’d have to win two out of three
times. With six total
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