Charteris, Leslie - 25, page 23
Simon hadn't looked at the girl until then. He did now.
"By the way," he said casually, "you'd better get a move on with this scramming act. Kinglake is going to have to call Headquarters in a few minutes. You can scram in my car—it won't take me more than ten minutes to check out of the Alamo House. Go and put some things in a bag."
"Yes," she said, impassively and obediently; and went out of the room.
Simon smoked his inherited cigarette with unalloyed enjoyment.
Kinglake gathered the papers on the desk together ind frowned over them wisely.
The Saint made another search of the unlamented ungodly, and found his own automatic in Weinbach's pocket. He nested it affectionately back in his clip holster.
The Lieutenant gazed yearningly at the telephone, tightened a spartan stopper on a reawakening ebullience of questions, and got out another of his miasmic cigars.
Olga Ivanovitch came in again.
She had changed into a simple gray suit with plain white trimmings. Her honey-colored hair was all in place again, and her face was cool and freshly sweetened. She looked younger than Simon had ever remembered her. She carried a pair of suitcases. King-lake really looked at her.
Simon hitched himself off the corner of the desk where he had perched.
"Well," he said, "let's be on our way."
He shook hands with Kinglake for the last time, and picked up Olga's bags and went out with her. They went down the crushed coral walk through a rambling profusion of poinsettias and bougainvillea that were only dark clusters under the moon. The Gulf waters rolled against the beach beyond the seawall with a hushed friendly roar. Simon Templar thought about Jean Lafitte again, and decided that in the line of piracy he could still look the old boy in the eye on his home ground.
They left the gate; and the girl's step faltered beside him. He slowed with her, turning; and she stopped and faced him.
"Spassibo" she said, with an odd husky break in her voice. "Thank you, thank you, tovarich. ... I don't think it's any use, but thank you."
"What do you mean, you don't think it's any use?"
Light seeping from a window of the house behind them like a timid thief in a dimout touched her pale halo of hair and glistened on her wide steady eyes.
"Where can I go now?"
The Saint laughed.
"My God, you Russians! Look, darling. You played along with Maris for quite a while. Several of the ungodly must know it. But they'll never know that Maris ever changed his mind about you. They'll only know that you got out of Galveston one jump ahead of the barrage. So you're all set to move in again somewhere else. That's what you wanted, isn't it? Well, I wasn't kidding either. That's what you're going to do. Only next time you'll do it legitimately—for the FBI or something like that. I'm taking you to Washington with me so you can meet a guy named Hamilton. I have to see him anyway. . . . Besides," he added constructively, "it's a dull trip, and we might make fun on the way."
WATCH FOR THE SIGN
OF THE SAINT
HE WILL BE BACK!
scott, Charteris, Leslie - 25
