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."He admits he was here --""I was here," said the Saint coolly."You know how the back of the house goespractically down to the river, and you have a little private garden there anda landing stage? I knew that if anything was happening, it'd happen on thatside-it'd be too risky to do anything on the street frontage, where anybodymight come by and see it.Well, things were happening.There was a man outthere, but I beat him over the head and tied him up before he could make anoise.Then I waited around; and somebody opened the window from inside andthrew out a parcel.So I picked it up and took it home.Here it is."He took it out of his hip pocket-it was a very large parcel, and the bulgewould have been easy to notice if anyone had got behind him.Vascoe let out a hoarse yell, jumped at it, and wrenched it out of his hands.He ripped it open with clawing fingers."My miniatures!" he sobbed."My medallions-my cameos! My --""Here, wait a minute!"Teal thrust himself forward again, taking possession of the package.For asecond or two the denouement had blown him sky-high, turned him upside down,and left him with the feel-ing that the pit of his stomach had suddenly goneaway on an unauthorised vacation; but now he had his bearings again.He facedthe Saint with homicidal determination."It's a fine story," he said raspily."But this is one time you're not goingto get away with it.Yes, I get the idea.You pull the job so you can win yourbet, and then you bring the stuff back with that fairy tale and thinkeverything's going to be all right.Well, you're not going to get away withit! What happened to the fellow you say you knocked out and tied up, and whoelse saw him, and who else saw all these things happen?"The Saint smiled."I left him locked up in the garage," he said."He's probably still there.Asfor who else saw him, Martin Ingerbeck was with me.""Who?""Ingerbeck himself.The detective bloke.You see, I happened to help him witha job once, so I didn't see why I shouldn't help him with another.1 So as soonas I guessed what was going to happen I called him up, and he met me at onceand came along with me.He even recognised the bloke who opened the window,too."Page 65ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html1 See Saint Overboard (a PAN Book)."And who was that?" Teal demanded derisively; but some-how his derisionsounded hollow.The Saint bowed."I'm afraid," he said, "it was the Comte de Beaucroix."The Count stared at him pallidly."I think you must be mad," he said."It's preposterous!" spluttered Vascoe."I happen to have made every inquiryabout the Comte de Beaucroix.There isn't the slightest doubt that he's --""Of course he is," said the Saint calmly."But he wasn't always.They do itthe same way in France as we do in England -a fellow can go around with onename for most of his life, and then he inherits a title and changes his namewithout any legal formalities.It's funny that you should have been asking meabout him, Claud.His name used to be Louis Umbert.As soon as Meryl mentionedthe Comte de Beaucroix, I remembered what it was that I'd read about him inthe papers.I'd noticed that he came into the title when his uncle died.That's why I thought something like this might happen, and that's why I madethat bet with Vascoe."The night guard fizzed suddenly out of retirement."That's right!" he exploded excitedly."I'll bet it was him.I wondered why I went off to sleep like that.Well, about two o'clock he camedownstairs-said he was looking for something to read because he couldn't getto sleep-and got me to have a drink with him.It was just after he wentupstairs again that I fell off.That drink must 've been doped!"De Beaucroix looked from side to side, and his face twitched.He made a suddengrab at his pocket; but Teal was too quick for him.Simon Templar hitched himself off the armchair as the brief scuffle subsided."Well, that seems to be that," he observed languidly."You'll have to wait foranother chance, Claud.Go home and take some lessons in detecting, and you maydo better next time." He looked at Vascoe."I'll see my lawyers later and findout what sort of a suit we can cook up on account of all the rude thingsyou've been saying, but meanwhile I'll collect my cheque from Morgan Dean."Then he turned to Meryl."I'm going to lend Bill Fulton the profits to pay offhis debts with," he said."I shall expect a small interest in his invention,and a large slice of wedding cake."Before she could say anything he was gone.Thanks didn't interest him: hewanted breakfast.PART VITHE STAR PRODUCERSMR HOMER QUARTERSTONE was not, to be candid, a name to conjure with in theworld of the Theatre.It must be admitted that his experience behind thefootlights was not entirely confined to that immortal line: "Dinner isPage 66ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlserved"-as a matter of fact, he had once said "The Baron is here" and "Willthere be anything further, Madam?" in the same act; and in anothernever-to-be-forgotten drama which had run for eighteen performances in theWest End, he had taken part in the following classic dialogue:NICK: Were you here?JENKINS (Mr Homer Quarterstone): No, sir.NICK: Did you hear anything?JENKINS: No, sir.NICK: A hell of a lot of use you are.JENKINS: Yes, sir.(Exit, carrying tray.)In the executive line, Mr Quarterstone's career had been marked by the samemagnanimous emphasis on service rather than personal glory.He had notactually produced any spectacles of resounding success, but he had contributedhis modest quota to their triumph by helping to carry chairs and tables on tothe stage and arrange them according to the orders of the scenic director.Andalthough he had not actually given his personal guidance to any of thefinancial manoeuvres associated with theatrical production, he had sat in thebox office at more than one one-night stand, graciously controlling thepassage over the counter of those fundamental monetary items without which thelabours of more egotistical financiers would have been fruitless.Nevertheless, while it is true that the name of Quarterstone had neverappeared in any headlines, and that his funeral cortege would never haveattracted any distinguished pall-bearers, he had undoubtedly found the Theatremore profitable than many other men to whom it had given fame.He was a man of florid complexion and majestic bearing with a ripe convexityunder his waistcoat and a forehead that arched glisteningly back to the scruffof his neck; and he had a taste for black homburgs and astrakhan-collaredovercoats which gave an impression of great artistic prosperity
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