11 The Brighter Buccaneer

He gazed at the shares sadly. Then, with a shrug, he re­placed them in the envelope and smiled. 'May I keep them for a day or two?'

She nodded.

'I'd be frightfully grateful.' She was watching him with a blend of amusement and curiosity; and then she laughed. 'Excuse me staring at you like this, but I've never met a des­perate criminal before. And you really are the Saint-you go about killing dope traffickers and swindlers and all that sort of thing?'

'And that sort of thing,' admitted the Saint mildly.

'But how do you find them? I mean, if I had to go out and find a swindler, for instance --'

'You've met one already. Your late employer runs the J. L. Investment Bureau, doesn't he? I can't say I know much about his business, but I should be very surprised if any of his clients made their fortunes through acting on his advice.'

She laughed.

'I can't think of any who have done so; but even when you've found your man --'

'Well, every case is taken on its merits; there's no formula. Now did you ever hear what happened to a bloke named Francis Lemuel --'

He amused her for an hour with the recital of some of his more entertaining misdeeds; and when she left she was still wondering why his sins seemed so different in his presence, and why it was so impossible to feel virtuously shocked by all that he admitted he had done.

During the next few days he gave a considerable amount of thought to the problem of the Eden family's unprofitable in­vestments; and since he had never been afflicted with doubts of his own remarkable genius, he was not surprised when the course of his inquiries produced a possible market which had nothing at all to do with the Stock Exchange. Simon had never considered the Stock Exchange anyway.

He was paying particular attention to the correctly rakish angle of his hat preparatory to sallying forth on a certain morning when the front door bell rang and he went to open to the visitor. A tall saturnine man, with white moustache and bushy white eyebrows, stood on the mat, and it is an immuta­ble fact of this chronicle that he was there by appointment.

'Can I see Captain Tombs? My name --'

'Is Wilmer-Steak?'

'Steck.'

'Steck. Pleased to meet you. I'm Captain Tombs. Step in, comrade. How are you off for time?'

Mr. Wilmer-Steck suffered himself to be propelled into the sitting-room, where he consulted a massive gold watch.

'I think I shall have plenty of time to conclude our business, if you have enough time to do your share,' he said.

'I mean, do you think you could manage to wait a few min­utes? Make yourself at home till I come back?' With a bewil­dering dexterity the Saint shot cigarette-box, matches, pile of magazines, decanter, and siphon on to the table in front of the visitor. 'Point is, I absolutely must dash out and see a friend of mine. I can promise not to be more than fifteen minutes. Could you possibly wait?'

Mr. Wilmer-Steck blinked.

'Why, certainly, if the matter is urgent, Captain-er --'

'Tombs. Help yourself to anything you want. Thanks so much. Pleased to see you. Bye-bye,' said the Saint.

Mr. Wilmer-Steck felt himself wrung warmly by the hand, heard the sitting-room door bang, heard the front door bang, and saw the figure of his host striding past the open windows; and he was left pardonably breathless.

After a time, however, he recovered sufficiently to help himself to a whisky-and-soda, and a cigarette, and he was sipping and puffing appreciatively when the telephone began to ring.

He frowned at it vaguely for a few seconds; and then he realized that he must be alone in the house, for no one came to take the call. After some further hesitation, he picked up the receiver.

'Hullo,' he said.

'Listen, Simon-I've got great news for you,' said the wire. 'Remember those shares of yours you were asking me to make inquiries about? Well, it's quite true they were worth nothing yesterday, but they'll be worth anything you like to ask for them tomorrow. Strictly confidential till they release the news, of course, but there isn't a doubt it's true. Your company has struck one of the biggest gushers on earth-it's spraying the landscape for miles around. The papers'll be full of it in twenty-four hours. You're going to pick up a fortune!'

'Oh!' said Mr. Wilmer-Steck.'

'Sorry I can't stop to tell you more now, laddie,' said the man on the wire. 'I've got a couple of important clients wait­ing, and I must see them. Suppose we meet for a drink later. Berkeley at six, what?'

'Ah,' said Mr. Wilmer-Steck.

'Right-ho, then, you lucky old devil. So-long!'

'So-long,' said Mr. Wilmer-Steck.

He replaced the receiver carefully on its bracket, and it was not until several minutes afterwards that he noticed that his cigarette had gone out.

Then, depositing it fastidiously in the fireplace and helping himself to a fresh one, he turned to the telephone again and dialled a number.