13 The Saint Intervenes (Boodle)

The solicitor swallowed noisily, and an ecstatic light gleamed through his tears like sunshine through an April shower.

'I'd buy gin,' he said. 'Bols an' bols an' bols of gin. Barrelsh of gin. I'd have a bath full of gin, an' shwim my-shelf to shleep every Sarrerdy night.'

'I'll give you five hundred a year for life for that will,' said the Saint. 'Signed, settled, and sealed—in writing—this minute. You needn't worry too much about your professional etiquette. I'll give you my word not to destroy or conceal the will; but I would like to borrow it for a day or two.'

Less than an hour later he was chivalrously ferrying the limp body of Mr. Penwick home to the ex-solicitor's lodg­ings, for it is a regrettable fact that Mr. Penwick collapsed rather rapidly under the zeal with which he insisted on cele­brating the sale of his potential reinstatement. Simon went on to his own apartment, and told Patricia of his purchase.

'But aren't you running a tremendous risk?' she said anx­iously. 'Penwick won't be able to keep it secret—and what use is it to you, anyway?'

'I'm afraid nothing short of chloroform would stop Pen­wick talking,' Simon admitted. 'But it'll take a little time for his story to get dangerous, and I'll have had all I want out of the will before then. And the capital which is going to pay his five hundred a year will only be half of it.'

Patricia lighted a cigarette.

'Do I help?'

'You are a discontented secretary with worldly ambitions and no moral sense,' he said. 'The part should be easy for you.'

Mr. Willie Kinsall had never heard of Patricia Holm.

'What's she like?' he asked the typist who brought in her name.

'She's pretty,' said the girl cynically.

Mr. Willie Kinsall appeared to deliberate for a while; and then he said: 'I'll see her.'

When he did see her, he admitted that the description was correct. At her best, Patricia was beautiful; but for the bene­fit of Mr. Willie she had adopted a vivid red lip-stick, an extra quantity of rouge, and a generous use of mascara, to reduce herself to something close to the Saint's estimate of Mr. Willie's taste.

'How do you do, my dear?' he said. 'I don't think we've—er——'

'We haven't,' said the girl coolly. 'But we should have. I'm your brother Walter's secretary—or I was.'

Mr. Willie frowned questioningly.

'Did he send you to see me?'

Patricia threw back her head and gave a hard laugh.

'Did he send me to see you! If he knew I was here he'd probably murder me.'

'Why?' asked Willie Kinsall cautiously.

She sat on the corner of his desk, helped herself to a cigarette from his box, and swung a shapely leg.

'See here, beautiful,' she said. 'I'm here for all I can get. Your brother threw me out of a good job just because I made a little mistake, and I'd love to see somebody do him a bad turn. From what he's said about you sometimes, you two aren't exactly devoted to each other. Well, I think I can put you in the way of something that'll make Walter sick; and the news is yours if you