'The really brilliant part of it,' said Monty, filling his pipe, 'is that this bloke proposes to pay out all the profit in a lump in ten years' time; but until then he doesn't undertake to pay anything. So if he's been working this stunt for four years now, as it says in the book, he's still got another five years clear to go on selling his bonds before any of the bondholders has a right to come round and say: 'Oi, what about my three hundred quid?' Unless some nosey parker makes a special trip into the middle of Brazil and comes back and says there aren't any pine trees growing in those parts, or he's seen the concession and it's just a large swamp with a few blades of grass and a lot of mosquitoes buzzing about, I don't see how he can help getting away with a fortune if he finds enough mugs.'
The Saint lighted a cigarette.
'There's nothing to stop him taking it in,' he remarked gently, 'but he's still got to get away with it.'
Mr. Sumner Journ would have seen nothing novel in the qualification. Since the first day when he began those practical surveys of the sucker birth-rate, the problem of finally getting away with it, accompanied by his moustache and his plunder, had never been entirely absent from his thoughts, although he had taken considerable pains to steer a course which would keep him outside the reach of the Law. But the collapse of South American Mineralogical Investments, Ltd., had brought him within unpleasantly close range of danger, and about the ultimate fate of Brazilian Timber Bonds he had no illusions.
Simon Templar would have found nothing psychologically contradictory in the fact that a man who, cultivating the world's most original moustache with microscopic perfection of detail, had overlooked the fundamental point that a moustache should be visible, should, when creating a Timber Company, have overlooked the prime essential that the one thing which a Timber Company must possess, its
In the circumstances, it was only natural that Mr. Sumner Journ, telling tall stories about timber, should remember that the day was coming when he himself would have to set out, metaphorically at least, in the direction of the tall timber which is the fugitive's traditional refuge; but he reckoned that the profit would be worth it.
The only point on which he was a trifle hazy, as other such schemers have been before him, was the precise moment at which the getaway ought to be made; and it was with a sudden sinking of heart that he heard the name of the man who called to see him at his office on a certain afternoon.
'Inspector Tombs?' he said with a rather pallid heartiness. 'I think I have met you somewhere before.'
'I'm the C. I. D. Inspector in this division,' said the visitor blandly.
Mr. Journ nodded. He knew now where he had seen his caller before—it was the man who had been talking to Chief Inspector Teal in Swallow Street when he went by a few days ago, and who had stared at him so intently.
Mr. Journ opened a drawer and took out a box of cigars with unsteady hands.
'What can I do for you, Inspector?' he asked.
Somewhat to his surprise, Inspector Tombs willingly helped himself to a handful, and sat down in an armchair.
'You can give me money,' said Inspector Tombs brazenly; and the wild leaping of Sumner Journ's heart died down to a painful throbbing.
'For one of your charities, perhaps? Well, I have never been miserly——'
The Saint shook his head.
'For me,' he said flatly. 'The Yard has asked us to keep an eye on you, and I think you need a friend in this manor. Chuck the bluffing, Journ—I'm here for business.'
