THE SAINT BIDS DIAMONDS
LESLIE CHARTERIS
CONTENTS
IHow Simon Templar Took Exercise, and Hoppy Uniatz Quenched His Thirst IIHow Simon Templar Conversed with a Porter, and a Brace of Guardias Were Happily Reunited IIIHow Simon Templar Read a Newspaper, and Reuben Graner Put on His Hat IVHow Simon Templar Rose to the Occasion, and the Thieves' Picnic Got Further Under Way VHow Reuben Graner Took Back His Gun, and a Taxi Driver Was Unconvinced VIHow Simon Templar Ate without Enthusiasm, and Mr Uniatz Was also Troubled about His Beakfast VII How Mr Palermo Continued to Be Unlucky, and Hoppy Uniatz Obeyed Orders VIII How Mr Uniatz Was Bewildered about Bopping, and Simon Templar Was Polite to a Lady IXHow Simon Templar Enjoyed a Joke, and How Mr Lauber Was Not Amused XHow Simon Templar Paid His Debt, and Christine Vanlinden Remembered Hers
THE SAINT BIDS DIAMONDS
I
How Simon Templar Took Exercise, and Hoppy Uniatz Quenched His Thirst
SIMON TEMPLAR yanked the hand brake back into the last notch as the huge cream-and-red Hirondel shot past the little knot of struggling men, and stood up while the tires were still screaming for a hold on the cobblestones. The Hirondel rocked to a shuddering standstill just beyond the other car that was pulled in to the side of the road; and Simon sat on the back of the seat and swung long, immaculately trousered legs over the side. From under the jauntily tilted brim of his hat he gazed back at the inspiring scene with a glimmer of reckless delight beginning to dawn in gay blue eyes which should have seemed entirely misplaced in a man who was better known as the Saint than by any other name.
In the seat beside him, Hoppy Uniatz screwed his head round on his thick neck and also surveyed the scenery, with the strain of intense thought creasing its unmistakable contortions into the rugged contours of what, from its geographical situation rather than anything else, must reluctantly be called his face. Somewhere inside him an awe-inspiringly lucid deduction was struggling for delivery.
'Boss,' said Mr Uniatz, with growing conviction, 'dat looks like a fight.'
'It is a fight,' said the Saint contentedly, and dropped lightly to the ground.
He had made the deduction several seconds earlier than Mr Uniatz, and with much less difficulty. From the moment when the headlights of the Hirondel swept round the bend and caught the 'group of writhing figures in their sudden blaze of illumination, it had been comparatively obvious that the nocturnal peace of the road up to La Laguna from Santa Cruz de Tenerife was being vigorously disturbed by physical dissension and all manner of mayhem-so obvious, in fact, that the Saint was treading on the brake pedal and flicking the gear lever into neutral almost as soon as the spectacle met his eyes. He had only paused for that one brief instant to decide whether the fight was merely an ordinary vulgar brawl, or whether it possessed any features which might make it interesting to a connoisseur. And, while he perched up there on the back of his seat, he had seen the vague mass of seething bodies split up into two component nuclei. In one section, two burly males were apparently trying to hammer the insides out of a third whose hair gleamed silver under the dim light; and in the other section, which more or less clinched the matter, a girl who had been trying to help him was being dragged away, fighting like a wildcat, by another of the strong-arm deputation.
Either because the combatants were so absorbed in their own business that they hadn't noticed the stopping of his car, or else because they proposed to continue operations in defiance of any casual interference, the tempo of the conflict showed no signs of slowing up as the Saint drew nearer; and a gentle and rather speculative smile shaped itself on his lips. The man who was wrestling with the girl had one hand over her mouth, and just at that moment her teeth must have managed to find one of his fingers, for his hand moved quickly and he let out a hoarse profanity which was cut off by her sharp scream for help. The Saint's smile became even gentler.
'Not so loud, lady,' he murmured. 'Help has arrived.'
She had a face which was definitely worth fighting for, Simon realised as the man swung her round as a shield between them; and the artistic perfection of the discovery sent blissful anthems carolling through his soul. That was just as it should be-beauty in distress, and repulsive blackguards to punch firmly in the eye. . . .
The latter ingredient struck Simon's imagination as being particularly sound. The desire to prove whether it was as satisfactory in practice as in theory became almost simultaneously irresistible. The Saint saw no reason to resist it. He shot out an exploratory fist that whizzed past the girl's ear like a bullet, and felt his knuckles smash terrifically into something crispy-soft which could have been nothing else but the desired objective in the pan of the man behind her.
The jolt ran up his arm and spread itself throughout his body in a warm tingle of ineffable beatitude. He had not been mistaken. The sensation left nothing to be improved on. It lifted up the heart and made the world a brighter and rosier place. It was the works.
'Lend me your other eye, brother,' said the Saint.
The man let go the girl and kicked at him viciously; but the Saint had learnt most of his fighting in places where there were no referees, and the savagely rearing foot that would probably have crippled anyone else, hissed harmlessly past him as he stepped smoothly aside. The foot swung on upwards under its undischarged momentum, and Simon cupped his hand under the heel and helped it enthusiastically on its way. The kicker's other leg slipped from under him and he went crashing down on his back; and the Saint trod on his face and assisted the back of his head to collide with the pavement a second time, to remove all doubt.
He took the trembling girl's hand for a moment in a cool grip.
'Get along to my car,' he said. 'The red-and-yellow one. I'll collect Uncle.'
She stared at him for a second or two, hesitantly and, it seemed, fearfully, as if she still couldn't realise that he had helped her, and as if she was terrified of a trap. The Saint turned his head so that the light fell on his face; and there must have been something in his smile that answered her doubts, for she nodded and turned obediently away.
The Saint moved on.
