personally last Tuesday to discuss his scheme, and was told that she would be the first to congratulate him if he could get away with it.
The twist in the plot is that Countess Jannowicz is herself an indefatigable worker for charity, and the organizer of countless social functions through which thousands of dollars are annually collected for various hospitals and humane societies.
Those who remember the countess' many triumphs in roping in celebrities as a bait for her charities believe that she has surpassed herself with her latest 'catch.' It was whispered that the sensational stunt launching of some new
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The countess read it all through, and then she put her head back on the pillows and thought about it some more and began to shake with laughter. The vibration made her feel as if the top of her head was coming off but she couldn't stop it. She was still quivering among her curlers when the telephone exoloded again.
'It's someone from Police Headquarters,' reported her maid. 'Inspector Fernack.'
'What the hell does he want?' demanded the countess.
She took over the instrument.
'Yes,' she squawked.
'This is Inspector Fernack of Centre Street,' clacked the diaphragm. 'I suppose you've seen that story about the Saint and yourself in the papers?'
'Oh yes,' said the countess sweetly. 'I was just reading it. Isn't it simply delightful?'
'That isn't for me to say,' answered the detective in a laboured voice. 'But if this is a serious threat we shall have to take steps to protect your property.'
'Take steps----Oh, but I don't want to make it too easy for him. He always seems to get away with everything when the police are looking out for him.'
There was a strangled pause at the other end of the wire. Then:
'You mean that this is really only a publicity stunt?'
'Now, now,' said the countess coyly. 'That would be telling, wouldn't it? Good-bye, Inspector.'
She handed the telephone back to her maid.
'If that damn flatfoot calls again, tell him I'm out,' she said. 'Get me some more aspirin and turn on my bath.'
It was typical of her that she dismissed Fernack's offer without a moment's uneasiness. After she had bathed and swallowed some coffee, however, she did summon the sallow and perspiring Mr Ullbaum who lived a feverish life as her press agent and vaguely general manager.
'There'll be some reporters calling for interviews,' she said. 'Some of 'em have been on the phone already. Tell 'em anything that comes into your head, but keep it funny.'
Mr Ullbaum spluttered, which was a habit of his when agitated, which was most of the time.
'But what's so funny if he does steal the necklace?'
'He isn't going to get the necklace--I'll take care of that. But I hope he tries. Everybody he's threatened to rob before has gone into hysterics before he's moved a finger, and they've been licked before he starts. I'm going to lick him and make him look as big as a flea at the same time--and all without even getting out of breath. We'll treat it as a joke now, and after he's made a fool of himself and it really is a joke, it '11 be ten times funnier. For God's sake go away and use your own brain. That's what I pay you for. I've got a headache.'
She was her regal self again by cocktail time, when the Saint saw her across the room at the Versailles with a party of friends, immaculately groomed from the top of her tight-waved head to the toes of her tight-fitting shoes and looking as if she had just stepped out of an advertisement for guillotines. He sauntered over in answer to her imperiously beckoning forefinger.
'I see your press agent didn't waste any time, Mr Templar.'
'I don't know,' said the Saint innocently. 'Are you sure you didn't drop a hint to your own publicity man?'
She shook her head.
'Mr Ullbaum was quite upset when he heard about it.'
The Saint smiled. He knew the permanently flustered Mr Ullbaum.
'Then it must have been my bloke,' he murmured. 'How did you like the story?'
'I thought it was rather misleading in places, but Mr Ullbaum is going to put that right. . . . Still, the police are quite interested. I had a phone call from a detective this morning before I was really awake.'
A faint unholy glimmer crossed the Saint's eyes.
'Would that be Inspector Fernack, by any chance?'
'Yes.'
'What did you tell him?'
'I told him to leave me alone.'
Simon seemed infinitesimally disappointed, but he grinned.
'I was wondering why he hadn't come paddling around to see me and add some more fun to the proceedings. I'm afraid I'm going to miss him. But it's nice to play with someone like you who knows the rules.'
'I know the rules, Mr Templar,' she said thinly. 'And the first rule is to win. Before you're finished you're going to wish you hadn't boasted so loudly.'
'You're not worried?'
She moved one jewel-encrusted hand indicatively.
'Did you notice those two men at that table in the corner?'
'Yes--have they been following you? I'll call a cop and have them picked up if you like.'
'Don't bother. Those are my bodyguards. They're armed and they have orders to shoot at the drop of a hat. Are you sure you aren't worried?'
He laughed.
'I never drop my hat.' He buttoned his coat languidly, and the impudent scapegrace humour danced in his eyes like sunlight on blue water. 'Well--I've got to go on with my conspiring, and I'm keeping you from your friends . . .'
There was a chorus of protest from the other women at the table, who had been craning forward with their mouths open, breathlessly eating up every word.
'Oh no!'
'Countess, you must introduce us!'
'I've been dying to meet him!'
The countess' lips curled.
'Of course, my dears,' she said, with the sugariness of arsenic. 'How rude of me!' She performed the introductions. 'Lady Instock was telling me only this morning that you could steal anything from her,' she added spikily.
'Anything,' confirmed Lady Instock, gazing at the Saint rapturously out of her pale protruding eyes.
Simon looked at her thoughtfully.
'I won't forget it,' he said.
As he returned to his own table he heard her saying to a unanimous audience: 'Isn't he the most thrilling----'
Countess Jannowicz watched his departure intently, ignoring the feminine palpitations around her. She had a sardonic sense of humour, combined with a scarcely suppressed contempt for the climbing sycophants who crawled around her, that made the temptation to elaborate the joke too attractive to resist. Several times during the following week she was impelled to engineer opportunities to refer to 'that Saint person who's trying to steal my necklace' ; twice again, when their paths crossed in fashionable restaurants, she called him to her table for the express pleasure of twitting him about his boast. To demonstrate her contempt for his reputation by teasing him on such friendly terms, and at the same time to enjoy the awed reactions of her friends, flattered something exhibitionistic in her that gave more satisfaction than any other fun she had had for years. It was like having a man-eating tiger for a pet and tweaking its ears.
This made nothing any easier for Mr Ullbaum. The countess was already known as a shrewd collector of publicity and the seeds of suspicion had been firmly planted by the opening story. Mr Ullbaum tried to explain to
