they need is the second chance which society is often so unwilling to give them.
'To give these men their second chance, has been founded the Society for the Rehabilitation of Delinquents--rather an elaborate name for a simple and straightforward thing. I am proud to be the first president of that society.
'We believe that money spent on this object is far cheaper than the money spent on keeping prisoners in jail, and at the same time is less than the damage that these men would do to the community if they were left to go on with their crimes. We ask you to believe the same thing, and to be generous.
'Everything that has been taken from you tonight can be found tomorrow at the office of the Society, which is in the Missouri Trust Building on Fifth Avenue. If you wish to leave your property there, to be sold for the benefit of the Society, we shall be grateful. If it has too great a sentimental value to you, and you wish to buy it back, we shall be glad to exchange it for a check. And if you object to us very seriously, and simply want it back, we shall of course have to give it back. But we hope that none of you will demand that.
'That is why we ventured to take the loot away tonight. Between now and tomorrow morning, we want you to have time to think. Think of how different this holdup would have been if it had been real. Think of your feelings when you saw your jewelry vanishing out of that door. Think of how little difference it would really make to your lives'--he looked straight at the countess--'if you were wearing imitation stones, while the money that has been locked up idly in the real ones was set free to do good and useful work. Think, ladies and gentlemen, and forgive us the melodramatic way in which we have tried to bring home our point.'
He stepped back, and there was a moment of complete silence.
The chairman had at last found his glasses. He saw the speaker retiring with a bow from the microphone. Apparently the speech was over. It seemed to be the chairman's place to give the conventional lead. He raised his hands and clapped loudly.
It is things like that that turn tides and start revolutions. In another second the whole hall was clattering with hysterical applause.
'My dear, how do you think of these things?'
'The most divinely thrilling----'
'I was really petrified . . .'
The Countess Jannowicz wriggled dazedly free from the shrill jabber of compliments, managed somehow to snatch the Saint out of a circle of clamorous women of which Lady Instock was the most gushing leader. In a comparatively quiet corner of the room she faced him.
'You're a good organizer, Mr Templar. The head-waiter tells me that Mr Ullbaum telephoned this afternoon and told the staff how they were to behave during the holdup.'
He was cheerfully appreciative.
'I must remember to thank him.'
'Mr Ullbaum did no such thing.'
He smiled.
'Then he must have been impersonated. But the damage seems to be done.'
'You know that for all your talking you've still committed a crime?'
'I think you'd be rather a lonely prosecutor.'
Rage had made her a little incoherent.
'I shall not come to your office. You've made a fool of yourself. My necklace is in the bank----'
'Countess,' said the Saint patiently, 'I'd guessed that much. That's why I want you to be sure and bring me the real one. Lady Instock is going to leave her earrings and send a check as well, and all the rest of your friends seem to be sold on the idea. You're supposed to be the number one patron. What would they think of you if after all the advertising you let yourself out with a fifty-dollar string of cut glass?'
'I can disclaim----'
'I know you can. But your name will still be mud. Whereas at the moment you're tops. Why not make the best of it and charge it to publicity?'
She knew she was beaten--that he had simply turned a trick with the cards that for days past she had been busily forcing into his hand. But she still fought with the bitterness of futility.
'I'll have the police investigate this phony charity----'
'They'll find that it's quite legally constituted, and so long as the funds last they'll be administered with perfect good faith.'
'And who'll get the benefit of them besides yourself?'
Simon smiled once again.
'Our first and most urgent case will be a fellow named Marty O'Connor. He helped me with the collection tonight. You ought to remember him--he was your chauffeur for three weeks. Anyone like yourself, Countess,' said the Saint rather cruelly, 'ought to know that charity begins at home.'
VIII THE MUGS' GAME
The stout jovial gentleman in the shapeless suit pulled a card out of his wallet and pushed it across the table. The printing on it said 'Mr J. J. Naskill.'
The Saint looked at it and offered his cigarette case.
'I'm afraid I don't carry any cards,' he said. 'But my name is Simon Templar.'
Mr Naskill beamed, held out a large moist hand to be shaken, took a cigarette, mopped his glistening forehead and beamed again.
'Well, it's a pleasure to talk to you, Mr Templar,' he said heartily. 'I get bored with my own company on these long journeys and it hurts my eyes to read on a train. Hate travelling, anyway. It's a good thing my business keeps me in one place most of the time. What's your job, by the way ?'
Simon took a pull at his cigarette while he gave a moment's consideration to his answer. It was one of the few questions that ever embarrassed him. It wasn't that he had any real objection to telling the truth, but that the truth tended to disturb the tranquil flow of ordinary casual conversation. Without causing a certain amount of commotion, he couldn't say to a perfect stranger, 'I'm a sort of benevolent brigand. I raise hell for crooks and racketeers of all kinds, and make life miserable for policemen, and rescue damsels in distress and all that sort of thing.' The Saint had often thought of it as a deplorable commentary on the stodgy un-adventurousness of the average mortal's mind; but he knew that it was beyond his power to alter.
He said apologetically: 'I'm just one of those lazy people. I believe they call it 'independent means.' '
This was true enough for an idle moment. The Saint could have exhibited a bank account that would have' dazzled many men who called themselves wealthy, but it was on the subject of how that wealth had been accumulated that several persons who lived by what they had previously called their wits were inclined to wax profane.
Mr Naskill sighed.
'I don't blame you,' he said. 'Why work if you don',t have to? Wish I was in your shoes myself. Wasn't born lucky, that's all. Still, I've got a good business now, so I shouldn't complain. Expect you recognize the name.'
'Naskill?' The Saint frowned slightly. When he repeated it, it did have a faintly familiar ring, 'It sounds as if I ought to know it----'
The other nodded.
'Some people call it No-skill,' he said. 'They're about right, too. That's what it is. Magic for amateurs. Look.'
He flicked a card out of his pocket on to the table between them. It was the ace of diamonds. He turned it over and immediately faced it again. It was the nine of clubs. He turned it over again and it was the queen of hearts. He left it lying face down on the cloth and Simon picked it up curiously and examined it. It was the three of spades, but there was nothing else remarkable about it.
'Used to be a conjuror myself,' Naskill explained. 'Then I got rheumatism in my hands, and I was on the rocks. Didn't know any other job, so I had to make a living teaching other people tricks. Most of 'em haven't the patience to practise sleight of hand, so I made it easy for 'em. Got a fine trade now, and a two-hundred-page catalogue. I can make anybody into just as good a magician as the money they like to spend, and they needn't practise for five minutes. Look.'
He took the card that the Saint was still holding, tore it into small pieces, folded his plump fingers on them for a moment and spread out his hands--empty. Then he broke open the cigarette he was smoking and inside it was a
