Simon caught the elusive bartender and placed the order.
'And after all,' he said, 'who ever heard of calling a mild scalp massage an assault?'
'I dunno as I'd go all that way with you,' Haskins demurred judicially. 'But seein' as this feller was workin' for Mr March, in a manner o' speakin', I figured mebbe no one would care very much.'
'You mean it was nothing but curiosity that brought you here?'
The Sheriff hunched his sinewy black shoulders and stared up at the clock over the bar. He shuffled a little stiffly on the stool.
'Son,' he said, 'I told you once I had a sorter weakness for redheads myself. This afternoon it seemed that I ought to check up on one that we both know. She was packin' bags in an almighty hurry when I got theah. Seems she had to catch a plane to somewheres in South America this evening. I reckon she just made it by now. But she took time out to write a letter an' she asked me to give it to you after the plane left.'
He dragged an envelope out of an inner pocket and laid it on the bar.
Simon picked it up and opened it with hands of surgical precision.
Dear Saint: When I made a date for tonight, I meant it. But it doesn't seem as if any of us belong to ourselves any more. And there is so little time. I've had new orders already, to begin at once-and that means at once. I'll barely have time to pack. I can't even say Goodbye to you. I had thought of calling you to meet me at the airport, but now Haskins is here and I think I'll send this note by him instead. The other would have been much harder for both of us.
I could say Thank you, Thank you, a million times, and it wouldn't mean anything. You know yourself fust how much you've done, as I know it too, and as they know it by now in London as well as Washington. That should be enough for both of us. But we both know that it's still only a beginning. Both of us will have so much more to do before we can sit back in our armchairs again.
And fust for myself alone, it isn't enough either. That's why I'd rather write this than have to see you again. I can't help it, darling. In spite of all the impossibilities, I still want that evening that we never had.
So silly, isn't it? But if miracles happen and both of us are still alive when all this is over-we might meet somewhere. It won't ever happen, of course, but I want to think about it now.
Goodbye. I love you.
Karen
Dry champagne frothed on the bar. Simon looked at the label on the bottle as he folded the letter slowly and put it away. Bollinger '28. That was what they had drunk when they first met He could see her still as he had seen her then, with her pale perfect face and flaming hair, and the deep violet of her eyes. And he saw her as she had last been beside him, with his gun speaking from her hand. And so-that was the story Abruptly he raised his glass.
'Good luck,' he said.
Sheriff Haskins held him with that shrewd timeless gaze.
'I'll say that to her too, son.'
'You've been a good father to me, daddy.' The Saint split a paper match with his thumbnail and twirled it in his glass, absently swizzling bubbles out of the wine. 'Do you mind if I'm curious too? I'm not so used to all this co-operation from the Law.'
Haskins' jutting Adam's apple took a downward journey and vanished behind his black string tie.
'Well, son, it's like this. A lot o' strange critters bed together peaceable-like when a panther's on the prowl. Let 'em get to fightin' too much among themselves, an the crazy cat will gollop 'em all. Take rabbits, now.' The Sheriff filled his glass again and smiled ruminatively. 'I reckon if enough rabbits ganged up together an' got properly mad, they could put a bobcat on the run. Most times the folks in this country are homelovin' an' peaceful as rabbits-but it seems to me that the time for a little gangin' up an' gettin' mad has more 'n come. You've sorter helped me straighten that out in my mind.'
Simon looked at him through the smoke of his cigarette.
'Even though I broke your sacred law?'
'There ain't no law,' Haskins declared slowly, 'when some son-of-a-bitch is tryin' to take over the whole of creation, an' usin' what laws there are to try an' make it easier for himself. Like he lets little countries believe in laws of neutrality, which means they don't begin gangin' up on him until after he's jumped on 'em. An' like he uses their laws o' liberty to sneak in his spies an' start fightin' 'em long before he comes out an' calls it a war. I done a powerful lot o' thinkin' since we had a talk the other night. Some folks are gonna blind themselves to it, an' the politicians are gonna help ball it up so they can keep gettin' votes from the people who don't want to think, but when I see a lot o' thugs drillin' right under my nose, screamin' against our kind o' government an' generally thinkin' they're bigger 'n the country they live in, I jest know the whole stinkin' business is gettin' too close to home.'
The Saint looked at him silently, a thin dowdy man against his bright butterfly background, a solemn and incongruous figure, and yet something that had been fined down to the ultimate unconquerable fibre of the land that had bred him . . .
Haskins drained his glass and set it back on the bar.
'That's right good liquor.' He dried his mouth on the back of his hand. 'I hate killin'. But there's times when things get so damn hot there ain't nuth'n but a little killin' will stop a helluva sight more. I don't know, o'course, but from what I've heard tell, you believe in back fires when things start to burn. Mebbe you've talked me round to your way o' thinkin'. Mebbe more of us have to be talked round before this fire gets too big for us. I dunno.'
He stood up, and extended one muscular brown hand. 'I got to go. But I'm hopin' more of our folks will start gangin' up before it's too late. Mebbe I jest sorter like you, son.'
'Maybe it's mutual, daddy,' said the Saint, and put out his own strong grip.
