'Ah, yes,' admitted Farwill despondently, as if the very idea violated all his dearest principles. 'We have got to decide.' He inflated his chest again for the only outlet of oratory that was left to him. 'Well, Mr. Orconi--ah--Pete, you are doubtless familiar with the general outline of the engagement. This book, of which Mr. Uniatz must have told you, must be recovered--whether by guile or force is immaterial. Nothing must be | permitted to obstruct a successful consummation of the undertaking. If, in the course of your work, it should prove necessary to effect physical injuries upon this man Templar, or even to--er-- expedite his decease, humanitarian considerations must not influence our firmness. Now I would suggest that a fee of two hundred pounds------'
Simon straightened up in his chair and laughed rudely.
'Say, whaddaya think I'm lookin' for?' he demanded. 'Chicken feed?'
The Honourable Leo drew further breath for eloquence, and the argument was on. It would scarcely be profitable to record it in detail. It went on for a long time, conducted on the Parliamentary side in rounded periods which strayed abstractly to every other subject on earth except the one in hand and nearly sent the Saint to sleep. But Simon Templar had a serene determination of his own which could even survive the soporific flatulence of Farwill's long-winded verbiage; he was in no hurry, and he was still enjoying himself hugely. Hoppy Uniatz, endowed with a less vivid appreciation of the simple jests of life, did actually fall into a doze.
At long last a fee of two thousand pounds was agreed on; and the Saint helped himself to a fifth glass of sherry.
'Okay, boys,' he murmured. 'We'll get that guy.'
'Sure,' echoed Mr. Uniatz, rousing with a snort. 'We'll get him.'
Yorkland shuffled about on the edge of his seat, buttoned and unbuttoned his coat, and got up.
'Very well,' he stuttered. 'That's settled. Glad it's all fixed up. Now I must get back to town. Late already. Important meetings.' His restless eyes glanced at the other member of his side. 'Count on me for my share, Farwill.'
The Honourable Leo nodded.
'Certainly,' he reverberated. 'Certainly. You may leave it to me to arrange the details.' He drew the sherry decanter towards him and replaced the stopper unobtrusively but firmly. 'I think we owe a vote of thanks to Mr. Uniatz for the--er--introduction.'
Simon Templar surveyed him dispassionately over a second Corona.
'You owe more than that, fella,' he said.
Farwill coughed.
'I thought the--er--honorarium was payable when the commission had been--ah--executed.'
'Half of it is,' agreed the Saint pleasantly. 'The first half is payable now. I done business with politicians before. You make so many promises in your job, you can't expect to remember 'em all.'
'Sure,' seconded Hoppy Uniatz heartily. 'Cash wit' order is de rule in dis foim.'
Farwill drew out his wallet grudgingly; but it was stocked with a supply of currency which indicated that some such demand had not been unforeseen. He counted out a number of banknotes with reluctant deliberation; and Yorkland watched the proceeding with a hint of hollowness in his round face.
'Well,' he said with a sigh, 'that's done. Send you a check tonight, Farwill. Thanks. Really must be off now. Excuse me. Good-bye.'
He shook hands all round, with the limp perfunctory grip of the professional handshaker, and puttered out of the room; and they heard his car scrunching away down the drive.
The Saint smiled to himself and raked in the money. He counted it into two piles, pushed one towards Hoppy Uniatz, and folded the other into his pocket. There were five hundred pounds in his own share--it was a small enough sum as the Saint rated boodle, but there were circumstances in which he could take a fiver with just as much pleasure as he would have taken five thousand. It was not always the amount of the swag, it was the twists of the game by which it was collected; and beyond all doubt the twist by which that five hundred had been pulled in ranked high in the scale of pure imponderable delights. On such an occasion even a nominal allowance of loot was its own reward; but still the Saint had not achieved everything that had been in his mind when he set out on that soul-satisfying jag.
One other riddle had been working in his brain ever since he left his apartment that morning, and he led up to it with studied casualness.
'The job's as good as done, Leo,' he said.
'Sure,' echoed the faithful Mr. Uniatz. 'De guy is dead an' buried.'
'Excellent,' responded Farwill formally.'Ah --excellent.'
He had almost got the decanter away when Simon reached it with a long arm. Farwill winced and averted his eyes.
'This ain't such bad stuff, Leo,' the Saint commented kindly, emptying his glass and refilling it rapidly. He spilt an inch of ash from his cigar onto the carpet and cocked one foot on to the polished table with a callous disregard for his host's feeling which he felt would go well with the imaginary character of Pete de Blood, and which soothed his own sleepless sense of mischief at the same time. 'About this guy Templar,' he said. 'Suppose I do have to rub him out?'
'Rub him out?' repeated Farwill dubiously. 'Ah--yes, yes. Suppose you have to kill him.' His eyes shifted for a moment with the hunted look of the politician who scents an attempt to commit him to a definite statement. 'Well, naturally it is understood that you will look after yourself.'
'Aw, shucks,' said the Saint scornfully. 'I can look after myself. That ain't what I mean. I mean, suppose he was rubbed out, then there wouldn't be any way to find out where the book was, an' the cops might get it.'
Farwill finally collared the decanter and transported it in an absent-minded way to the cellaret, which he locked with the same preoccupied air. He turned round and clasped his hands under his coattails.
'From our point of view, the problem might be simplified,' he said.
