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streamer that flowed with the unbroken evenness of a deep river. The shock
that had brought him to conscious immobility had passed, letting the tenseness
ebb out of his muscles to leave his natural lazy imperturba-bility apparently
unchanged. But under his effortless and unruffled poise his brain was
thrumming like an intoxicated dynamo.
He had fished for clues and he had brought them up in a pail. It didn't matter
for the moment how they fitted together. Luker and the Arms Ring; Sangore,
formerly of the War Office, how a director of the Wolverhampton Ord-nance
Company; Fairweather, sometime secretary of state for war, now on the board of
Norfelt Chemicals; Kennet the pacifist, the groping crusader. Papers, exposes,
photographs. And the Sons of France. Whichever way you spilled them, they fell
into some sort of pattern. The drums he had heard such a short while ago
thundered in the Saint's temples; the blaring brass shrieked in his ears. He
felt as if he were standing on the brink of a breathless precipice, watching
the boiling of a hideously parturient abyss. The keen clear zenithal winds of
destiny fanned through his hair.
He was conscious, in a curiously distant way, that the girl was still talking.
"I never used to listen very hard I was too busy trying to think of ways to
stop them. If I hadn't stopped them, they'd have gone on all night. So when
I'd had enough of politics I'd say something like 'Let's go to the Berkeley
and have a drink,' and then they'd both start talking about the snobbishness
of big hotels and how bad drink was for me; and I didn't mind that nearly so
much, because I quite like talking about hotels and drink."
The Saint brought himself back to her with a deliberate effort. He could think
afterwards; now, precious time was flying, and the inquest was already late.
He could have no more than a few seconds to take advantage of what Provi-dence
had thrown into his lap.
He said: "But if Kennet hated Luker and Sangore so much, what made him come
down here for the week end ?"
"I did. I thought that if he could come down here and see what they were
really like, he might have given up his stupid ideas. And I knew they were
going to offer him an awfully good job. Algy told me so."
"Who?"
"Algy. Algy Fairweather. Of course you know."
"Of course," said the Saint humbly. "And didn't Kennet appreciate it?"
"No. That's what made me so furious. When we got here he told me he was glad
they wanted to see him, because he wanted to see them, too, and instead of
them giving him a job he was going to see that theirs were made so
uncomfortable that they'd be glad to give them up. So I told him I thought he
was a silly, stupid, narrow-minded, bigoted halfwit, and a crashing bore as
well, and and we parted. After dinner he went into the library to talk to
them, and I went to the movies with Don Knightley, and I never saw John
again." She gazed at the Saint appeal-ingly. "D-do you really think it was my
fault that all this happened?"
Page 21
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
He considered her without smiling.
"I think you deserve a damned good hiding for leading Kennet up the garden,"
he said dispassionately. "And if I were Windlay I'd see that you got one."
She pouted. She seemed to be more disappointed that he could think of her like
that than seriously annoyed by what he had said. And then, quite unanswerably,
a gleeful little twinkle came into her eyes that made her look momen-tarily
like a mischievous and very attractive child.
"You wouldn't say that if you knew Windlay," she gig-gled. "He's a very pale
and skinny young man with glasses."
Simon gave up the struggle. Actually he felt a colder anger against the men
who had used the girl as their tool. The possibility that she might have been
something more than an unsuspecting instrument was one which he dis-carded
almost at once. She had already told him far too much. And her mind, whatever
its obvious failings, could never have worked that way.
"Where did Kennet and Windlay live?" he asked flatly.
"Oh, miles from anywhere, out in Notting Hill, in an awful place called
Balaclava Mansions."
"Notting Hill isn't miles from anywhere," said the Saint. "The trouble with
you is that you've never heard of any place outside the West End. You've got a
brain; why don't you get reckless and try using it?"
She sighed.
"My God," she said. "Now you're going to come over all earnest on me. You
think I ought to have a good hiding for the way I treated Johnny. I suppose my
intentions weren't serious enough. I oughtn't to have pretended some-thing I
didn't mean. Is that it?"
"More or less," he said bluntly.
He wondered what excuse she was going to make for herself.
She didn't make any excuse. She laughed.
"You have the nerve to stand there, in your beautiful clothes, with your dark
hair and dashing blue eyes, and tell me that," she said startlingly. "I bet
you've made love to heaps of women yourself, hundreds of times, and never
meant a word of it."
The Saint stared at her. For a moment he was com-pletely and irrevocably taken
aback.
In that moment his first hasty estimate of her underwent a surprising
reversal, although it made no difference to his belief in her innocence. But
it gave him an insight into her mind which he had not been expecting. She
might be feather-brained and spoiled, but she had something more in her head
than he had credited her with. For the first time he found himself
appreciating her.
"You win, darling," he said. The turn of his lips became impish. "Only I
always mean it a little."
Then one of the side doors opened and he saw Lady Sangore surge out like a
full-rigged ship putting out from harbour. Behind her, in a straggling
flotilla, came Sir Robert, Kane Luker and Mr Fairweather. Fairweather, peering
round, caught sight of a ruddy-faced walrus-moustached man who. looked like a
builder's foreman dressed up in his Sunday suit, who got up from the bench
where he had been sitting as the party emerged. They shook hands, and
Fairweather spoke to him for a moment before he shepherded him into the office
which they had just left and came puttering back to rejoin the wake of the
fleet. Simon noted the incident as he watched the armada catch sight of Lady [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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streamer that flowed with the unbroken evenness of a deep river. The shock
that had brought him to conscious immobility had passed, letting the tenseness
ebb out of his muscles to leave his natural lazy imperturba-bility apparently
unchanged. But under his effortless and unruffled poise his brain was
thrumming like an intoxicated dynamo.
He had fished for clues and he had brought them up in a pail. It didn't matter
for the moment how they fitted together. Luker and the Arms Ring; Sangore,
formerly of the War Office, how a director of the Wolverhampton Ord-nance
Company; Fairweather, sometime secretary of state for war, now on the board of
Norfelt Chemicals; Kennet the pacifist, the groping crusader. Papers, exposes,
photographs. And the Sons of France. Whichever way you spilled them, they fell
into some sort of pattern. The drums he had heard such a short while ago
thundered in the Saint's temples; the blaring brass shrieked in his ears. He
felt as if he were standing on the brink of a breathless precipice, watching
the boiling of a hideously parturient abyss. The keen clear zenithal winds of
destiny fanned through his hair.
He was conscious, in a curiously distant way, that the girl was still talking.
"I never used to listen very hard I was too busy trying to think of ways to
stop them. If I hadn't stopped them, they'd have gone on all night. So when
I'd had enough of politics I'd say something like 'Let's go to the Berkeley
and have a drink,' and then they'd both start talking about the snobbishness
of big hotels and how bad drink was for me; and I didn't mind that nearly so
much, because I quite like talking about hotels and drink."
The Saint brought himself back to her with a deliberate effort. He could think
afterwards; now, precious time was flying, and the inquest was already late.
He could have no more than a few seconds to take advantage of what Provi-dence
had thrown into his lap.
He said: "But if Kennet hated Luker and Sangore so much, what made him come
down here for the week end ?"
"I did. I thought that if he could come down here and see what they were
really like, he might have given up his stupid ideas. And I knew they were
going to offer him an awfully good job. Algy told me so."
"Who?"
"Algy. Algy Fairweather. Of course you know."
"Of course," said the Saint humbly. "And didn't Kennet appreciate it?"
"No. That's what made me so furious. When we got here he told me he was glad
they wanted to see him, because he wanted to see them, too, and instead of
them giving him a job he was going to see that theirs were made so
uncomfortable that they'd be glad to give them up. So I told him I thought he
was a silly, stupid, narrow-minded, bigoted halfwit, and a crashing bore as
well, and and we parted. After dinner he went into the library to talk to
them, and I went to the movies with Don Knightley, and I never saw John
again." She gazed at the Saint appeal-ingly. "D-do you really think it was my
fault that all this happened?"
Page 21
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
He considered her without smiling.
"I think you deserve a damned good hiding for leading Kennet up the garden,"
he said dispassionately. "And if I were Windlay I'd see that you got one."
She pouted. She seemed to be more disappointed that he could think of her like
that than seriously annoyed by what he had said. And then, quite unanswerably,
a gleeful little twinkle came into her eyes that made her look momen-tarily
like a mischievous and very attractive child.
"You wouldn't say that if you knew Windlay," she gig-gled. "He's a very pale
and skinny young man with glasses."
Simon gave up the struggle. Actually he felt a colder anger against the men
who had used the girl as their tool. The possibility that she might have been
something more than an unsuspecting instrument was one which he dis-carded
almost at once. She had already told him far too much. And her mind, whatever
its obvious failings, could never have worked that way.
"Where did Kennet and Windlay live?" he asked flatly.
"Oh, miles from anywhere, out in Notting Hill, in an awful place called
Balaclava Mansions."
"Notting Hill isn't miles from anywhere," said the Saint. "The trouble with
you is that you've never heard of any place outside the West End. You've got a
brain; why don't you get reckless and try using it?"
She sighed.
"My God," she said. "Now you're going to come over all earnest on me. You
think I ought to have a good hiding for the way I treated Johnny. I suppose my
intentions weren't serious enough. I oughtn't to have pretended some-thing I
didn't mean. Is that it?"
"More or less," he said bluntly.
He wondered what excuse she was going to make for herself.
She didn't make any excuse. She laughed.
"You have the nerve to stand there, in your beautiful clothes, with your dark
hair and dashing blue eyes, and tell me that," she said startlingly. "I bet
you've made love to heaps of women yourself, hundreds of times, and never
meant a word of it."
The Saint stared at her. For a moment he was com-pletely and irrevocably taken
aback.
In that moment his first hasty estimate of her underwent a surprising
reversal, although it made no difference to his belief in her innocence. But
it gave him an insight into her mind which he had not been expecting. She
might be feather-brained and spoiled, but she had something more in her head
than he had credited her with. For the first time he found himself
appreciating her.
"You win, darling," he said. The turn of his lips became impish. "Only I
always mean it a little."
Then one of the side doors opened and he saw Lady Sangore surge out like a
full-rigged ship putting out from harbour. Behind her, in a straggling
flotilla, came Sir Robert, Kane Luker and Mr Fairweather. Fairweather, peering
round, caught sight of a ruddy-faced walrus-moustached man who. looked like a
builder's foreman dressed up in his Sunday suit, who got up from the bench
where he had been sitting as the party emerged. They shook hands, and
Fairweather spoke to him for a moment before he shepherded him into the office
which they had just left and came puttering back to rejoin the wake of the
fleet. Simon noted the incident as he watched the armada catch sight of Lady [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]