Catch the Saint by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online

wherever
he could without unduly disconcerting his alter ego. The effect was comfortable but a little stifling.
    “Has your brother
always lived alone here?”
    “Yes. He came down
about five years ago and he’s been here the
whole time.”
    “There’s one thing
that I’m puzzled about.” Simon smiled be fore
he went on. “Well, one thing among several. I’m surprised you didn’t recognise Pargit’s name when I asked you about
him.”
    “Why?”
    “Well, what sent you
to his art gallery?”
    “Oh. I looked all through my brother’s
things, because I got the idea that I
should find out as much as I could about him. I thought I might get a
clue of some kind about what had been going
on in his life before I came here, but I just couldn’t believe Adrian had actually done anything wrong. So I
started hunting round and I couldn’t
find much of anything … but on the back
of one of Adrian’s paintings, on the back of the frame, there was a
sticker that said ‘Leonardo Galleries,’ and a price, so I thought he must have shown his work there or
something, and I thought I’d talk to
them about him. That’s when you saw me.” They were still standing in the middle of the sitting-room. “Won’t
you sit down? Would you like some tea?”
    “Neither, thank
you,” Simon replied. He paced round, his eyes taking
in and his memory recording every detail of the room, just in case
there might be something informative or useful there. “But if your brother
had dealings with Pargit’s gallery, surely there
must have been more than a sticker on the back of a frame. Wasn’t there any
correspondence with Pargit?”
    Julie shook her head.
    “I couldn’t find any
letters or receipts or anything like that connected
with art galleries.”
    “That’s a little odd,
isn’t it? You’re sure your brother really was
a painter?”
    “Is a painter, Mr. Temple—”
    “Templar, but please
call me Simon.”
    “I’m sorry. Yes, he definitely is a
painter; I’ve watched him work since I got
here. Would you like to see his studio?”
    “Yes, but I’d like
to make that call first.” He still did not pick up
the telephone. “You know, it’s impossible that your brother didn’t have any business correspondence, unless he never
sold a painting. He did sell, didn’t he?”
    “Yes. And he used to
mention where he’d sold paintings; you know,
in his letters to Mother and me; but the names didn’t mean
anything to me and I don’t remember them.” She shrugged. “Probably I
just haven’t found all of his papers and things yet.”
    “Or else those
Special Branch investigators purloined a few letters
while you weren’t looking, just to slow down your investigations.”
    “I didn’t see them
take anything.”
    “They wouldn’t want
you to, would they?”
    She shook her head.
    “I can’t believe
there are people running around actually doing things like that … to me. It’s like something in a
Hitchcock film.”
    “Let’s try out this
scene.”
    The Saint picked up the
telephone and soon was being shut tled through the
labyrinths of government switchboards.
    “What was Fawkes’s
first name?” he asked Julie, his hand over
the mouthpiece.
    “Nobody told me. He
was in room 405, though.”
    Simon spoke into the
telephone: “I’d like to speak with Mr Fawkes, in room 405.”
    After one ring, a female
voice answered, “Factory Act Administration.”
    “I was trying to
reach Mr Fawkes’s office,” Simon told her.
    “I am Mr Fawkes’s
secretary.”
    “In room 405?”
    “Yes. May I help
you?”
    “I’d like to speak
with Mr Fawkes. My name is Guide.”
    “One moment.”
    After a pause and a few
clicking sounds, a male voice said, “Fawkes
speaking.”
    “Mr Fawkes, I believe
you’re involved in administering the Official Secrets
Act.”
    “No. The Factory
Act.”
    “Then you’re not the
Mr Fawkes who had a discussion in your office
with Miss Julie Norcombe yesterday.”
    “No.”
    “Do you know