Prelude for War by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online Page A

stand ing on end and his eyes sticking
out and his ears absolutely flapping
with the most frightful emotion I merely thought I was in for a fate worse than death, and believe me I was. I mean, all’s fair in love and war and all that
sort of thing, but to be heaved up by one arm and one leg and slung over a
man’s bony shoulder, and then to be galloped about over miles of lawn with your only garment flapping up around your neck …”
    She seemed to be expecting
sympathy.
    Simon laughed.
    “It must have been
rather trying,” he admitted. “I haven’t
seen my rival today. By the way, where is he?”
    “He had to go and
change the guard, or something dreary. But it doesn’t
matter. It’s nice to see you again.”
    She might almost have meant
it.
    “Next time you want
rescuing, you must drop me a line,” said
the Saint. “I’m told I have a very delicate touch with damsels in distress. Maybe I could give you more satisfaction.”
    She glanced sideways at him, out of the corners
of her eyes. Her lips twitched slightly.
    “Maybe you
could,” she said.
    “All the same,”
Simon continued resolutely, “it would have
been even more trying if you’d been left in your room, wouldn’t
it?”
    Again her expression changed like magic; in a
moment she looked utterly woebegone.
    “Yes,” she said in a low voice.
“Like—like John.”
    She turned wide, distressed eyes on him.
    “I—I can’t think
what could have happened,” she said tremulously.
“He—he must have heard the alarm, and I —I
know he wasn’t drunk or anything like that. He couldn’t have committed suicide, could he? Nobody would commit suicide like—like that.”
    She seemed to be begging
him to reassure her that Kennet had not committed suicide;
there were actually tears in her eyes. Simon was puzzled.
    “No, he didn’t
commit suicide,” he answered. “I’ll bet anything
on that. But why should you think of it?”
    “Well, we did have the
most awful row,” and—and I swore I’d never speak to him again, and he
seemed to take it rather to heart. Of course
I didn’t really mean it, but I was
getting awfully fed up with the whole silly business, and he was being terribly stupid and awkward and
unreason able.”
    “Were you engaged to
him, or something like that?”
    “Oh no. Of course he
may have thought … But then, nobody takes those things seriously. Oh, damn!
It’s all so hopelessly foul and horrible, and all
just because of a silly bet.”
    “So he may have
thought you were in love with him. You’d let him think so. Is that it?”
Simon persisted.
    “Yes, I suppose so, if
you put it that way. But what else could I do?”
    She stared at him
indignantly, as if she were denying a thoroughly unjust
accusation.
    “I bet you wouldn’t
see a thousand-guinea fur coat that you were simply
aching to have go slipping away just because you
couldn’t make a bit of an effort with a man,” she
said vehemently. “And it was in a good cause, too.”
    The Saint smiled
sympathetically. He still hadn’t much idea what she was
talking about, but he knew with a tumul tuous
certainty that he was getting somewhere. Out of all that
confusion something clear and revealing must emerge within
another minute or two—if only luck gave him that other
minute. He was aware that his pulses were beating a
shade faster.
    “Was John going to
give you a fur coat?” he inquired.
    “John? My dear, don’t
be ridiculous. John would never have given me a fur coat. Why, he never even
took me anywhere in a taxi.”
    She paused.
    “He wasn’t
mean,” she added quickly. “You mustn’t think
that. He was terribly generous, really, even though he
didn’t have much money. But he used to spend it all on frightfully earnest things, like books and lectures and Brotherhood
of Man leagues and all that sort of thing.” She
shook her head dejectedly. “He used to work so hard and study such a lot and have such impossible ideals, and now … If only he’d had a