Saint Steps In by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online Page A

he croaked.
    “Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Imberline,” said the Saint sooth ingly. “I’m not a hold-up man, and
I’m not an indignant tax payer
proposing to beat you up.”
    “Then who the devil are you, and what do you want?”
    “My
name is Simon Templar, and I just wanted to talk to you.”
    “How did you get in here?”
    “I
walked in,” said the Saint, “through the front door.”
    “You broke in!”
    Simon shook his head.
    “I didn’t break anything,” he said innocently. “I just
used one of my little tricks on
the lock. Really. I did no damage at all.”
    Imberline made gargling noises in his throat.
    “This is—this is—— ”
    “I
know,” said the Saint wearily. “I know. I should have ap plied for an audience through the usual channels,
and filled out half a dozen forms in quintuplicate. But after all there is a war going on—to coin a phrase—and it just
occurred to me that this might save
us waiting a few months to meet each other.”
    The
red came back into Frank Imberline’s square face and he seemed to swell within his gorgeous pajamas.
    “I’ll have you know,” he said, in a half-bellow, “that
such high-handed tactics as this—these—must be dealt with by the proper authorities I I will not be intimidated,
sir, by any high handed—— ”
    “You said that before,” Simon reminded him politely.
“Well—what in hell do you want?”
    “I want to talk to you about a man who has invented a syn thetic rubber process. One Calvin Gray.”
    Imberline drew his heavy brows down over his little eyes. “What about Calvin Gray?” he demanded.
    “I’m
interested in Mr. Gray’s process,” said the Saint, “and I’m wondering why the man can’t get a hearing with
you.”
    Imberline waved a
pudgy hand in a disdainful gesture.
    “A
nut, Mr.—er—Templar,” he said. “A nut, pure and sim ple. From what I’ve heard, he claims
he can make rubber out of rhubarb, or something. Impossible, of course. I hope you haven’t invested any money in his invention, sir.”
    “A
fool and his money are soon parted,” Simon said wisely.
    “Yes,” Imberline grunted. “Quite so. But this outrageous breaking into a man’s
house—a man’s house is his castle, you know—you really have no excuse for that.”
    The
big man got out of the chair by the desk and stalked over to the bureau. He took a fat cigar from the box
on the bureau top and rammed it
into his mouth. Simon’s eyes were watchful. But Imberline’s hand did not move toward the han dle of any drawer that might have
contained a gun. He marched back across the room
and slumped down into a deep easy chair.
    “Okay,”
he said over his cigar. “So you broke in here to talk to me about Gray’s invention. I could
throw you out or have you arrested, but instead I’ll listen to what you have to
say.”
    “Very kind of you,”   Simon   murmured.   “A soft   answer turneth away stuff.”
    “What
is it you want to know?” Imberline asked bluntly. “I’m a busy man, and every minute counts.”
    “While time and tide wait for no man.”
    “Get to the
point. Why are you here?”
    Simon placed a
cigarette between his lips and snapped his lighter.
He was aware of Imberline’s gimlet eyes watching his every movement. He exhaled a long plume of smoke
and sat on the end of the bed.
    “Have you ever seen Gray’s product?” he asked.
    “Once—or maybe twice.”
    “And what was your opinion?”
    If
it were possible for the hulking shoulders of Frank Imberline to shrug, they would have.
    “It’s something that could be synthetic—and it’s something that could be made-over rubber,
cleverly disguised.”
    “You investigated it thoroughly, I suppose?”
    “I
had my staff investigate it. Their report was bad. That man Gray pestered me for weeks, trying
to get to see me, and finally gave up. I hear his daughter is in town now, still trying to waste my time.”
    “You haven’t made an appointment with her?”
    “Certainly