The Saint and the Happy Highwayman by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online Page B

we’ve got to do it pretty quickly. I know you don’t think much of me, sir,” said Corrio with unwonted candour, “but you must admit that I was right a few days ago when you wouldn’t listen to me, and now I think it ‘d be only fair for you to give me another chance.”
    Almost against his will Fernack forced himself to be just.
    “All right,” he said grudgingly. “Where do we find this guy?”
    “If you can be free about a quarter to five this afternoon,” said Corrio, “I’d like you to come along with me.”
    Simon Templar walked west along Fifty-second Street. He felt at peace with the world. At such times as this he was capable of glowing with a vast and luxurious contentment, the same deep and satisfying tranquillity that might follow a perfect meal eaten in hunger or the drinking of a cool drink at the end of a hot day. As usually happened with him, this mood had made its mark on his clothes. He had dressed himself with some care for the occasion in one of the most elegant suits and brightly colored shirts from his extensive wardrobe, and he was a very beautiful and resplendent sight as he sauntered along the sidewalk with the brim of his hat tilted piratically over his eyes, looking like some swashbuckling medieval brigand who had been miraculously transported into the twentieth century and put into modern dress without losing the swagger of a less inhibited age. In one hand he carried a brown paper parcel.
    Fernack’s huge fist closed on his arm near the corner of Seventh Avenue, and the Saint looked around and recognized him with a delighted and completely innocent smile.
    “Why, hullo there,” he murmured. “The very man I’ve been looking for.” He discovered Corrio coming up out of the background and smiled again. “Hi, Gladys,” he said politely.
    Corrio seized his other arm and worked him swiftly and scientifically into a doorway. Corrio kept one hand in his side pocket, and whatever he had in his pocket prodded against the Saint’s stomach and kept him pinned in a corner. There was a gleam of excitement in his dark eyes. “I guess my hunch was right again,” he said to Fernack.
    Fernack kept his grip of the Saint’s arm. His frosted grey eyes glared at the Saint angrily, but not with the sort of anger that most people would have expected.
    “You damn fool,” he said rather damn-foolishly. “What did you have to do it for? I told you when you came over that you couldn’t get away with that stuff any more.”
    “What stuff?” asked the Saint innocently.
    Corrio had grabbed the parcel out of his hand and he was tearing it open with impatient haste.
    “I guess this is what we’re looking for,” he said.
    The broken string and torn brown paper fluttered to the ground as Corrio ripped them off. When the outer wrappings were gone he was left with a cardboard box. Inside the box there was a layer of crumpled tissue paper. Corrio jerked it out and remained staring frozenly at what was finally exposed. This was a fully dressed and very lifelike doll with features that were definitely familiar. Tied around its neck on a piece of ribbon was a ticket on which was printed: “Film Star Series, No. 12: CLARK GABLE. 69˘ .”
    An expression of delirious and incredulous relief began to creep over the harsh angles of Fernack’s face —much the same expression as might have come into the face of a man who, standing close by the crater of a rumbling volcano, had seen it suddenly explode only to throw off a shower of fairy lights and coloured balloons. The corners of his mouth began to twitch, and a deep vibration like the tremor of an approaching earthquake began to quiver over his chest; then suddenly his mouth opened to let out a shout of gargantuan laughter like the bellow of a joyful bull.
    Corrio’s face was black with fury. He tore out the rest of the packing paper and squeezed out every scrap of it between his fingers, snatched the doll out of the box and twisted and shook it to see