The Saint in Miami by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online

your infernal gall, trespassing on my yacht to tell me a story like that.”
    “I only did it,” said the Saint mildly, “because I wondered if by any chance the ship that sailed away might have been yours.”
    A glibly modulated voice broke into the softly playing music of the radio and said: “Here is the latest bulletin on the Selina, the tanker which blew up off Miami Beach two hours ago. No survivors have yet been picked up, and it is feared that all hands may have perished in the disaster. The cause of the disaster is not yet known, but the explosion appears to have taken place so suddenly that there would have been no time to launch the boats. Coast guard vessels are still on the scene … We now take vou back-“
    That’s the first I’ve heard of it,” March said flatly. “We were out taking an evening cruise, but I didn’t see any explosion. I did hear something like a distant clap of thunder, but I didn’t think anything of it.”
    Simon jumped up suddenly and snatched a napkin from the tray.
    “That’s too bad, Ginger,” he murmured. “I hope it won’t stain your dress. Let me get you another glass.” He worked over her busily, and went on without looking up: “Naturally, if you’d had any idea what had happened, you wouldn’t have sailed away. You’d have turned round and gone rushing to the rescue.”
    “What do you think?” retorted March scornfully.
    “I think you’re a goddam liar,” said the Saint.
    March spluttered: “Why you-“
    “I think,” Simon proceeded, in the same impersonal and unruffled voice, “that you were out cruising to see if the tanker really would blow up, and when you were satisfied about that you turned round and came home.”
    He was watching March like a hawk then. He knew that his time was measured in seconds, but he hoped there would be enough of them for March’s reaction to tell him whether his unformed and fantastic ideas were moving in anything like the right direction. But March’s stare had a blankness that might have been rooted in any one of half a dozen totally different responses.
    And then March glanced up with a quick change of expression, and Simon heard Hoppy Uniatz’s disgusted voice behind him.
    “Chees, boss, I couldn’t help it He got de drop on me.” The Saint sighed.
    “I know, Hoppy,” he said. “I heard him coming.”
    He turned unflurriedly and inspected the new arrival on the scene. This was not another steward or a deck hand. It was a man of medium height but square and powerful build, who wore a captain’s stripes on the sleeve of his white uniform. The square and slightly prognathous cut of his jaw matched the cubist lines of his shoulders. On either side of a flat-lipped mouth, deep creases like twin brackets ran down from the nostrils of an insignificant nose. Under the shadow of the peak of his cap his heavy-lidded eyes were like dry pebbles. He held a .38 Luger like a man who knew how to use it.
    “Ah, Captain,” said March. “It’s lucky you came along.”
    The captain stayed far enough away and kept his Luger aimed midway between Simon and Hoppy, so that he could transfer the full aim to either one of them with a minimum of waste movement.
    “I heard some of the things he said, so I thought something must be wrong.” His voice was deep pitched and yet sibilant, an incongruous combination which jarred the ear to an antagonism as deep as instinct “What does he want?”
    “I think he’s crazy,” said March. “I don’t even know how he got on board.”
    ” Shall I send for the police and have him removed?”
    The Saint selected a fresh cigarette from a jar on the table, and lighted it from the stump of its predecessor. He looked out at the lights of Miami.
    “They tell me that the local jail is up in that tower.” He pointed languidly. “It seems to be a very nice location. You take an elevator up to the twentyfourth floor. It’s a beautiful modern hoosegow with a terrace where the prisoners take