The Saint in Trouble by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online Page B

for your yacht and your suite at the hotel and that rock on your finger?”
    “I peddle genius.”
    “You what?”
    Samantha lowered her empty glass and casually reached across and appropriated Simon’s.
    “I run an employment agency called Genius Inc. We don’t handle anyone with an IQ of less than 150.”
    Simon retrieved his half-empty glass and placed it well out of her reach.
    “But surely geniuses don’t need people to find them jobs?”
    “You’d be surprised how stupid really brilliant people can be. They’re usually working for about a third of what they’re really worth. We help them to get their market value.”
    The waiter brought the artichokes barigoule, a speciality of the house, and they waited while he served it. Samantha reached over and gouged out a sample from the Saint’s plate. Simon watched in amused disbelief as she ate it and then proceeded to attack her own.
    “How was it?”
    “Delicious.”
    “How’s yours?” Simon’s fork sped towards her plate but she parried it with the adroitness of a fencing master.
    “About the same.”
    “Is that why you’re here, prospecting for genius?”
    “We go to all the scientific congresses, that’s the kind of talent that pays off today.”
    Samantha’s hand absentmindedly moved towards the Saint’s wineglass, but he managed to capture it in time.
    “It certainly seems to have paid off for you.”
    “I was in a hurry. I was hungry until I was fifteen. Now I play to win.”
    “You certainly play hard. When do you get your black belt?”
    Samantha started, and for a moment Simon thought he was going to face a blank denial, but she only lowered her head in mock shame.
    “So you guessed.”
    “It wasn’t exactly the greatest piece of detection work since Sherlock Holmes. And Demmell-who, or rather what, is he?”
    “Demmell is a fool, but a useful one. He works for me, mainly I think because he knows I’m not attracted to him and he’s continually trying to prove himself. Male ego and all that. All the same, I couldn’t have you beating him up. One has a duty to one’s employees, you know.”
    “Of course, everyone knows that.”
    If Samantha caught the Saint’s sarcasm she showed no signs of being offended by it.
    “Was it your idea that he should tear my room apart?” he enquired casually.
    “Oh no, never. I’m afraid he’s rather impetuous.”
    Somehow the conversation was not running along the lines he had sketched out for it, and he found her mixture of businesslike frankness and wide-eyed innocence rather hard to take. Simon leaned across and took her hand in his.
    “Would you like to marry me?”
    Samantha helped herself to some more of the Saint’s artichoke and smiled.
    “I can’t wait. But we’ll have to work out how I can divorce two husbands without convicting myself of bigamy.”
    The Saint toyed with the idea of proposing an ingenious double murder, but realized that this line of badinage was getting nowhere. He decided that since she must have had her own motives for accepting his invitation, he might as well play along until she was forced to take the initiative.
    But in spite of his restraint, the conversation remained on a plane of sophisticated triviality, until the meal was finished and the head waiter was routinely proposing coffee and liqueurs.
    “Why don’t we go back to my suite at the hotel?” Samantha said. “It’s got a balcony with a better view than this.”
    “I’d love to see it,” said the Saint, and asked for his bill.
    The man was concerned, he was unaccustomed to guests who ate each other’s food, drank from each other’s glass, and then left in a hurry.
    “Is everything all right, monsieur?”
    Simon stood, and Samantha remained seated only long enough to finish the last of the wine.
    “Everything is just fine,” he replied, peeling the requisite notes from his roll and adding a large tip. “It’s just that my wife worries if I’m late for dinner.”
    The maitre d’hotel