Vendetta for the Saint. by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online

tuna on such a flimsy thread was something
else again; and no one but Simon Templar would have made such a point of setting the barb so solidly. But it was one of the elementary tricks of
fishing to make the fish work for you, and the Saint felt cheerfully confident that his fish would not
waste much time sulking on the bottom. As soon as the ‘Gopher’ barb sank in …
    To share that optimism, some readers may
have to overcome the limitations of a sheltered life, and be informed of its connotations in some circles where they may not ordinarily revolve. In some of the far-fetched variations of American slang, a gopher (aside from his primitive zoological de termination to be a small rodent of retiring but
horticulturally destructive habits) can also be a bumpkin, a ruffian, or a
toady. These are general terms, not
confined to the so-called “under”-world with which Destamio must have had some il lustrious connections. But in the idiom of that nether clique, a ‘gopher’ is either an iron or
steel safe, or the technician who
specializes in blowing open such
containers in order to obtain illegal possession
of their contents.
    This was the idiomatic detail which gave the
lie to everything
Destamio had tried to sell him, and which had to connect with the sudden demise
of James Euston, Esquire, a
former bank clerk. And the
certainty of it added no little brilliance to Simon’s esthetic appreciation of the golden
after noon clouds
gathering behind Ischia.
    When the helicopter landed at the Naples
harbor station, he
remained in his seat until the pilot came and said courteously: “This is the destination of your ticket, signore.”
    “I’ve
decided to go on to Capodichino.”
    “Then
there is an extra charge.”
    “How
much?” Simon asked carelessly.
    He was not nearly so concerned about being branded an arrogant plutocrat, which he
could sur vive, as about
being caught in an even swifter riposte
by Al Destamio, which he might not. Even in the few minutes for which he had been
airborne, Lily could have returned to the
villa, Destamio could have picked up a
telephone and contacted henchmen on the
mainland, and the Naples heliport
might be no safer than a booby-trapped quagmire.
    On the other hand, an arrival at Capodichino might confuse the Ungodly still more, and
possibly leave them standing
flatfooted.
    Once he had decided on that detour, Simon re alized that he had no need to return to
Naples at all. His
baggage had been rendered practically worthless anyhow, and from a phone booth at the airport he promised to come back later for
what ever was worth
salvaging. There was anguished dis belief in the manager’s voice when Simon guaran teed that he would take care of the bill at
the same time; but the
Saint allowed his heart to be hard ened by the thought of how much more joyfully surprised that entrepreneur would be when the payment actually arrived.
    A kiosk sold him a book about the glories of Sicily, after some argument, for very little more than the price printed on the cover, and left him just enough time to catch the evening plane to Palermo.
    Palermo was even hotter than Naples, and
there are few
airconditioned hotel rooms in Sicily, de spite the suffocating need for them; but by a
com bination of seasoned
instinct, determination, good luck, and extravagant bribery, the Saint
succeeded in securing
one. This involved staying at a hotel with the hideously inappropriate name of The Jol ly, which was anything but. However, it gave
him a restful night, and he was able to console himself for the cost with the reflection that it only made
a small dent in Al Destamio’s
advance donation.
    In the morning, after a leisurely breakfast,
a shave with a cut-throat
razor borrowed from the valet,
and in relatively clean and spruce linen by courtesy of the ingenious manufacturers of
wash- and-wear
synthetics, he strolled over to the local office of the City & Continental Bank
(Foreign Di vision)
Limited, to which the hotel