Leslie Charteris - Señor Saint

He took another piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to the Saint. Simon took it, and saw that it was a cashier’s cheque for ten thousand dollars which his practised eye told him was certainly not forged.

“If you put it that way, Professor,” he said, respectfully, “I hardly see how I can refuse.”

“I understand you will not be a loser, in any event. May I ask what you are proposing to do about your lucky find?”

“I haven’t had time to do anything much yet,” said the Saint. “In fact, for the present I’m keeping it right under my hat, and as you know I’ve asked Alice to do the same. I don’t want some local hotshots getting wind of it and maybe pulling some fast legal shenanigans before everything’s sewn up. I have got an attorney forming a local corporation, which will have quite a nominal capital, most of which I’ll put up myself — about a hundred grand. For operating capital, I’ll get a loan from some Texas oil men I know; in that way, the value of the original stock will skyrocket much faster as soon as we get going, and I can take a nice capital gain instead of paying a ninety per cent income tax.”

The Professor nodded.

“Alice tells me she had some misunderstanding with you about the legal and moral rights to your mining claim. She was absolutely wrong, of course—”

“I know it now,” Alice said contritely. “I was very stupid, and I apologize.”

“But,” said the Professor, “we do have a friendly interest in your venture. Your opening up of the country should eventually make it possible for us to get back to our frogs again — if they are still there. And I do claim that we contributed something, however indirectly, to your good fortune. Here I am, Mr Tombs, with what is left of this legacy, and very little knowledge of financial matters. I would like to invest something that would bring in a good return and enable me to continue my researches. Alice and I have been so close to this, and we have the best reasons to believe in it. I would like to ask you — not as a right, but as a favour — if you would consider letting us in on the ground floor.”

“How much would you want to invest?” Simon asked in a businesslike manner.

The Professor looked appealingly at Alice. She opened her purse, and then a billfold from it, and took out five cashier’s cheques, each made out simply to Bearer. It was the most liquid and compact way she had been able to think of to carry her retirement fund. She put one of them back, and handed Simon the other four. Each of them was made out for five thousand dollars.

“I told him we could speculate this much,” she said.

Simon looked at them judicially.

“I was only a little peeved because I thought Alice was jumping the gun,” he said. “When you put it this way, I couldn’t be mean enough to refuse. But I can’t take all this — it would be against a foolish principle of mine.”

He gave her back two of the cheques and put the other two away in his wallet.

“I’ll give you a receipt,” he said.

He fetched a sheet of paper and wrote on it:

Received from Professor Humphrey Nestor, and Alice Nestor, the sum of $10,000 (Ten Thousand Dollars) in return for which I promise to issue them stock to the same par value in the Golden Frog Mining Corporation, as soon as it is available.

Probably, he reflected, a smart lawyer could prove that such an indefinite promise was not even fraudulent. Not that the Saint intended to wait around even another twelve hours to find out.

“Will that do?” he asked.

They looked pathetically grateful and yet somewhat disappointed, so that he rather regretted the quixotic impulse that had compelled him to refuse half their money. But he felt that he had been well repaid for the time he had spent preparing that elegant “licence” for himself. As for the preliminary trip over the river, on which his Navy friend had flown him from Coco Solo and helped him dump several sackfuls of carefully salted rock, the plane and the gas had been unwittingly supplied by Uncle Sam, and the trip had been purely a joyride. The Nestors, he thought, should be taught a lesson to be more circumspect about working a routine with so many transparent fabrications in it, but they had certainly put on a first-class production, and the Saint did not want to be too cruel.