Leslie Charteris: Send for the Saint

“You’re very shrewd,” he said slowly.

“So you confirm it. That you are here to investigate this impostor?”

“I can’t deny it,” replied the Saint with a faint smile.

“Then it would be ungrateful of me not to accept such an offer. What fee would you ask to find this so-called double and put a stop to his interference in my affairs?”

“Twenty thousand pounds,” replied the Saint with a perfectly straight face; and Patroclos Two stood up at once and held out his hand.

“Templar — you’re hired.”

It was, Simon Templar considered, a situation worthy of inclusion in a cosmic museum of mind-bogglers.

There existed on this earth, indubitably, a billionaire of highly flexible ethics but fabulous efficiency, named Diogenes Patroclos. He was, apparently, being impersonated with incredible brilliance by an identical double, to the point where his globe-girdling empire was in danger of being smoothly and completely taken over by this perfect imitation of himself. The Saint had now met both the authentic and the spurious Patroclos, and had been hired by both of them to discover and expose the fraud. True, he had not yet collected any down payment on his fees, but that was a minor detail. If he accomplished his job, the real Patroclos could certainly be persuaded to assume the other obligation as one of the incidental expenses of the operation. In fact, if a few more ersatz Patroclos’s would turn up, the mission of sorting them out might almost develop into an interesting career.

The only snag was that as of this starting point, the Saint still had to find out who was his real employer and who was the impostor.

However, since there was nothing he could think of for the moment that would hasten a solution of that riddle, he was cheerfully prepared to let it wait and enjoy the liberal dispensations of caviar sandwiches and champagne, whoever was footing the bill for them.

Much later, as the last of the guests were gulping their last stirrup cups, Patroclos Two joined him again and called the footman over.

“Fetch Bainter.”

“I... I think he’s gone to bed, sir.”

“Then get him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

The duplicate mogul turned to Ariadne Two.

“Templar is moving in. Have a room prepared at once.”

The girl looked bemused. She glanced from her boss to the Saint and back to her boss again.

“He’s moving in tonight?”

“Tonight,” asserted Patroclos Two. “Tomorrow you will familiarise him with my itinerary for the next two weeks.”

“But Mr Patroclos—” She broke off, eyeing the Saint with evident mistrust.

“I trust him,” said Patroclos Two, as if he had read her thoughts. “As of now, Templar is in full charge of my personal security.”

The girl stared at the Saint suspiciously while Patroclos Two moved away to pour himself a cognac; then she quickly left the room.

“Starting next week, Templar, I have a series of vitally important meetings. This impostor will probably try to worm his way into some of them. I want you to—”

“I know, make sure he doesn’t horn in and gum up the works.”

“Exactly. So that is your immediate assignment. To protect my interests during these meetings. And until the commencement of the meetings, you must accompany me wherever possible, and you must otherwise remain permanently in this house.”

“I must what?” demanded the Saint.

Patroclos Two took a liberal mouthful of cognac.

“That is the condition of your employment. I am sure you will see the necessity.”

Simon nodded.

“Bottling me up... just in case I should decide to get in contact with your other half.”

“Nothing personal, you understand.” Patroclos Two spread his hands apologetically. “But one cannot be too careful while this double is at large. And once you become separated from me, he could take my place — even convince you that he is me!”

“And we don’t want that, do we?” said Simon with his most Saintly mocking smile. “Has it occurred to you, I wonder, what fun and games we could have if I bumped into the other Patroclos and he offered me twenty thousand pounds to remove the impostor — you — from the scene?”

Patroclos Two made an impatient gesture.

“Ha ha, very amusing, yes. But to me, Templar, this is a serious, a grave matter. My very existence, my identity, is at stake.”

“And he — the impostor — is trying to take it over,” supplied the Saint. “Right?”

“Just so.”

“That’s exactly what he’d say about you, if I met him”

There was an apologetic throat-clearing sound beside them, and a small, neat, balding man in a black coat and pin-striped trousers came deferentially forward. Patroclos Two beckoned impatiently, hurrying him closer.

“Bainter, this is Mr Templar. Take a car, go to his home. Pack enough clothes to last two weeks. Bring them back here.”

“I’ll go with you,” Simon added promptly.

“I prefer you to remain here,” said Patroclos Two. “I have explained why.”

“You also explained a while ago that you trust me with your personal security,” Simon pointed out. “You really can’t have it both ways. If I go with Bainter here, I’ll be under his eye the whole time, and he can report any suspicious behaviour on my part to you afterwards. Anyway, if Bainter tries to open my front door on his own — even with my key — he’ll be in for a nasty shock or two. Besides, I prefer to pack my own clothes.”

Patroclos Two regarded the Saint for a few moments, and noted the calm determination in his eye.

“All right, Bainter. Bring a car to the door. Mr Templar will go with you.”

The valet nodded efficiently and left the room. As soon as he had gone, the Saint said quietly:

“I didn’t want to start an argument in front of the servants. I’m going along with your condition of employment, as you called it, because if I’m doing the job it makes sense for me to be here — for the time being. But I shall remain in this house not one minute longer than I choose.”

Patroclos Two shrugged.

“As far as I am concerned, you accept the conditions or go. And now I must say goodnight to my last guests. Remember one thing: I am suspicious of everyone. I have not discussed this impostor with any of my staff — not even Ariadne. I expect you to keep your mission just as confidential... I will see you in the morning.”

Simon nodded. He was still searching for one concrete landmark to give him a bearing on this whole improbable affair; but patches of the all-enveloping fog were beginning to clear. He had done a great deal of almost subconscious groping during the evening, and made a little progress. One obvious question needed to be asked about his brief from Patroclos Two.

“What about the codebook?”

Patroclos Two swung around, and the musketball eyes bulged.

“What do you know of the codebook?”

“Only that you keep one,” said the Saint easily. “Doesn’t it contain some details that are rather crucial in running your businesses? And codes you use to give key instructions to your companies?”

“So...?” Patroclos Two’s manner was guarded and suspicious.

“It just occurred to me,” the Saint went on, “that this codebook of yours would be a real prize to the impostor, if he chanced to get hold of it.”

“Templar, you are absolutely right!” Patroclos Two drummed his fingers together in agitation, and then smashed his fist into the palm of the other hand. “It would be everything he needed. The last step in taking over the life of Diogenes Patroclos. Me! He would be able to control my businesses. I would not be able to cancel his orders... The code... Templar, the codes must be changed!”