Leslie Charteris - The Saint in Pursuit

“Besides which,” Colonel Wade put in, “other intelligence services than ours may have been on the same track that Kinian was.”

“Exactly. So we may still have both oppositions to cope with today. And so could the gal. There’s a character staying here with the intriguing name of Curt Jaeger — Swiss passport — that she’s already gotten friendly with, or who’s gotten friendly with her. Took her out last night. Of course, it could be just a harmless pick-up, but you might try to find out more about him.”

“Curt Jaeger.” Simon could visualize Wade jotting down the name. “Okay... It would make our job a lot easier if we had some idea of exactly what Kinian may have gotten on to before he disappeared. Any ideas yet?”

“A few. While Miss Kinian was gently throwing me out of her chambers, she let the word ‘loot’ slip out — and something about my wanting to get away with a fortune. Any escape hatch a Nazi bigwig was counting on would’ve certainly had plenty of boodle stashed along the route.”

Wade’s voice was suddenly grimmer.

“You’re thinking Major Kinian stumbled on a cache like that and planned to pick it up for himself?”

“Or left a clue for the folks back home in case he sevened out — which I have a strong feeling he did.”

The colonel grunted thoughtfully.

“I hate to think one of our guys could’ve decided to take a profit like that, but it’s the most likely possibility. Weirder things have happened. A lot weirder. Now... if this gal is just an ordinary kid, she might respond to the ‘good citizen’ approach. After all, she’s led a perfectly respectable life until now.”

“It might work,” Simon agreed, “but only you could make that pitch. She might trust the uniform, and if you could bring along a small flag to wave it wouldn’t hurt either. I suggest you hurry, though. I have a feeling she’s not going to waste any time.”

“Don’t worry,” Wade said smugly. “She can’t fly the coop without us knowing it. I’ve got a man watching the hotel. I’ll give her a call now and shoot right on over there.”

“Maybe you should just shoot over without calling first,” the Saint advised. “She’s pretty jumpy.”

“Will do,” replied the colonel smartly. “You sit tight, okay?”

“Okay, but don’t let on to the girl that you know me, in case a good healthy streak of self-interest proves stronger than philanthropic patriotism. After all, the government dumps a few million down rat-holes every month, and she puts in eight-hour days for ninety dollars a week. I have a feeling you’ll still be needing me after you try the friendly persuasion.”

In order to stay out of the way while the officially certified forces of righteousness had their go at Vicky Kinian’s conscience, Simon had breakfast sent to his room. He had scarcely finished the last bite of a juicy pear when his telephone rang again.

“This is Wade,” said a defeated baritone. “She turned me down.”

“No go, hm? Didn’t take long.”

“No. I got her to meet me in the lobby, and she just kept claiming she didn’t have any idea what I was talking about.” Wade coughed unhappily. “The only thing else was, she started complaining that the army and the government never did anything special for her father’s dependents — and what was I doing turning up now trying to get something out of her?”

Simon chuckled.

“I’m beginning to think she’s got the coldest shoulder this side of Point Barrow. What next?”

“I’m dumping it back in your lap, Saint. Like you said, she still thinks you’re on your own, and maybe if she runs into real trouble she’ll be only too glad to turn to you for a helping hand. In the meantime, we’ve got contacts at your hotel and the travel agencies. If she should be thinking of leaving town I think I’ll hear about it pretty fast and I’ll let you know.”

“Good. You say you’ve got a man watching the hotel?”

“Right.”

“Then why don’t you have him keep an eye on her movements? They’re nice movements, but she knows me now and she’s liable to spot me if I stay too close for too long. I’ll hang around in the background until we see what’s up, and I’ll phone the hotel desk occasionally in case you’ve left any messages for me.”

The Saint shaved and dressed, and about half an hour later he went downstairs to the lobby. Leaving his own key at the desk, he observed that the key to room 302 was in its slot.

The same clerk to whom he had confessed his admiration of Vicky Kinian the day before was on duty again.

“Miss Kinian is already out?” Simon remarked disappointedly. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where she went?”

He gave his question additional priority by extending an example of the national currency halfway across the counter between two fingers as he asked it.

“I gave her the name of a travel agency, senhor,” answered the clerk, “making the bill disappear on his own side of the desk with consummately unobtrusive prestidigitation. She also asked my advice about sightseeing and I recommended a few places of interest.”

“A travel agent?” Simon asked with unhappy surprise. “She is leaving, then?”

“She is leaving the hotel this afternoon, senhor. She wishes to fly to Switzerland. If you wished to begin a friendship with her, senhor, I am afraid you have not had enough time.”

“Perhaps I shall have to follow her to Switzerland,” Simon said jokingly. “You don’t know which flight she’s taking?”

The clerk shook his head and glanced at another customer who was waiting his turn.

“I am sorry I cannot tell you more. Perhaps at the agency just around the corner...”

“Fine.” The Saint hesitated before leaving. “The sightseeing she mentioned — do you know...”

“She wanted to know how she could see the most places in a short time, and I suggested to her the bus which makes a tour of the city in three hours.” The clerk glanced at his wristwatch. “It stops in front of the hotel here to take on passengers at eleven.”

“Is it one of those tours that herds the sheep from church to church and gallery to gallery and allows them fifteen seconds to gawk at each masterpiece?”

The clerk smiled deferentially.

“I am afraid so, senhor.”

“I think Miss Kinian will be very occupied, then, and well taken care of without any help from me,” Simon reflected aloud. “Maybe I shall have better luck later.”

He had just thanked his informant and turned from the reception counter when the clerk called him back from the switchboard with which he also had to divide his attention.

“Senhor! Please, a call for you. Would you like to take it in your room or here?”

“In my room, I think. Have them hold the line for just a minute.”

As Simon climbed the stairs he considered the relative advantages and disadvantages of joining Vicky Kinian on her sightseeing tour. It seemed probable that she was motivated by a real desire to see some of the sights of Lisbon before leaving. With only a few hours left before she flew to Switzerland, she would want to fill in the time as touristically as she could. After all, she might be zeroing in on a fortune, but while she was in the process she was just a thrifty Iowa girl bedazzled by her first glimpse of Europe. If she expected to pocket her bonanza in Lisbon, she wasn’t likely to choose to do it in the company of forty other rubbernecks.

The Saint unlocked the door to his room, locked it again behind him, and picked up his telephone.

“Hello, Mother,” he said brightly.

“It’s Wade again,” replied a disconcerted, low-pitched voice.

“Just thought I’d fool any wiretappers, but now you’ve given the game away. What’s up?”