Leslie Charteris - The Saint Around the World

“I could arrange it.” Ascony said, and Simon knew then that he had given Ascony precisely the opening that Ascony wanted.

Simon said, “Is it worth all that trouble to get me out of town?”

The police official’s infinitesimal smile was permitted to make its tiny diffident movement under the scrubby mustache.

“I won’t deny that I’ll have a load off my mind when you leave. But I do have another ulterior motive. You could be quite a godsend to a pal of mine up there, while you’re having a spot of fun for yourself. Chap by the name of Lavis. A real good egg. Has a place up in Pahang, miles from anywhere, in one of the worst areas.”

“What makes you think I’d be a godsend to him?”

“He’s been having a rather rough time — ulcers, and fever on top of it. He ought to be in the hospital, actually, but he won’t leave the plant. I can’t blame him, in a way. You see, up till about a year ago he was doing very well for himself, in fact he was one of the most successful business men in Malaya, and then one day his partner simply skipped out with every penny he could raise on their assets. It was a shocking business. Ted Lavis was practically wiped out overnight. This plant up in Pahang was about all he managed to salvage, and he’s trying like the devil to make a go of it, but if anything happened to it he’d really be sunk. He’s got a white assistant, of course, and the usual native foremen and guards, but with Lavis himself laid up and his wife having to nurse him it’s no picnic for anybody.”

“His wife’s there with him?”

“Naturally, old chap. A stunning woman — used to be married to a doctor here. The assistant’s a bit of a bounder, in my private opinion. But you’ll see for yourself. How does it appeal to you?”

Simon was used to the unconventional hospitality of the tropics, but he knew that Major Ascony must have something more in mind than mere friendliness. But since Ascony was obviously not planning to put any cards on the table, the Saint decided to play along with equal inscrutability.

He said blandly, “I’d love it, if you think they’d put up with me.”

“I’m sure they’ll be glad to. I’ll send them a wire at once.” Ascony signed the chit which the boy had tucked under the ashtray, and stood up. He seemed to be a very decisive man, in his own way. “Sorry I have to run along now, but I’ll ring you first thing in the morning.”

Simon waited fatalistically to see what the call would bring. He was sampling his ketchil makan , the ritual eye-opener of tea and buttered toast without which the Englishman in the East Indies is not supposed to have the strength to get dressed for breakfast, when the telephone rang.

“Mrs Lavis wired back that they’ll be delighted to have you,” Ascony said. “The train leaves in a couple of hours. I hope that isn’t rushing you too much. If I can get away, I’ll drop by the station and see you off.”

With an odd sensation that he was already on an express train hurtling towards some unrevealed rendezvous with destiny, Simon dressed and breakfasted and re-packed the few things he had taken from his bag.

He was just settling himself in the corner of a first-class compartment when Major Ascony came along the platform, looking very military in a crisply laundered uniform with a swagger stick tucked under his arm, and stopped by the open window.

“Ah, there you are, Templar. I see you made it.”

“That’s a relief,” said the Saint seriously. “I wasn’t altogether sure that I was here myself.”

The Major looked a trifle puzzled, but disciplined himself to suppress it.

“You shouldn’t have anything to worry about on the trip,” he said. “They haven’t wrecked a train for ages.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve always wanted to be in a good train wreck.”

“Give my best to Teddy and Eve, will you? And tell ’em I mean to come up myself the first chance I have to take a few days off.”

“I will.”

There was a blowing of whistles and a rising tempo of shouts and jabbering around the second- and third-class carriages as the train crew struggled to separate the travelers from the farewell deputations and pack the former on board so that the train could start. Ascony handed a book through the window.

“Thought you might like something to read on the trip.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Not at all. You can return it when you come back.”

It was a bulky volume entitled Altogether , by W. Somerset Maugham, and a glance inside showed that it was a collection of short stories.

“I believe I’ve read some of these before,” Simon said.

“Well, you get more out of some of ’em the second time, I think. Besides, it’s more fun to read ’em right where they’re supposed to have happened. Might give you a feeling about some things, if you know what I mean.”

“They’re almost historical now, aren’t they?” said the Saint, trying not to sound captious. “Maugham was here long before even my last time, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, I dare say he was. But human nature doesn’t change much.”

The whistling and shouting and jabbering reached a crescendo, and the train gave an authoritative clattering jolt and began to creep forward. Ascony strolled along with it for a few steps, beside the window.

“There’s one story especially I’d like to get your reaction to,” he said.

“Which one?”

“You’ll come to it. Hope you have a good time. So long, old chap.”

And merely by ceasing to walk, with a cordial gesture that was half wave and half salute, Ascony made an incontestable exit, being left behind in a moment as the train drew away from him.

Simon did little reading on the trip, for he had barely started to turn the pages of the book when he was sociably conscripted by three planters in search of a fourth for bridge. Then there was lunch, the inevitable curry, and afterwards almost everyone fell into a doze, and the Saint himself found it lazily easy to fall in with the custom of the country. He awoke with one of the Malay guards shaking him gently by the shoulder, as he had been enjoined to do, and saying “The next stop will be Ayer Pahit, tuan .”

During such opportunities as he had had to let his mind wander, he had tried to figure what could lie behind Major Ascony’s peculiar behavior, and had had conspicuously negative success. He was reasonably certain that Ascony was not dreaming that the Saint would personally solve the problem of the Red guerrillas, when a prolonged and large-scale military operation had not completely succeeded in eradicating them. It had to be something much less far-fetched and more limited than that. But the only further assumption that seemed safe was that it must be something involving the personalities he was going to meet, and Simon stepped out on the platform not quite literally like an outlaw entering a hostile city, but with a similar feeling of keeping his weight lightly on his toes and his eyes alert for more than the ordinary visitor would see.

Almost as soon as he stepped off the Malay guards clambered aboard again with their rifles slung, some of them riding on the engine, and the train tooted its whistle and was off again with its usual disjointed preliminary lurch. As it pulled out it revealed on the other side of the tracks a half-dozen, atap -thatched ramshackle buildings, one of which had double doors wide open and from what could be seen of its murky mysteriously cluttered interior appeared to be a combined general store and saloon, and behind those buildings was the solid jungle, crowding in on them obtrusively as if it actively resented the few square yards that they had usurped from it and was impatient to absorb them again; this was all that could be called the village, if it could be dignified even by that name. On the side of the tracks where the Saint stood was the Lavis estate, the center and only reason for existence of the settlement called Ayer Pahit or its railway station, which consisted of a ten-foot-square wooden hut at the side of the platform. Close behind that was a very large corrugated iron shed like a warehouse, and a little farther back still was a large rectangular building of smoke-streaked concrete topped with an incomprehensible tangle of pipes, with an incongruously modern and industrial look to it. The concrete building was set right into the side of a cleared hill that rose away from the railroad. A little above it were two long stark buildings like barracks, recognizable as coolie quarters, and much further up was what had to be the manager’s house, also of wood and atap , but set up on pilings and with a long shady screened verandah running the whole length of it. Even the big house was not on the very hilltop, but some thirty feet below it, the crest itself being taken up with something with square low white walls which at first sight looked like a kind of fortification but which Simon reminiscently identified as the top of a water storage tank. There were a couple of small individual cottages, probably for native foremen, on the flanks of the hill between the barracks and the big house, and for background again the dense dark green all-smothering jungle.