He decided that for the time being he was not going to let it bother him. He was hungry and in a cheerful mood.
“Ach, good morning, Simon,” cried Annellatt, getting to his feet. “I trust you slept well?”
“Like the proverbial baby,” said the Saint. “Except that real babies usually seem to wake up yowling.” He tickled the Siamese cat behind the ears. “How did he get here — don’t tell me he drove his own little car.”
“Frankie brought him, in his travelling basket. I did not want to risk having to leave him at the flat in an emergency.” Max pulled out a chair. “Please forgive us for having started lunch, but I did not want to hurry you.”
The Saint smiled at Frankie as he took his seat.
He said: “I did have a nasty dream that I was kidnapped by the Gestapo. Most realistic it was.”
“Max has told us about your unpleasant adventure,” she said. “Really, Austria has become quite barbaric since the Germans took over.”
Her voice was warm, and her concern seemed genuine and spontaneous.
Simon was struck anew by her unusual charm. He wondered how much of it was deliberate — or conversely, to what degree it was natural. One never knew with Austrians. Charm was a national characteristic which with them was both hereditary and cultivated. They used it delightfully — and quite ruthlessly.
Leopold, who had also risen to his feet, gave Simon a short stiff little bow and sat down again. As far as the Saint was concerned, the young Count’s Austrian charm must have been sent to the cleaners. It certainly wasn’t around, and hadn’t been since they met.
Anton and a serious young footman called Erich waited on the table, and the conversation touched only on general topics. For some reason, the Saint took an instant dislike to Erich. He was at a loss to explain this to himself, for Erich was respectful, polite, and efficient, which is all that is really required of footmen. But there was something about the young man’s carefully blank dark eyes, and the way his sandy hair and bleached eyebrows seemed to make his personality fade away, that made the Saint vaguely uneasy about him.
Coffee and liqueurs were served after lunch in the drawing-room, and when the servants had withdrawn, Herr Annellatt quickly got down to business.
“Now, about the Necklace,” he announced briskly, “we must complete our plan.”
Simon rotated his balloon glass gently, swirling its pale gold contents up the sides.
“I thought we already had a general plan,” he said. “All it needs is a man of exceptional strength, agility and cunning, who can climb in and out of castles like a cat and fight his way out of trouble if necessary — or think his way out if needs be.”
“In fact, someone like the Saint,” Annellatt said. For a moment Simon thought he was actually purring, but then he realised it must be the cat.
“Since you don’t seem to have anyone who fits the bill,” Simon replied modestly.
The Count sprang to his feet.
“Mr Templar would be worse than useless,” he blurted out angrily. “He is a foreigner and speaks no Hungarian. If anybody goes it should be me.”
“I can’t see that it makes any difference whether one speaks Hungarian or not,” said the Saint. “If the breaker-in is discovered they’ll merely shoot him out of hand or slap him in jail for the rest of his life. It won’t do him any good to protest in his best Magyar that he’s just a plumber who’s forgotten his tools.”
“So how do you plan to break into the Castle?” asked Frankie in her most adoring manner.
“Yes, how?” echoed Leopold, in a contrastingly scornful tone.
The Saint felt sorry for him. The young man was obviously in love with Frankie and was insanely jealous of her undisguised fascination with the Saint. Flattering though it was, it was a complication that Simon could have done without. But since it was inescapable, as some philosopher said about something similar, he might as well relax and enjoy it.
His smile was like a kiss in her direction. It was no ordeal for him to play her game in spite of recognising the innate ruthlessness of her character.
“The plumber routine might be a gambit, at that,” he said. “But I’d rather save it for a defence. I’ve always preferred a head-on surprise attack to complicated plots which are liable to trip over their own webs.”
“But this is not some farm cottage,” retorted Leopold. “It is a castle, with modem improvements.”
“And I’m an old-fashioned retired burglar,” Simon replied amiably, “which is the last kind of person they’d expect to be having a go at their battlements.” Max drew on his cigar.
“In Vienna, I showed you as much as I could,” he said. “That agricultural drain will bring you close to the castle—”
“And Frankie may know something about its weaknesses from the inside. Like secret passages and what not.”
The girl shook her head.
“We were never at Este very much. My father liked his castle in Bohemia better.”
“I see,” said the Saint. “What you might call an embarras de châteaux.”
“I don’t know any secret passages, and I was not brought up to look at it like a burglar,” Frankie said, with a flash of hauteur. “I can show you where the wine cellars were, and from there one could make one’s way quite easily to where the Necklace is hidden.”
“Suppose Mr Templar did get in,” said Max, “how would he get out again?”
“That would be quite easy. If he took a rope he could let himself down from almost any of the outside windows. He’d have to wait until it was dark, of course. But there are so many rooms that I don’t think even the Gestapo can have occupied them all.”
“Right,” said the Saint. “If I took a rope, a sleeping bag, a picnic basket, and a good book, I could stay for a week if I liked the place.” He turned to Annellatt. “I shall have to give you a shopping list.”
Max nodded.
“Natürlich. Anything you need can be obtained.”
“The rope isn’t a bad idea,” said the Saint seriously. “And a few tools. Also, some clothes. Dressed as we are now, any of us would attract attention, whatever we were doing. We need the sort of things that any local workman would wear.”
“—or a peasant girl,” Frankie put in.
“You are not going,” Leopold insisted.
Frankie drew herself up.
“If anyone is going to fetch the Necklace, I shall have to be there. I am its Keeper, and only I know where it is.”
“You and Mr Templar,” said Max. “Don’t forget you have told him.”
Simon shook his head.
“She has told me nothing except that it’s in the Castle.”
For a moment Max looked disconcerted.
“Oh. I thought you said...?” He looked at Frankie., enquiringly.
“I only said I had told him where it was. By that I meant that it was in the Castle. I did not say where it was hidden.”
“I see, said Max thoughtfully. “But is that wise? Let us pray that nothing ever happens to you. But if it did, someone else should know where to look for it.”
Frankie’s expression was enigmatic.
“I will do what I think best.”
“If you tell anyone, you will tell me!” exploded Leopold. “I am one of the family. Mr Templar is a stranger and a noted... er...”
“Scoundrel?” supplied the Saint affably. “But that’s what makes me the man for the job. Now, as a professional scoundrel, I’m thinking of something a bit more difficult for Max’s list. To go with the clothes, we should have suitable identity papers. I know that they’re always possible to get, if you know where to get them. Do Max’s connections extend to that?”