“Good — or bad. It depends on which way you look at it.”
“I am rich,” Max said flatly. “That is always good for the person who is rich.”
“Especially if he doesn’t care what lengths he goes to to get richer,” said the Saint, leaning back lazily.
Max’s expression became serious.
“When I was a child, my father used to beat me regularly, either because I had been bad, or to keep me from being bad — but mostly because he was drunk.” The smoke from his cigarette curled upwards, and suddenly there was a break in its smooth flow. “I have had a horror of violence ever since.”
“That’s why you ordered your men to grab me and work me over, I suppose,” said Simon sympathetically. “Presumably when they shot Leopold and when they killed Anton it was all in the spirit of fun.”
Max shook his head.
“Anton’s death was a mistake, and I am truly sorry for it. My men did not know he was in the cabin, and when he came in through the door suddenly, one of them shot him before he recognised him.”
“That takes a load off my mind, if not off Anton’s,” said the Saint. “It’s good to know you’re really a nice chap at heart. But it must be an awful disappointment to you not to have got the Hapsburg Necklace.”
Annellatt spread his hands all the way from his shoulders downwards.
“One cannot always win. There will be other times and other businesses. Besides, I may yet get the real Necklace.”
“It’s highly unlikely,” the Saint assured him. “When the police hear about Anton and your other activities, you’ll be lucky if you just spend the rest of your life in jail and not dead, if you will forgive an Irishism.”
“We shall see about that. I have resources — some of them in other places than Austria.”
“And this little shack — you could afford to just walk away from it?”
“As you know, it is not in my own name. And there is an enormous mortgage, at atrocious interest. I might be much better off without it.”
The Saint felt himself quite irresistibly compelled to let Annellatt continue to entrench his theoretical position.
“I suppose you’ve got it all worked out, how we could carve the joint between us.”
Max put all his considerable charm into a smile.
“I think, Simon,” he said, “that this conversation — and this necklace — had better be a secret between us.”
“Why?”
“Because it would do no good to tell anyone else and would probably be harmful.”
“To you, yes. To be honest, it wouldn’t bother me at all.”
Annellatt’s reaction was vehement.
“No, if Frankie knew of it, she might insist on going back to Schloss Este to look for the real one.”
“And suppose she already knew?”
“Then we should have to find out what happened to it.”
“With the help of some of your special operatives?” The Saint’s voice was tinged with acid. “No, dear old fruit, I think we should have it out with Frankie and Leopold face to face. I suppose you’ve locked them in their rooms too?”
“No, the only one I was afraid of was you. They would not be likely to wander around the Castle after everyone had gone to bed. But you, Simon, you have a propensity for poking your nose into other people’s business.”
“So that’s why you had me locked up for the night”
Annellatt’s gesture was mildly apologetic.
“I wanted to make sure of not being disturbed while I examined the Necklace and arranged to have it transported away from the Schloss. There are people who are eagerly awaiting it, and until just before you made your rather dramatic entrance, I thought it was the real thing. Your door would have been unlocked and you would probably never have known anything about it. How did you get out, by the way?”
“I flew,” Simon said with a perfectly straight face. “That’s something about me you didn’t know. I grow wings after dark. All right, so Frankie and Leopold are not locked in. Let’s talk it over with them right now.”
“I am ready.”
“And how will you explain how the frontier guards knew that the false papers which we presented at the frontier — which you provided — were fakes, and they were waiting for them?”
“Only,” Max said intelligently, “if there was a leak in my own organisation.”
“Then you’d better start thinking about it,” said the Saint.
Max stood up. He was still exercising all his usual charm of manner, but there was something suddenly remote about him and curiously forceful.
“You have not counted on one thing, while you are giving me orders.”
“And that is?”
“I may not be as strong nor as brave as you. But I am just as clever and I never get into a situation that I can’t get out of.”
There was utter silence in the room as they re-assessed each other. The cat still lay on the table and continued to gaze implacably at Simon, who was struck once again by the resemblance between this animal and its master.
Simon felt oddly uneasy. It was a rare feeling and he did not like it. He sensed uncomfortably that he was not in complete control of the situation. Max, he had to admit, was an opponent with whom nothing should be taken for granted.
The Saint also got to his feet, seemingly as relaxed as ever but ready for instant action should his enemy make a move.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s cut the chat and get it over with.”
Max and Thai continued to look at him. There was a queer light in the eyes of both of them. Simon could not read behind it, but all his senses were on the alert. He drew the flick knife from his pocket, and snapped it open.
“I hate to get melodramatic,” he said, “but if you’re thinking you can pull some kind of fast one, I promise you that I can throw this much faster.”
“I would never try to compete with your expertise.” It sounded almost as if the cat were purring Max’s words. There was an aura which emanated from this man which was paradoxically both stimulating and lulling. “But I do have these qualities at my service, only they belong to another being.”
“Your tame bully boys?”
Max’s soft white hands stroked Thai.
“By the way, how did you get past them?”
“I came a different way. Now we’ll go together — the regular way — and be as friendly as anything when we pass your guards.” Simon made a movement with the knife to underline his meaning.
Max’s eyes were wide and brilliant. He looked like a fat cat about to pounce. It was a greedy, anticipatory look, excited yet with a touch of fear.
The Saint had seen that look many times at gambling tables. It was the look of someone who expects to make a killing. Perhaps Annellatt was expecting just that. His body was utterly still except for the hand stroking Thai.
To Simon it seemed that time had stopped for a long moment. When it started again something would happen.
Then Max spoke.
“Get him, Thai,” he commanded, and flung the cat at Simon.
3
Simon was suddenly immersed in a flurry of fur and tearing claws, which ripped at his face and neck in savage frenzy. He felt as if he were being attacked by a miniature tiger.
If Max himself or any other human being had attacked him like that, the Saint would have used his knife in an almost reflex action. Against a theoretically domestic pet, the thought patterns of a lifetime made it nearly as instinctive to hold back. And then, before he could overcome his reluctance to use the blade, the cat was gone, leaping through the half-open window. Simon never did discover where Thai went. It was possible that the animal simply leapt down into the courtyard. But that would have been a formidable jump even for a cat, but Thai was certainly no ordinary cat, and reminded him more of the feline “familiar” with which superstition used to credit witches.