She laughed.
“All right, Mr Templar, then I won’t tell you.”
Simon raised his eyebrows.
“So now you have told me. You know who I am.”
“Yes, I recognised you immediately when you handed me my bag. I did have to find out what name you were using here and your room number from the waitress, but I knew who you really were.”
“How? When have you ever seen me before?”
“I’ve been reading about you for years, in the English papers which my mother takes. And cutting out the photos of you when they printed one. Because they always called you a modern Robin Hood, and that fascinated me. I dreamed that I might run into you some day — call it a young girl’s foolishness. But then, when I had this problem, I actually wondered if I could get you to help me, and I got out the pictures again to refresh my memory. But then Max came along, and it seemed easier to take him instead. So when I saw you in that restaurant, it was like a miracle or an omen or something. I knew you were watching me and would do something if I left my bag.”
“All right,” he said, “supposing I am the Saint. What can I do for you now?”
“You can help me get the Necklace back.”
The Saint fixed her with a long cool stare. When he wanted to he could make his eyes quite mesmeric.
“Why should I?”
There was excitement in her voice as she sensed victory.
“For a reward, and a big one at that.” She looked at him sideways. “But also the fun and adventure of an enterprise which might be just the sort of thing you like.”
His admission was a little quirk of the lips.
“You seem to have spotted my weakness. Danger and beautiful women — often the same thing!”
“You will help me then?”
“Perhaps. But first, tell me how you escaped.”
“I was lucky. It was a typically Viennese affair. In Vienna even the Gestapo cannot be sure of operating efficiently. We got into a traffic jam outside the Opera at the end of a performance of Tristan with Novotna and Mayer, so you can imagine the crowds. Those two men were really stupid to go that way at that time of night. That’s another reason why I think they were Germans. A true Viennese would not have done it.”
“A true Viennese might do almost anything,” Simon dissented. “What happened then?”
“There was a policeman standing nearby, doing nothing to help the traffic of course, and so I merely got out. There was not a thing they could do about it. They couldn’t shoot me and get away. If they had tried to stop me I would have screamed, and the policeman would have had to do something about that.” She looked pleased with herself. “I never saw two more frustrated people.”
“Why didn’t you tell the cop anyway?”
“The who?”
“The Schupo.”
“I just wanted to get away. Anyway, he would have detained me as a witness, and nowadays in Vienna I am afraid the police are ultimately ruled from Berlin. In the end they would have had to give me up to the Germans.”
“Which really means you’re still not safe anywhere.”
A shadow of fear darkened the girl’s eyes. “You are right. But since the Anschluss who is safe in Austria? Gestapo agents are everywhere. One cannot even trust one’s friends.”
“What about Max Annellatt?”
Her expression was oddly secretive and she tossed the hair back from over her eyes in a gesture which was almost dismissive.
“Oh Max, he’s all right. He’s a very good sort really. Just a little eccentric.”
“He seemed to me a little nuts.”
“Nuts?”
“Mad. Crazy.”
“No, he is not mad, he just carries being Austrian to an extreme.”
The Saint got up.
“It comes to the same thing. Anyway, I think we’d better get you back either to him or your dear old white-haired mother, knitting in that rocking-chair in the Malffy Palace.”
His words amused her.
“If you knew my mother! She’s out every night with a different admirer. Admittedly some of them are gigolos, but she has fun.”
“Good for her,” smiled the Saint. “Remind me to look her up sometime. I like swinging Erstegesellschaft mums. Well, which is it to be, her or Uncle Max?”
She looked at him from under her lids.
“Wouldn’t it be safer for me to stay here?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” the Saint told her with candour. “Besides, I want my beauty sleep. I need it even if you don’t.”
She pouted.
“You Englishmen are all the same. I don’t think you really like women.”
“No man in his senses does. Loving them is a different matter. But come on, make up your mind. It’s after midnight. I’ll run you round in my car.”
She thought it over. “I think it had better be Max. As I said, they may be waiting for me outside the Palais. I don’t think they know yet about my connections with Max. Besides, he’ll be worrying about me.”
The Saint looked sceptical.
“I don’t think he’ll be in a condition to be worrying about anything by this time.”
“Oh, Max never gets drunk. It’s only Thai that does. But anyway, I want to tell him that I have enlisted you in our cause.”
He shook his head.
“Don’t rush me. I haven’t promised anything yet. Anyway, what’s his part in all this?”
“He’s one of the richest men in Austria and has connections everywhere. A very useful man, and a very charming one. Unfortunately my mother does not like him, but she is a snob, and he was born a peasant.”
The Saint reached out his hand and helped her to her feet. “All right, we’ll deliver you to Uncle Max and all his connections. But don’t get ideas. I haven’t said I would help you yet. I’ve got rather a lot on my platter just at the moment. And don’t forget, Austria is not a very healthy place for me.”
She gave him a mischievous look.
“I think we can count on you. I don’t think you would want to miss an adventure like this one.”
Simon eyed her with respect. She evidently had good reason for her self-assurance.
The Saint had borrowed Monty Hayward’s M.G. N-type Magnette, for the trip — his own Hirondel was too well known, not necessarily to the Austrian authorities, nor even the German, but to the British. It would certainly have been noticed if he put it on the cross-Channel ferry, and its departure reported to the ever-suspicious attention of his old friend and enemy, Chief Inspector Teal of Scotland Yard, who had an irritating habit of trying to spoil the Saint’s fun whenever he could.
The drive to Max’s, with the girl giving him directions, was uneventful. They were apparently not followed, and the traffic at that hour was light, so their journey was quick.
Max Annellatt had a flat in a large baroque house in the aristocratic district behind the Belvedere Palace. The Saint got out and held the door open for Frankie.
“Well, auf Wiedersehen. I’ll be seeing you around.”
“No, you must come in and talk to Max now.”
He shook his head firmly. “I’ve had enough of Max for tonight, charming though he is. Anyway, he’s probably had enough brandy by now to send him to sleep.”
“All right,” she said. “But can I call you in the morning?”
“Certainly. But don’t leave it too late, because I’d figured on being on my way out of here after breakfast, and you still haven’t altogether convinced me that I ought to change my plans.”
“Of course, I still must discuss with Max—”
“—before you take me into full partnership. I’d guessed that. So go into your huddle.”
“My what?”
“Forget it, my love,” he said. “This isn’t the time and place for my lecture on the complexities of the English language since it became American. Nighty night, sleep tight, and mind the Gestapo don’t bite.”