“I can’t say I don’t admire your nerve,” he said. “I just wonder if you’ve got the muscle to back it up. Well, if things start to look too tough, just let out a reasonably loud scream, and I’ll try to be within range.”
“I don’t believe your story about some other gang being after the same thing at all,” she returned defiantly. “I think you’re just trying to scare me!”
She closed the door hurriedly, turned the key in the lock, and leaned against the varnished woodwork with one hand over her pounding heart as her lips added soundlessly:
“...and you’ve done quite a job of it!”
2
The Saint was awakened next morning by the ringing of the telephone beside his bed.
“Good morning!” said a booming baritone.
“Is it?” inquired the Saint, with reasonable curiosity.
“This is Jim Wade — Embassy. Just thought I’d check in and see how it’s going.”
Simon looked at his wristwatch and the almost horizontal rays of sunlight which slipped between the drawn curtains that covered the French windows.
“You boys must have a long working day,” he remarked. “Do you always hit the desk by seven-thirty in the morning?”
“Not always, but I’ve got big brass breathing down my neck on this thing. Any luck yet?”
“No more than usual, but I had a couple of middle-aged delinquents with full-grown switch knives breathing down my neck in an alley last night.”
“You mean there’s somebody else in on this too?”
“In brief, Colonel, we are not alone. There are more bloodhounds on Vicky Ionian’s trail than you could shake a steak at. I wouldn’t be surprised to see TV cameras being set up down in the lobby for live coverage.”
He quickly filled in the intelligence officer on the events of the night before.
“So you see,” he concluded, “it’s something of a standoff so far — but that was only the first round.”
“These men who jumped you — could you figure anything else about them? Ill check with the local police, of course.”
Simon, already sitting up in bed, punched a second pillow behind his back to make himself more comfortable.
“They were local talent, I’d say, from their looks and accent, but hoof-and-knife men only. They were obviously recruited by somebody who knew what to tell them to look for.”
“And with the only one who was caught dead, nobody’s likely to get much information out of him,” the colonel reasoned unimpressively.
“I could make two guesses about their employer, and they could both be right,” Simon said. “Obviously there were Nazis who knew what Major Kinian was trying to find out — and they, or some of them, may still be around.”
“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.”