It was after four when he stopped in front of Kelly’s cottage. The vine-covered gate was standing open. The door of the cottage was open a few inches also. In the living room, several pieces of furniture were overturned, one of the wooden African masks was broken in half and a Zulu assegai was embedded in the sofa. There was no blood, at least, and there were no bullet holes.
On the nail in the wall where the primitive mask had hung was a note on white paper. Simon took it down and read it.
Saint:
We have your friend and Mildred Drew. Tell Eugene Drew that if he wants to see her alive he must give you a hundred thousand pounds which you must deliver to us tomorrow night at the crossing marked on the map below at nine o’clock. Come alone, your friend wont be hurt if you cooperate, and neither will the girl. Otherwise we’ll kill them.
8
Eugene Drew turned from the floor lamp and looked at the Saint with his uncommonly large and protuberant eyes. Then he turned back, held the note in the direct light of the bulb, and read it again.
It was nine o’clock in the evening of the same day on which Simon had plucked the note down from a nail on the wall of Kelly’s cottage. Arranging to see Drew had been momentarily difficult because the man was obsessed with the notion that nine-tenths of the newspaper reporters on earth were devoting themselves exclusively to scheming ways of invading his privacy. But Drew knew of Simon Templar by reputation, and there was also the note, as concrete evidence.
Still, the financier had made no secret of his mistrust when he admitted the Saint to his suite at the Gresham. He had stood there tall and slope-shouldered in a grey tweed suit much too heavy for the season, and with a total absence of cordiality or even politeness held out his hand.
“The note,” he had said.
Simon, with no greater display of warmth, had given it to him.
Now Drew, after the second reading, turned from the lamp and placed the paper on a table. He gave it a final glance and looked at the Saint, who had made himself comfortable in an armchair.
“You believe this note was left by the detectives I hired to find my daughter?” Drew asked.
“I’m reasonably sure of it. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? The problem is the same, whoever the kidnapper is.”
Drew paused, made a grunting sound of assent, and paced toward the window.
“I’m paying Brine and Mullins — the detectives — a salary much higher than they would normally be paid, and I promised them a large bonus if they were successful. Why should they risk everything, including their freedom, for...”
He stopped, shook his head, clasped his hands behind him, and paced again.
“Maybe they don’t have so much to risk,” Simon said. “A private detective’s pay wouldn’t make a truck driver very envious. Maybe once you gave them a whiff of higher things they just couldn’t resist the temptation to try for the jackpot. I assume your bonus didn’t approach a hundred thousand pounds.”
“Of course not,” Drew snapped. “After all, she’s just a silly little child running off to try to ruin her life with some long-haired nincompoop of an actor. There was no reason why I should offer a queen’s ransom to anybody just for tracing her. I offered more than I might have because when Brine and Mullins came to me and said they had a clue as to her whereabouts...”
“The detectives came to you?” Simon interrupted.
“Yes. When Mildred disappeared I began putting out quiet feelers immediately. Brine and Mullins got wind of what was happening and came and told me that they believed they could return my daughter within forty-eight hours — and without publicity. They asked a stiff price, but it seemed worth it.”
“Well,” said the Saint, “if they were honest in the first place, it would seem they got carried away by the heat of the hunt and decided to go crooked. I’ll have to admit we were leading them a merry chase there for a while.”
“And that’s something else, Mr. Templar,” Drew said, glaring at him. “Your summary of events on the telephone failed to explain just what you were doing with my daughter in the first place.”
“If you had been listening closely, you’d recall I said she insinuated herself into my good graces by telling lies. To be specific — that she was Hitler’s daughter and that your detectives were SS men.”
Drew all but spat on the floor.
“That’s preposterous!”
“Don’t blame me for weak points in Mildred’s upbringing. And just keep in mind that even though I was clever enough to surmise that she wasn’t really Hitler’s daughter, I had no way of knowing whose daughter she really was. By the time she confessed, we were a long way from Dublin.”
“Why didn’t you call me immediately, as soon as you knew who she was?”
Drew’s imperious tone irritated Simon, who sat quietly for a moment, the sapphire points of his eyes fixed penetratingly and coldly on the other man’s face.
“Remember, Mr. Drew, I’m not one of your hired lackeys, Your daughter — probably accurately — made you sound like a selfish ogre. I saw no reason to stop her doing anything she pleased.”
Drew glowered for a moment longer, then turned angrily away. The Saint got to his feet.
“Now,” he said, “are you going to pay up, or lose one of your tax deductions the hard way?”
Drew’s face was now more apprehensive than angry.
“You don’t think they’d... actually kill her?”
“I’m afraid unsuccessful kidnappers are more dangerous than successful ones.”
“What guarantee do I have they’ll return her even if I do pay the money?”
Simon shrugged.
“None. That’s one reason why I consider kidnapping one of the more nauseating crimes in the human repertoire. But if you don’t pay, the odds are something like fifty to one in favor of their killing Mildred. If you do, then naturally Brine and Mullins would rather look forward to enjoying their fifty thousand pounds apiece without a murder rap hanging over their heads. I’d advise you to pay.”
“Naturally,” Drew said, hardening his tone again. “Naturally you would. The note conveniently specifies that you and only you may bring the money. Let’s assume that you are not a part of this plot. That assumption may be erroneous, but for the sake of argument...”
Simon held up his hand and gave Drew a look of cold contempt.
“I was afraid you might make such nasty insinuations,” he said levelly. “So, to demonstrate my sincerity, I’ll simply remove myself from the whole situation and let you worry about it.”
He stepped toward the door. Drew moved after him quickly, his face showing sudden panic.
“No... Wait. I... I apologise.”
The Saint turned back, his expression only slightly softer, making it plain that he was not quite sure that the apology was adequate.
“What were you saying then?”
Drew opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again.
“Ah... I’m not sure,” he said.
“I think I can read your mind,” said the Saint. “You were going to ask what would prevent me from setting off for the crossroads with your money and going straight on to Brazil without even slowing down.”
“It’s a natural thought,” Drew said, with a conspicuous lack of the truculence his voice had carried a few moments before.
“I suppose it is, for the kind of man who would do it,” Simon responded pleasantly. “But I’m not that sort of man. And besides, they have an old friend of mine along with your daughter, and I wouldn’t like to be responsible for his being hurt. Does that reassure you?”