[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"Fine," said the Saint equably. "You can show me the way."
But he knew very well that there would be more to it than that; and his
premonition was vindicated a few seconds after they got under way.
"Now," Kinglake said, slouching down in the seat beside him and biting off
the end of a villainous-looking stogie, "we can have a private little chat on
the way in."
"Good," said the Saint. "Tell me about your museums and local monuments."
"And I don't mean that," Kinglake said.
Simon put a cigarette in his mouth and pressed the lighter on the dashboard
and surrendered to the continuation of Fate.
"But I'm damned if I know," he said, "why the hell you should be so
concerned. Brother Stephens wasn't cremated within the city limits."
"There's bound to be a hook-up with something inside the city, and we work
with the Sheriff and he works with us. I'm trying to save myself some time."
"On the job of checking up on me?"
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Maybe."
"Then why not let Yard worry about it? I'm sure he'd love to pin something on
me."
"Yeah," Kinglake assented between puffs of smoke. "He could get on your
nerves at times, but don't let him fool you. He's a first-rate detective. Good
enough for the work we do here."
"I haven't the slightest doubt of it," Simon assured him. "But I've told you
everything I know, and every word of it happens to be true. However, I don't
expect that to stop you trying to prove I did it. So get started. This is your
inspiration."
Kinglake still didn't start fighting.
"I know that your story checks as far as it goes," he said. "I smelt the
liquor on that dead guy's mouth, and I saw your coat. I'm not believing that
you'd waste good whisky and ruin a good coat just to build up a story yet. But
I do want to know what your business is in Galveston."
The Saint had expected this.
"I told you," he replied blandly. "I'm making this survey of American night
life. Would you like to give me the lowdown on the standards of undress in
your parish?"
"Want to play hard to handle, eh?"
"Not particularly. I just want to keep a few remnants of my private life."
Kinglake bit down on his cigar and stared impartially at the Saint's tranquil
profile.
After a little while he said: "From what I remember reading, your private
life is always turning into a public problem. So that's why I'm talking to
you. As far as I know, you aren't wanted anywhere right now, and there aren't
any charges out against you. I've also heard of a lot of officers here and
there leading with their chins by thinking too fast as soon as they saw you.
I'm not figuring on making myself another of 'em. Your story sounds straight
so far, or it would if anybody else told it. It's too bad your reputation
would make anybody look twice when you tell it. But okay. Until there's
evidence against you, you're in the clear. So I'm just telling you. While
you're in Galveston, you stay in line. I don't want your kind of trouble in my
town."
"And I hope you won't have it," said the Saint soberly. "And I can tell you
for my part that there won't be any trouble that someone else doesn't ask
for."
There was a prolonged and unproductive reticence, during which Simon devoted
himself wholeheartedly to digesting the scenic features of the approach over
the channel of water known as West Bay which separates the island of Galveston
from the mainland.
"The Oleander City," he murmured dreamily, to relieve the awkward silence.
"The old stamping grounds of Jean Lafitte. A shrine that every conscientious
freebooter ought to visit . . . Would you like me to give you a brief and
somewhat garbled resume of the history of Galveston, Lieutenant?"
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"No," Kinglake said candidly. "The current history of the town is enough to
keep me busy. Turn at the next light."
Simon drove him to Headquarters, and lighted another cigarette while the
Lieutenant gathered his rather ungainly legs together and disembarked.
"The inquest will probably be tomorrow," he said practically. "Where are you
staying?"
"The Alamo House."
Kinglake gave him directions.
"Don't leave town till I'm through with you," he said. "And don't forget what
I told you. That's all."
He turned dourly away; and Simon Templar drove on to register faithfully and
with no deception at the Alamo House.
The colored bellhop who showed him to his room was no more than naturally
amazed at being tipped with a five-dollar bill for the toil of carrying one
light suitcase. But the Saint had not finished with him then.
"George," he said, "I presume you are an expert crap shooter?"
"Yassah," answered the startled negro, grinning. "My name Po't Arthur Jones,
sah."
"Congratulations. I'm sure that Port Arthur is proud of you.' But the point
is, you should be more or less familiar with the Galveston police force know
most of them by sight, I mean." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
"Fine," said the Saint equably. "You can show me the way."
But he knew very well that there would be more to it than that; and his
premonition was vindicated a few seconds after they got under way.
"Now," Kinglake said, slouching down in the seat beside him and biting off
the end of a villainous-looking stogie, "we can have a private little chat on
the way in."
"Good," said the Saint. "Tell me about your museums and local monuments."
"And I don't mean that," Kinglake said.
Simon put a cigarette in his mouth and pressed the lighter on the dashboard
and surrendered to the continuation of Fate.
"But I'm damned if I know," he said, "why the hell you should be so
concerned. Brother Stephens wasn't cremated within the city limits."
"There's bound to be a hook-up with something inside the city, and we work
with the Sheriff and he works with us. I'm trying to save myself some time."
"On the job of checking up on me?"
Page 91
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Maybe."
"Then why not let Yard worry about it? I'm sure he'd love to pin something on
me."
"Yeah," Kinglake assented between puffs of smoke. "He could get on your
nerves at times, but don't let him fool you. He's a first-rate detective. Good
enough for the work we do here."
"I haven't the slightest doubt of it," Simon assured him. "But I've told you
everything I know, and every word of it happens to be true. However, I don't
expect that to stop you trying to prove I did it. So get started. This is your
inspiration."
Kinglake still didn't start fighting.
"I know that your story checks as far as it goes," he said. "I smelt the
liquor on that dead guy's mouth, and I saw your coat. I'm not believing that
you'd waste good whisky and ruin a good coat just to build up a story yet. But
I do want to know what your business is in Galveston."
The Saint had expected this.
"I told you," he replied blandly. "I'm making this survey of American night
life. Would you like to give me the lowdown on the standards of undress in
your parish?"
"Want to play hard to handle, eh?"
"Not particularly. I just want to keep a few remnants of my private life."
Kinglake bit down on his cigar and stared impartially at the Saint's tranquil
profile.
After a little while he said: "From what I remember reading, your private
life is always turning into a public problem. So that's why I'm talking to
you. As far as I know, you aren't wanted anywhere right now, and there aren't
any charges out against you. I've also heard of a lot of officers here and
there leading with their chins by thinking too fast as soon as they saw you.
I'm not figuring on making myself another of 'em. Your story sounds straight
so far, or it would if anybody else told it. It's too bad your reputation
would make anybody look twice when you tell it. But okay. Until there's
evidence against you, you're in the clear. So I'm just telling you. While
you're in Galveston, you stay in line. I don't want your kind of trouble in my
town."
"And I hope you won't have it," said the Saint soberly. "And I can tell you
for my part that there won't be any trouble that someone else doesn't ask
for."
There was a prolonged and unproductive reticence, during which Simon devoted
himself wholeheartedly to digesting the scenic features of the approach over
the channel of water known as West Bay which separates the island of Galveston
from the mainland.
"The Oleander City," he murmured dreamily, to relieve the awkward silence.
"The old stamping grounds of Jean Lafitte. A shrine that every conscientious
freebooter ought to visit . . . Would you like me to give you a brief and
somewhat garbled resume of the history of Galveston, Lieutenant?"
Page 92
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"No," Kinglake said candidly. "The current history of the town is enough to
keep me busy. Turn at the next light."
Simon drove him to Headquarters, and lighted another cigarette while the
Lieutenant gathered his rather ungainly legs together and disembarked.
"The inquest will probably be tomorrow," he said practically. "Where are you
staying?"
"The Alamo House."
Kinglake gave him directions.
"Don't leave town till I'm through with you," he said. "And don't forget what
I told you. That's all."
He turned dourly away; and Simon Templar drove on to register faithfully and
with no deception at the Alamo House.
The colored bellhop who showed him to his room was no more than naturally
amazed at being tipped with a five-dollar bill for the toil of carrying one
light suitcase. But the Saint had not finished with him then.
"George," he said, "I presume you are an expert crap shooter?"
"Yassah," answered the startled negro, grinning. "My name Po't Arthur Jones,
sah."
"Congratulations. I'm sure that Port Arthur is proud of you.' But the point
is, you should be more or less familiar with the Galveston police force know
most of them by sight, I mean." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]