The Saint in Europe

The Saint in Europe

Leslie Charteris

Language: English

Pages: 0

ISBN: B00H5AX90Q

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Day of the Damned (Death's Head, Book 3)

Will Power (Hawthorne Saga, Book 2)

The Infidel Soldiers

Captive (New Life, Book 1)

Desolation Island (Aubrey & Maturin, Book 5)

The Shifting Sands (Deltora Quest, Book 4)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

they admit to their distinguished accommodations. The clerk at the Hollandia read the name that Simon Templar had filled in on the form in front of him, and his brow wrinkled as he looked up. “Mr Templar,” he said, “are you by any chance the Saint?” Simon sighed imperceptibly. He knew that look. As a man who had rather a weakness for the best hotels, it was sometimes a little tiresome to him. “You guessed it,” he said. The clerk smiled with the utmost courtesy. “I do not know if we have a

At last Jonkheer said, “What about the Angel’s Eye?” “You know the stone I mean?” “Of course. It is a famous diamond.” “How are you going to re-cut it?” “I am not re-cutting it.” Jonkheer’s tone was still gruff, but no longer affable. Simon looked puzzled. “But you have it here.” “I do not.” “I was told—” “You are mistaken.” “I don’t get it,” said the Saint, with an ingenuous frown. “The fellow who referred me to you said positively that the Angel’s Eye was brought to you for re-cutting

get lost by myself in der voods going over to Heimbach. Now I hear der is a great talsperre, a big dam dot makes all der valley into a great lake. So maybe der is some more fish there now.” It was as if he had suddenly met an old friend; the sluicegates of memory were opened at a touch, and the old man let them flow, stumbling through his words with the same naive happiness as he must have stumbled through the woods and streams he spoke of as a boy. There were many places that the Saint also

herself to complete the distance. The guest-room inside was unlighted and gloomy: she expected it was filthy as well, but she was past caring. She sank on to a wooden bench, put her elbows on the stained bare table, and buried her face in her hands. By that time there was a gnawing void of hunger below her ribs, and when the serving-girl came she ordered chocolate. Simon called for beer, with an extra tankard for the gamekeeper who sat puffing his pipe in the far corner. The gamekeeper was a

into desperate undulations, and the powder was crusted thickly on her face and arms. Her hands and neck were a blaze of precious stones. He saw her hard painted lips smile for the first time. “You are very kind,” she said, as they walked down to the Casino. The Saint shook his head. “This gala business is a wonderful racket,” he murmured lightly. “The same place, the same food, the same music, the same floor show—but they charge you double and let out a few colored balloons, and everyone

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