The Saint in London (The Saint Series)

The Saint in London (The Saint Series)

Leslie Charteris

Language: English

Pages: 306

ISBN: 1477842713

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Three more buccaneering adventures: When Rayt Marius bequeaths a book to Simon, it lands him in a whole lot of trouble, but it could generate a lot of money if he can survive to tell the tale. Then Simon battles the police, a reclusive millionaire, and a wild beast, and, in the final adventure, he gets rather annoyed to discover someone is stealing his identity and committing crimes in his name…

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name appears—you know what publicity-hounds most of these politicians are. Therefore I offer to sell it to him, which I’m sure must be strictly legal.” “Mr Farwill’s statement,” retorted Teal, “is that the part of the book you’re referring to is nothing but a collection of libellous lies.” Simon raised his eyebrows. “He must have a guilty conscience,” he murmured. “But you can’t put me in jail for that. I didn’t say anything in my letter to give him that impression. I defy you to find one

things that were capable of hurting his head. Simon shot the Hirondel between a lorry and an omnibus with the breadth of a finger to spare on either side, and tried to assist. “I mean, Hoppy,” he said, “you might have thought, ‘Suppose I bump this guy off. Suppose he isn’t carrying the papers in his pocket. Well, when a guy’s bumped off, one of the first things the cops want to know is who did it. And one of the ways of finding that out is to find out who might have had a reason to do it. And

quite prominently in the newspapers. I remember that it was considered remarkable that a youth of your age should have produced the cleverest forgeries that the police witness could remember. The rest is merely a matter of deduction and elementary psychology.” Nordsten leaned back and rolled his match between the finger and thumb of one hand. “But I remember thinking at the time what a pity it was that so much talent should have been employed in a comparatively poor field of effort. If only you

tummy is getting bigger. When I prod it with my finger—” “Don’t do it!” brayed the infuriated detective. The Saint sighed. “I’m afraid you’re a bit peevish tonight, Eustace,” he said reproachfully. “Never mind. We all have our off moments, and a good dose of castor oil in the morning is a great pick-me-up…And so to bed.” He steered the detective affectionately towards the door, and, having no other instructions, the inarticulate Sergeant Barrow joined in the general exodus. Mr Teal could not

you’re always welcome, Claud,” he murmured. “But you do choose the most Bohemian hours for your visits.” He turned back to the door and unlocked it, and led the way into the living-room, spinning his hat onto a peg in the hall as he passed through. He took a cigarette from the box on the table and lighted it, facing round with one hand in his pocket and that thoughtful smile still on his lips. “Well, what’s the fun, boys?” he inquired genially. “Has somebody pinched the north side of Oxford

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