The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace (5 page)

“You can help me get the Necklace
back.”

The Saint fixed her with a long cool stare.
When he
wanted to he could make his eyes quite mesmeric.

“Why should I?”

There was excitement in her voice as she
sensed victory.

“For a reward, and a big one at
that.” She looked at him
sideways. “But also the fun and
adventure of an enterprise
which might be just the sort of thing you
like.”

His admission was a little quirk of the lips.

“You seem to have spotted my weakness.
Danger and beau
tiful women—often the same thing!”

“You will help me then?”

“Perhaps. But first, tell me how you
escaped.”

“I was lucky. It was a typically
Viennese affair. In Vienna even the Gestapo cannot be sure of operating
efficiently. We got into a traffic jam outside the Opera at the end of a per
formance
of
Tristan
with Novotna and Mayer, so you can
imagine the crowds.
Those two men were really stupid to go
that way at that
time of night. That’s another reason why I
think they were
Germans. A true Viennese would not have done it.”

“A true Viennese might do almost
anything,” Simon dis
sented. “What happened then?”

“There was a policeman standing nearby,
doing nothing to
help the traffic of course, and so I merely got out.
There was
not a thing they could do about it. They couldn’t shoot
me
and get away.
If they had tried to stop me I would have
screamed,
and the policeman would have had to do something about that.” She looked
pleased with herself. “I never
saw
two more frustrated people.”

“Why didn’t you tell the cop
anyway?”

“The who?”

“The
Schupo.”

“I
just wanted to get away.
Anyway, he would have de
tained me as a witness, and nowadays in
Vienna I am afraid the police are ultimately ruled from Berlin. In the end they
would have had to give me up to the Germans.”

“Which really means you’re still not
safe anywhere.”

A shadow of fear darkened the girl’s eyes.
“You are right.
But since the Anschluss who is safe in
Austria? Gestapo
agents are everywhere. One cannot even trust one’s
friends.”

“What about Max Annellatt?”

Her expression was oddly secretive and she
tossed the hair
back from over her eyes in a gesture which was almost
dismis
sive.

“Oh Max, he’s all right. He’s a very
good sort really. Just a
little eccentric.”

“He seemed to me a little nuts.”

“Nuts?”

“Mad. Crazy.”

“No, he is not mad, he just carries
being Austrian to an ex
treme.”

The Saint got up.

“It comes to the same thing. Anyway, I think we’d better get
you back either to him or your dear old white-haired
mother, knitting in that rocking-chair in the Malffy Palace.”

His words amused her.

“If you knew my mother! She’s out every
night with a
different admirer. Admittedly some of them are gigolos,
but
she has fun.”

“Good for her,” smiled the Saint.
“Remind me to look her
up sometime. I like swinging
Erstegesellschaft
mums. Well,
which is it to be, her or Uncle Max?”

She looked at him from under her lids.

“Wouldn’t it be safer for me to stay
here?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” the Saint told her with candour.
“Be
sides, I want my beauty sleep. I
need it even if you don’t.”

She pouted.

“You Englishmen are all the same. I
don’t think you really
like women.”

“No man in his senses does. Loving them
is a different mat
ter. But come on, make up your mind. It’s after midnight.
I’ll run you round in my car.”

She thought it over. “I think it had
better be Max. As I
said, they may be waiting for me outside the Palais. I
don’t
think they know yet about my connections with Max. Be
sides,
he’ll be worrying about me.”

The Saint looked sceptical.

“I don’t think he’ll be in a condition
to be worrying about
anything by this time.”

“Oh, Max never gets drunk. It’s only
Thai that does. But
anyway,
I want to tell him that I have enlisted you in our
cause.”

He shook his head.

“Don’t rush me. I haven’t promised
anything yet. Anyway,
what’s his part in all this?”

“He’s one of the richest men in Austria and has connec
tions everywhere. A very useful man, and a very
charming
one. Unfortunately my
mother does not like him, but she is a
snob,
and he was born a peasant.”

The Saint reached out his hand and helped her
to her feet.
“All right, we’ll deliver you to Uncle Max and all
his connec
tions. But don’t get ideas. I haven’t said I would help
you yet.
I’ve got rather a lot on my platter just at the moment.
And
don’t forget, Austria is not a very healthy place for me.”

She gave him a mischievous look.

“I think we can count on you. I don’t
think you would
want to miss an adventure like this one.”

Simon eyed her with respect. She evidently
had good rea
son for her self-assurance.

The Saint had borrowed Monty Hayward’s M.G.
N-type
Magnette, for the trip—his own Hirondel was too well
known, not
necessarily to the Austrian authorities, nor even
the German, but to
the British. It would certainly have been noticed if he put it on the
cross-Channel ferry, and its depar
ture reported to the ever-suspicious
attention of his old friend
and enemy, Chief Inspector Teal of Scotland
Yard, who had an irritating habit of trying to spoil the Saint’s fun whenever
he could.

The drive to Max’s, with the girl giving him
directions, was
uneventful. They were apparently not followed, and the
traffic at
that hour was light, so their journey was quick.

Max Annellatt had a flat in a large baroque
house in the
aristocratic district behind the Belvedere Palace. The
Saint got out and held the door open for Frankie.

“Well,
auf Wiedersehen.
I’ll be
seeing you around.”

“No, you must come in and talk to Max
now.”

He shook his head firmly. “I’ve had
enough of Max for to
night, charming though he is. Anyway, he’s
probably had
enough brandy by now to send him to sleep.”

“All right,” she said. “But
can I call you in the morning?”

“Certainly. But don’t leave it too late,
because I’d figured
on being on my way out of here after breakfast, and you
still
haven’t altogether convinced me that I ought to change my
plans.”

“Of course, I still must discuss with
Max—”

“—before you take me into full partnership. I’d guessed
that. So go into your huddle.”

“My what?”

“Forget it, my love,” he said.
“This isn’t the time and place
for my lecture on the complexities of
the English language
since it became American. Nighty night, sleep
tight, and
mind
the Gestapo don’t bite.”

She blew him a kiss and took a key out of
her bag. With it she opened a small door which, in the fashion of large Vien
nese houses, was set in the
frame of a much more imposing
portal. She
turned to say farewell, and suddenly her eyes
widened as she looked over the Saint’s shoulder.

Spinning around, he saw at once the cause of her alarm.
Two men in raincoats had come out of the night
and were
standing just behind him.

One was small and rat-like, and the other
looked like a go
rilla.

The smaller man held a revolver.

II

How Frankie laid down the law, and the

Saint was driven into the country

The Saint’s mind moved with lightning speed
and the Saint’s
response was almost simultaneous. In another virtually
con
tinuous about-turn he flung himself at the girl, sending her
flying
through the door.

The impetus of his charge carried him through with her, and he
slammed the door after him. The two men had been
so surprised by his instantaneous reaction that they had not
even moved.

The Saint helped Frankie to her feet. She smoothed her
skirt and batted her eyelids up at him.

“You certainly do have the caveman
approach.”

“And you’re like all women who want to
make quite sure
that they’re looking nice even if they may get killed the
next
minute. Come on, let’s get to Max’s before they shoot the
lock in. I
don’t think they’ll risk the noise, but with these
types you never
know.”

They were standing in a sort of archway
leading to an inner
courtyard of what had once been a large palais. Like so
many
big Viennese houses it was no longer tenanted by impoverished
aristocratic owners and had been converted to flats.
Without a word
Frankie ran to a side door in the courtyard,
which she opened with
another key.

They passed through into a large almost pitch-dark en
trance hall. A wide flight of bare stone steps led
upwards, and
Simon followed the girl
up them. On the first landing she
paused
and opened a door with yet another key. The Saint
stopped for a moment and listened but there were
no sounds
of pursuit. Their enemies
had probably decided that it would not be politic to break down the outer door.
After all, even
Gestapo agents would
have to explain their actions to aroused
tenants and the police if they were called, and apparently for some
reason the present exercise was one that they had been
ordered to carry out with great discretion.

Simon followed Frankie through the door and
closed it
after
him. The change from the bleak stone of the stairway
and landing was dramatic. They were now in a long passage,
thickly carpeted and hung with portraits lit by
indirect light
ing. The baroque
plaster-work of the walls and ceiling was
scrolled and touched with gold leaf, and the air was warm and
comforting. Several doors opened off this wide hallway. They
were big and stately, with ornamented panels and
heavy
gilded door-knobs.

Simon knew that the post-war housing laws in
Vienna were
very strict, and no owner, unless he could show good
cause, or
was very influential, was allowed to have more than a
certain number of untenanted rooms in his premises. He guessed that
Max was
probably one of the privileged and that there were
no
“lodgers” in these several rooms.

At the end of the passage was a wide double
door. Frankie
opened it without knocking, and they passed through into
a
large handsomely furnished drawing-room, brilliantly lit by a
chandelier
and wall sconces. All the lights were on, as if to
push more than just
darkness from every comer. One felt that
anything unpleasant
or even disturbing could not breach the
security of this
room.

A blazing wood fire in the hearth made the
room come
alive with its variegated lights. Max was sitting in a
chair by
it, the Siamese cat on his lap.

He looked up as they entered. For a moment
he appeared
startled. Then he gave a cry of pleasure.

“Frankie,
Gott sei dank!”

He leapt to his feet and Thai cascaded to
the floor. The cat gave them all an affronted look and jumped up on to a sofa
where he
sat glaring distrustfully.

Max’s eyes met those of the Saint.

“Ah, Mr er … er… Taylor. How
delightful to meet you
again! As a tourist, you certainly get around
Vienna!”

Frankie moved quickly to the fire and held
out her hands
towards the comforting blaze.