The Saint Abroad: The Art Collectors/ the Persistent Patriots Read Free

any interest in them. But of course it does seem
that all the world is hearing about them very rapidly.”
    She was looking at the Saint again.
    “If there is no reason for the police to
be interested in them, why should you be ashamed of letting the world
hear about them?” Simon asked.
    Mademoiselle Lambrini drew herself up haughtily.
    “Monsieur, I assure you that I am not ashamed in the slightest. But I am discreet, and for good reason.
Monsieur LeGrand has apparently already told you about my paintings. They are not the sort of possessions a woman,
living alone, advertises for everybody on earth to hear about. If Monsieur LeGrand is unwilling to respect my wishes about
this, there are plenty of other dealers in Paris who would be delighted to hear about them.”
    “Mademoiselle,” LeGrand responded
with dignity, “if everything is in order, we can conclude this
matter tomorrow. Such things cannot be kept secret for long, especially
if the police are
interested. They will be contacting other dealers all over Paris. But I am willing to tell this Inspector Mathieu nothing if you are willing to trust me and the one
or two people I may take into my
confidence before I actually pay you
for the paintings. Isn’t that fair enough?”
    “Whom else would you tell—besides
Monsieur Templar?” the woman asked.
    “The only other I have in mind is an
expert on the Italian Renaissance—an old friend of mine I would
wish to cor roborate my judgment of the paintings. You certainly
could not object to that.”
    “But I understood that you were the greatest expert in
France,” Mademoiselle Lambrini said.
    “In many ways,” LeGrand said
matter-of-factly. “But in a situation of this sort, with masterpieces
of such magnitude, I would not dare to trust my own evaluation alone.”
    “You’ve seen the paintings?” Simon
asked him.
    “I have seen a number of color
photographs,” LeGrand said. “They include extreme detail. I am
already quite satis fied,
tentatively, one might say. I have no doubt that Pro fessor … my friend will agree as soon as he has seen the canvases themselves.”
    “And when will this be?” Mademoiselle Lambrini asked.
    “Tomorrow morning?” LeGrand
suggested. “Would you prefer to have the paintings brought
here?”
    “I would prefer that you come to my house. Just a moment.”
    She took a pen and small leather-bound pad
from her purse and wrote out an address.
    “I trust you can find this,” she
said, giving the piece of paper to LeGrand. “It’s a white house,
set back from the road, surrounded with high hedges.”
    They discussed directions for finding the
house while the Saint watched in silence, wondering just how he could
insure that his acquaintance with Mademoiselle Lambrini could be kept
active and developing. He would have had the same thoughts even if
there had not been paintings and police and a couple of million
dollars involved … some of which. might eventually be coaxed into his
own pockets. Miss Lambrini was what in the coarser forms of detective
fiction might have been called a doll. She had the sort of imperious beauty that seems challenging
the world to conquer it, and the continuing
sight of her had the same effect on Simon that the sight of Mount Everest must have on a dedicated mountain climber.
    She got to her feet with the same crisp
abruptness that had characterised all her movements.
    “Very well,” she said.
“Ten-thirty in the morning. I should have preferred today
because I have my own plans to con sider, but if you can come to a
decision tomorrow I shall be satisfied.”
    “I trust we shall all be
satisfied,” LeGrand said. “And I shall have my check
book with me.”
    “Good. I hope I can trust both of you to refrain from discussing this with anyone. I have … specific
reasons to worry.”
    A shadow crossed her face when she spoke the
last words. Simon took it as a cue.
    “Maybe you should tell us more about
that side of things,” he said.
    “I