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

need no help,” she replied.
“Good day.”
    They were at the door, and LeGrand opened it
for her.
    “Good day, Mademoiselle Lambrini. Monsieur Templar, if you will remain here briefly I can show you…”
    “I think I’ll walk with Mademoiselle
Lambrini,” the Saint told him. “You’ll hear from me later
today.”
    “I have told you I need no help,”
the woman said. “I’m quite capable of walking unassisted.”
    “I won’t offer you my protection,
then,” the Saint said amiably. “Just my charming
company.”
    “I had hoped that you might be
interested in Mademoi selle Lambrini’s paintings,” LeGrand
said. “It is certainly the opportunity of a lifetime to share
in.”
    “At the moment I’m more interested in
Mademoiselle Lambrini,” Simon said hurriedly. “I’ll
telephone you. She’s getting away.”
    She was in fact out of the door and walking
quickly out of viewing range from the windows of the salon. The Saint ignored LeGrand’s protestations, shook the dealer’s nervously damp hand,
and strode away after the woman. He could see her blonde head
among the people gathered at a crossing half a block away.
She turned to the left at the intersection, but the Saint was
already gaining on her rapidly. She was easy to follow, taller
than most women, and the afternoon sun made a beacon of the lightness of
her hair.
    About five doors down the new street she had
taken, the Saint caught up with her. Before she noticed him he quietly fell into
step alongside her. When she happened to look round and notice him she gave a
start and then a short humorless laugh.
    “Is there more than one of you?” she asked, still in
that tantalizingly accented French. “Or
are you the same gentle man I asked to
leave me alone just a minute ago?”
    As she spoke her sharp heels continued their
staccato on the pavement. Simon needed only his most casual walking speed to
keep abreast of her.
    “I won’t try to match your subtle
wit,” he answered with the faintest trace of sarcasm. “I’ll just ask
if you would care to join me for a drink.”
    She stopped beneath the awning of a jewelry
shop.
    “Monsieur Templar, I am not certain just what your con nection with Monsieur LeGrand and his interest in
my paint ings is. Perhaps you are a
rich American who is going to put up the money for all five, or perhaps you are
a spy of his hoping to find out
something which will give him an advantage in our bargaining. In either case,
or whatever the case may be, I do not
stand to benefit from your company.”
    She moved on, and Simon continued unruffled
beside her.
    “Maybe I’m just lonely,” he said.
“Don’t you have a soft spot in your heart for visiting art
lovers?”
    “There are girls in bars for that sort
of thing,” she said drily. “I’ll leave you now. There is my
automobile.”
    They were at the entrance of a narrow one-way
street. Illegally parked there was a single black Mercedes facing away from
the Saint and Mademoiselle Lambrini. Through the rear window Simon
could make out the peaked cap of a chauffeur.            
    “Well,” he said to her, “at
least we have something in common: neither of us finds the other one very
pleasant.”
    For a moment he thought she was going to
smile, but then she nodded, said “Bon jour,” and
walked away toward the Mercedes.
    “Au revoir,” the Saint
said.
    He watched her until she had reached the car,
and then he started back toward LeGrand’s salon. He had scarcely
taken the first step when he heard a short sharp scream. It was almost lost in the traffic
noise, and the passersby near him did not
seem even to notice it. He spun around in time to see Mademoiselle Lambrini being pulled into the black Mercedes. The automobile’s door was half
open, and the woman’s struggles had
succeeded in keeping one of her arms
and one of her legs outside the car.
    Simon ran toward the car. The only other
witness to the scene was an old woman, her arms full of parcels,