The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace Read Free Page A

That’s when I do
most of my business. I only use this trick in the evening. It
didn’t work with you because you are a witty man, and I like to be
amused.”
    His cat slipped down off his shoulders and
licked the inside of his empty glass. Its owner stroked its ears
affectionately. “You had better look out, Thai, or you’ll become a
drunkard like your papa.”
    “If you don’t mind my asking, do you
always have six bran dies at the same time?”
    “Usually.”
    “Wouldn’t it be more convenient just to
order a bottle and pour your own?”’
    The other laughed. “Ah, but that would
be the sign of the confirmed alcoholic. This way I know exactly how much I have had
to drink.” He tossed off another brandy.
    Simon warmed to the man. He had a certain
infectious gai ety which was cheering, especially in a Vienna which was
stark with the tensions and gloomy forebodings of the time. “I
take it you’re not married,” he said.
    “No, I’m not, but why do you say
so?”
    “Married men don’t wear cats,” said
the Saint. “Their wives won’t let them.”
    His vis-à-vis tossed down his third brandy.
“My name is Max Annellatt—with two ‘n’s, two ‘l’s and two ‘t’s. Are you still shy about telling me yours?”
    “Not at all, now that I’ve met you. It’s Taylor, Stephen Taylor. I’m in the oil business.”
    Herr Annellatt nodded.
    “A very good business too in these
times. You can’t fight a war without oil.” He gave Simon a shrewd look.
“If you are smart both sides will end up buying it from you.”
    “You think it will come to war,
then?”
    The other shrugged.
    “Eventually it always comes to war, and
we lose everything we have gained by making the machines to wage it. Then we have to
start getting rich all over again. It is unfortunate, but it is also
a fact of life. In 1922 I was broke. I literally did not have
enough to buy food. Now I am a millionaire—in your currency!” He
suddenly turned serious. “Now tell me, what do you know about
Frankie?”
    “I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever get around to that.”
    Annellatt laughed.
    “Everything in Austria takes a long
time, including living— and therefore dying!”
    When Simon had finished his tale, Annellatt
whistled.
    “It looks bad but we will cope with
it.” He stubbed out his cigar. “Anyway, thank you very much, Mr … er … Taylor. You can
forget about the whole thing now.”
    Simon was piqued by this bland dismissal, but he only smiled lazily.
    “Perhaps I ought to go to the
police.”
    The other gave him a sharp look.
    “Where would that get you? If they
thought there was anything in your story, all they could do would be to get in
touch with me, and I would say I had never heard of Frankie.” He
caressed Thai’s attenuated ears. Animal and master both wore the same
expression of calm self-assurance. “Believe me, Mr Taylor, it is better for
Frankie if I keep both the police and you
out of this business.”
    The Saint did not see why this cool customer should have everything his own way. He could be pretty cool,
even arc tic, himself. Besides, he
was curious to learn more about Max Annellatt
and the situation in which he himself had become involved.
    “As a matter of fact, I imagine you
probably wouldn’t be too keen yourself on the police nosing into
your affairs,” he remarked pleasantly.
    There was a long pause. Max’s eyes reminded
Simon of the glacial snows on the mountains above Innsbruck. They had that same
quality of cold blue timeless menace, as if their owner had existed
since the dawn of history. Well, in a sense he had. Every
generation has its quota of Max Annellatts. In his own way, the
Saint was one of them. The thought amused him. It also pleased him. He
liked dealing with peo ple of his own calibre, and Max looked like
measuring up to this.
    Annellatt suddenly gave Simon a brilliant
and charming smile.
    “All right, what do you want to know? I
should have thought you would have