The Saint Returns Read Online Free Page B

heavens, girl! Haven’t ye heard of
the Saint? Simon Templar—the Saint?”
    He seemed to think that if he spoke thename
to her loud enough she would be bound to recognize it. But she looked
at him blankly.
    “Saint?” she said.
    “Never mind,” said Simon.
“Remember, she’s been cooped up in a convent for over twenty
years.”
    There was a ray of dawn on Mildred s face.
    “You mean you’re famous,” she said.
“And I didn’t even know it. I’m so sorry.”
    “Didn’t they give ye any newspapers or
anything in that place?” Kelly inquired, as Simon asked their
waiter for the check.
    “They were very careful about what I
saw,” Mildred explained. “No newspapers or magazines. I was brought up to
think of my father as a great hero who tried to save the West from Bolshevism, and I was
told that even though he had lost the war
there were still millions and millions
of people who believed in his cause and were only waiting for something to give them the courage to stand up and be
counted. Then one day I came across something in one of the convent’s
books that showed me some of the other side
of the story. I guess with all the books
they let me read they were bound not to screen them all quite carefully enough. So when I realized what the rest of the
world seemed to think of my father I was shocked.”
    “Made ye see the light, did it?”
Kelly said.
    “Well, naturally I didn’t just turn right
around and deny everything I’d been taught since I was born—but I had
enough doubts to want to find out both sides of the story before I let anybody
use me to lead a big political movement. That’s why I ran away.”
    Simon stood up, putting money on the table.
    “A wise decision,” he said. “Now I think you’d be
safer coming up to my room while Pat and I
pack than stay ing down here by
yourself.”
    “If ye don’t mind,” said Kelly,
“I’ll have a final spot o’ gargle for me nerves, and then I’ll be off to
get me things.”
    Mildred went with Simon out to the lobby as
Pat waved down the waiter. Most hotel guests who were going out
were out by now, and the receptionist, a blond woman, was intent on
her record books. A dowdy man in a rumpled suit was reading a newspaper
nearby. Then a porter came through the main entrance from the street carrying a pair of
expensive-looking leather bags. Behind him
walked a tall thin gentleman of about fifty- five, with a strangely egg-shaped head, long grey hair falling thick on the back of his neck, and bulging
brown eyes. He was obviously in a
hurry, and with those enormous
compelling eyes fixed on the receptionist to ward whom he was heading he did not notice the Saint and Mildred, who by then had just reached the
elevator at one side of the lobby.
    Simon would have thought nothing about the
new comer if it had not been for Mildred’s reaction. In a fraction of
a second all the color drained from her face and she gasped
audibly.
    “I’ll be back in a minute,” she
whispered, averting her head. “Ladies’ room.”
    And she disappeared into a public corridor
next to the elevator.
    Naturally the Saint’s former lack of interest
in the stranger immediately increased by one hundred per cent, and he
sauntered back into the vicinity of the reception desk and pretended to
study the contents of a magazine rack. The rumpled man with the newspaper was
likewise affected by the guest’s arrival. He got to his feet, put down his
paper, and hovered expectantly like a sup pliant waiting his
moment to petition the passing emperor.
    “Good evening, sir,” said the blond
receptionist pleasantly. “Do you have a reservation?”
    The protuberant eyes fixed her scornfully.
    “I take it you do not recognize me?”
    The woman, since she clearly did not
recognize him, was a little flustered.
    “No, sir. I’m afraid not. I …”
    “It doesn’t matter,” he grumbled.
“My name is Drew , and I have a reservation.”
    She found his card quickly.
    “Mr. Eugene Drew?”