The Saint Versus Scotland Yard
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Simon Templar is the Saint - daring, dazzling, and just a little disreputable. On the side of the law, but standing outside it, he dispenses his own brand of justice one criminal at a time.
In these three stories, the Saint finds himself embroiled in further plots and facing new enemies. The Inland Revenue sees him up against the most unyielding opponent ever - the taxman. In The Million Pound Scandal, a good deed leads Simon to uncover a plot to undermine the Italian economy, and in The Melancholy Journey of Mr Teal the Saint's retirement plans are scuppered when a couple of murderous diamond smugglers object to his scheme of taking their loot for his pension.
fifty-guinea gown. And her face was utterly innocent of guile—Wilfred Garniman had a shrewd perception of these things also. She scanned the crowd anxiously, as though looking for someone, and in due course it became apparent that the someone was not present. Wilfred Garniman was the last man she looked at. Their glances met, and held for some seconds, and then the faintest ripple of a smile touched her lips. And exactly one hour later, Simon Templar was ringing the bell at 28, Mallaby Road,
continued with his task in his ponderous methodical way, making every movement with immensely phlegmatic deliberation. The Saint, who had known many criminals, and who was making no great exaggeration when he said that this particular situation had long since lost all its pristine charm for him, could recall no one in his experience who had ever been so dispassionate. Cold-blooded ruthlessness, a granite impassivity, he had met before, but through it all, deep as it might be, there had always run
and passed it to Teal. “From the Scorpion’s passport,” he said. “I found it in a drawer of his desk. That was before he caught me with as neat a trick as I’ve come across—the armchairs in his study will repay a sleuth-like investigation, Claud. Then, if you pass on to the cellars, you’ll find a piece of cement flooring that had only just begun to floor. Pat and I are supposed to be under there. Which reminds me—if you decide to dig down in the hope of finding us, you’ll find my second-best
being of the same sex, tactfully takes for granted). She will be, I tried to think, almost an Old Hag. But the only conclusion that this led to was that I myself must have quite a weakness for the company of Old Hags; which couldn’t possibly be the right answer. So the best I could do was to point out, as a matter of inexorable mathematics, that since all of the Saint’s adventures have taken a definite period of time to happen, and since several of them had already called on him for a good deal
hear why,” he said flatly. Simon stood up. “O.K.,” he said, and a new indefinable timbre of menace was pulsing into his easy drawl. “I’ll tell you why. You asked for a showdown. I’ll tell you what you’ve been thinking. There was a feather you wanted for that hat of yours: you tried all manner of ways to get it, but it wasn’t having you. You were too dumb. And then you thought you’d got it. Tonight was your big night. You were going to collect the Saint on the most footling break he ever made.