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."Up above your window-ledgeStreatham stars are gleaming:Aspidistra, little veg,Does your soul go dreaming?"A low iron gate opened from the road.He pushed it wide with his foot, andwent up the steps to the porch.Beside the door was a bell-push set in a panelof polished brass tracery.The Saint's fingers moved towards it.and travelled back again.Hestooped and examined the filigree more closely, and a little smile lightenedhis face.Then he cuddled himself into the extreme houseward corner of the porch, heldhis hat over the panel, and pressed the button with the ferrule of his stick.He heard a faint hiss, and turned his hat back to the light of a street lamp.A stained splinter of wood quivered in the white satin lining of the crown;and the Saint's smile became blindingly seraphic as he reached into a sidepocket of his jacket for a pair of tweezers.And then the door was opening slowly.Deep in his angle of shadow, he watched the strip of yellow light wideningacross the porch and down the short flagged passage to the gate.ThePage 49 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlsilhouette of a man loomed into it and stood motionless for a while behind thethreshold.Then it stepped out into full view a big, heavy-shouldered close-cropped man,with thick bunched fists hanging loosely at his sides.He peered outwards downthe shaft of light, and then to right and left, his battered face creasing tothe strain of probing the darkness of either side.The Saint's whiteshirt-front caught his eye, and he licked his lips and spoke like anautomaton."Comin' in?""Behind you, brother," said the Saint.He stepped across the light, taking the bruiser by the elbows and spinning himadroitly round.They entered the house in the order of his own arrangement,and Simon kicked the door shut behind him.There was no machine-gun at the far end of the hall, as he had half expected;but the Saint was unashamed."Windy?" sneered the bruiser, as the Saint released him; and Simon smiled."Never since taking soda-mint," he murmured."Where do we go from here?"The bruiser glanced sideways, jerking his head."Upstairs.""Oh, yeah?"Simon slanted a cigarette into his mouth and followed the glance.His eyeswaved up the banisters and down the separate steps of the stairway."After you again," he drawled."Just to be certain."The bruiser led the way, and Simon followed discreetly.They arrived inprocession at the upper landing, where a second bruiser, a trifle shorter thanthe first, but even heavier of shoulder, lounged beside an open door with anunlighted stump of cigar in his mouth.The second man gestured with his lower jaw and the cigar."In there.""Thanks," said the Saint.He paused for a moment in the doorway and surveyed the room, one handostentatiously remaining in the pocket of his coat.Facing him, in the centre of the rich brown carpet, was a broad flat-toppeddesk.It harmonised with the solid simplicity of the book-cases that broke thepanelling of the bare walls, and with the long austere lines of the velvethangings that covered the windows even, perhaps, with the squat squarematerialism of the safe that stood in the corner behind it.And on the farside of the desk sat the man whom the Saint had come to see, leaning forwardout of a straight-backed oak chair.Simon moved forward, and the two bruisers closed the door and rangedthemselves on either side of him."Good evening, Kuzela," said the Saint."Good evening, Mr.Templar." The man behind the desk moved one white hand."Sit down."Simon looked at the chair that had been placed ready for him.Then he turned,and took one of the bruisers by the lapels of his coat.He shot the man intothe chair, bounced him up and down a couple of times, swung him from side toside, and yanked him out again."Just to make quite certain," said the Saint sweetly.He beamed upon theglowering pugilist, felt his biceps, and patted him encouragingly on theshoulder."You'll be a big man when you grow up, Cuthbert," he said affably.Then he moved the chair a yard to one side and sat in it himself."I'm sure you'll excuse all these formalities," he remarked conversationally."I have to be so careful these days.The most extraordinary things happen tome [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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."Up above your window-ledgeStreatham stars are gleaming:Aspidistra, little veg,Does your soul go dreaming?"A low iron gate opened from the road.He pushed it wide with his foot, andwent up the steps to the porch.Beside the door was a bell-push set in a panelof polished brass tracery.The Saint's fingers moved towards it.and travelled back again.Hestooped and examined the filigree more closely, and a little smile lightenedhis face.Then he cuddled himself into the extreme houseward corner of the porch, heldhis hat over the panel, and pressed the button with the ferrule of his stick.He heard a faint hiss, and turned his hat back to the light of a street lamp.A stained splinter of wood quivered in the white satin lining of the crown;and the Saint's smile became blindingly seraphic as he reached into a sidepocket of his jacket for a pair of tweezers.And then the door was opening slowly.Deep in his angle of shadow, he watched the strip of yellow light wideningacross the porch and down the short flagged passage to the gate.ThePage 49 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlsilhouette of a man loomed into it and stood motionless for a while behind thethreshold.Then it stepped out into full view a big, heavy-shouldered close-cropped man,with thick bunched fists hanging loosely at his sides.He peered outwards downthe shaft of light, and then to right and left, his battered face creasing tothe strain of probing the darkness of either side.The Saint's whiteshirt-front caught his eye, and he licked his lips and spoke like anautomaton."Comin' in?""Behind you, brother," said the Saint.He stepped across the light, taking the bruiser by the elbows and spinning himadroitly round.They entered the house in the order of his own arrangement,and Simon kicked the door shut behind him.There was no machine-gun at the far end of the hall, as he had half expected;but the Saint was unashamed."Windy?" sneered the bruiser, as the Saint released him; and Simon smiled."Never since taking soda-mint," he murmured."Where do we go from here?"The bruiser glanced sideways, jerking his head."Upstairs.""Oh, yeah?"Simon slanted a cigarette into his mouth and followed the glance.His eyeswaved up the banisters and down the separate steps of the stairway."After you again," he drawled."Just to be certain."The bruiser led the way, and Simon followed discreetly.They arrived inprocession at the upper landing, where a second bruiser, a trifle shorter thanthe first, but even heavier of shoulder, lounged beside an open door with anunlighted stump of cigar in his mouth.The second man gestured with his lower jaw and the cigar."In there.""Thanks," said the Saint.He paused for a moment in the doorway and surveyed the room, one handostentatiously remaining in the pocket of his coat.Facing him, in the centre of the rich brown carpet, was a broad flat-toppeddesk.It harmonised with the solid simplicity of the book-cases that broke thepanelling of the bare walls, and with the long austere lines of the velvethangings that covered the windows even, perhaps, with the squat squarematerialism of the safe that stood in the corner behind it.And on the farside of the desk sat the man whom the Saint had come to see, leaning forwardout of a straight-backed oak chair.Simon moved forward, and the two bruisers closed the door and rangedthemselves on either side of him."Good evening, Kuzela," said the Saint."Good evening, Mr.Templar." The man behind the desk moved one white hand."Sit down."Simon looked at the chair that had been placed ready for him.Then he turned,and took one of the bruisers by the lapels of his coat.He shot the man intothe chair, bounced him up and down a couple of times, swung him from side toside, and yanked him out again."Just to make quite certain," said the Saint sweetly.He beamed upon theglowering pugilist, felt his biceps, and patted him encouragingly on theshoulder."You'll be a big man when you grow up, Cuthbert," he said affably.Then he moved the chair a yard to one side and sat in it himself."I'm sure you'll excuse all these formalities," he remarked conversationally."I have to be so careful these days.The most extraordinary things happen tome [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]