Send for the Saint (7 page)

At a quarter to one, the Saint and Ariadne Two were seated side by side on the sofa in the drawing-room, going over the last of the schedules and notes for Patroclos’ meetings. Abruptly Simon stood up and stretched.

“Well, I think that’s enough for this morning. It’s getting near lunch time. Can we have a drink ?”

“Thanks,” said Ariadne Two, with perceptibly more warmth in her voice than previously. “That’s a cocktail cabinet, over in the corner. I’ll have a medium sherry. A large one.”

She watched as he poured her drink and mixed himself a dry martini on the rocks. She had begun by mistrusting him, but now she was less sure. About this man with the cavalier smile there was something wildly, untameably adventurous, reckless even, and yet at the same time something innocent and … saintly. The word came to her of its own accord, though she knew, from what her boss had told her, that this was the man whom people called the Saint — a man who had known many dangerous adventures across the globe, and who lived always by his own individual, perhaps peculiar, code of justice.

“It’s funny,” she mused aloud. “Now I know you better it makes even less sense.”

Simon handed her a brimming glass of Dry Sack and took an appreciative sip of the cocktail he had poured for himself.

“What does?”

“That you should bluff your way into this house… All that nonsense about knowing me before!”

He eyed her curiously.

“You mean you still don’t remember that langouste in Monte Carlo?”

Of course, there had never been any such meeting. But he would have expected an impostor, afraid of being tripped up, to pretend to recall it.

“No, I don’t. Look, Mr Templar — “

“Simon,” he put in quickly.

“Well — Simon.” She looked him straight in the eye, ingenuously. “But I’ve never even been to Monte Carlo.”

The blue eyes widened; they wore their most saintly expression, but in them was a hint of the clear mocking light that the girl had seen before.

“Strange,” he said speculatively. “I wonder — could there be two Ariadnes ?”

The Saint watched her closely as he spoke the line which of all lines must put her acting or her innocence to the test. And the girl looked genuinely puzzled still, seeming not to have taken his remark as seriously meant. She sipped her drink defensively, and had still not answered when the telegram arrived.

They heard the doorbell ring, and the murmur of voices; and then a footman knocked and handed the telegram to Ariadne. She opened and read it, frowned, looked perplexed, read it again, and finally waved away the footman, who was waiting for instructions.

Simon crossed the room and shamelessly read the telegram over her shoulder. It was addressed to Patroclos, and said simply:
INFORMATION RECEIVED STOP PROJECT NOW COMPLETED STOP NO FURTHER ACTION REQUIRED
It was unsigned, but Simon had little doubt that it was intended for him to see. Which was interesting, given that it must be a fake, since he knew that the codebook had never reached Athens.

Ariadne Two shrugged.

“I don’t know what it’s about. Maybe a secret deal — I don’t always travel with him and he doesn’t tell me everything.”

She took the telegram into the library where Patroclos Two was busy with work of his own, and the Saint heard phrases of their conversation that drifted through the open door.

“No!” Patroclos Two’s voice was raised in anger. “… know what the hell it is about ? Why couldn’t the idiot put his name?”

Then a pause, with Ariadne’s voice occasionally murmuring. And then the Saint heard the man say: “Did you show it to Templar ? Well, he is my detective for the moment — let him detect.”

Ariadne returned looking more puzzled than ever.

“He says he doesn’t know whom it is from,” she told the Saint with careful grammar. “And he made a joke that you as a clever detective should be able to work it out.”

The Saint smiled faintly, knowing that he was beginning to get the measure of the impostor, and that he could see a vaguely forming outline of the last scene in the present act of the elaborate charade that was being played out with himself as one of the principals — and with Ariadne Two, in all probability, as another.

That is, unless he introduced some twist of his own into the script. And one of Simon Templar’s special forms of mischief was refusing to go too far along with the most studiously prepared scenario, and introducing disconcerting variations of his own.

In this case, it was an impulsive decision that somewhere along the line he had to pick someone who was not a fraud but a dupe, lay some cards on the table, and make an ally. On what could only have been a psychic hunch, based at best on somewhat longer acquaintance, he decided that the time had come to bet on Ariadne Two.

Perhaps it was a reckless gamble; but if the Saint had never taken a chance he would never have taken anything.

He took another fortifying pull at his martini, as some stalwart soul on the bank of a frozen lake might brace himself for the shock, and took the plunge.

“Ariadne,” he said quietly, “has it occurred to you that your boss could be a fake ?”

She looked at him blankly.

“What?”

“Your boss has employed me to winkle out an impostor who looks exactly like him and who’s been taking his place here, there, and everywhere. But I’ve reason to believe that he’s the impostor himself.”

Simon waited while his words sank in; and the girl, as he had expected, looked at him as if at a lunatic child who had just asserted that the moon was made entirely of peanut butter.

“I expect you know the ancient Greek legend of the Minotaur,” he went on soothingly. “This was a monster, half man and half bull, who lived in a maze of caves in Crete, and lived by gobbling up human sacrifices who were sent in to feed him. One of these was eventually a bloke named Theseus, who just happened to have made it with the daughter of the king. When his turn came, she gave him a spool of thread to reel out behind him. Theseus killed the Minotaur, and found his way out of the labyrinth by following the thread back. You were named after her — Ariadne. Now, you could help me find my way out of this crazy maze.”

“But that’s quite ridiculous!” she exclaimed as soon as she had found her voice. “Mr Patroclos — an impostor? Do you think I don’t know him after five years?”

“Believe me, this is no ordinary impostor.” The Saint’s cool voice sounded so reasonable that she was compelled almost against her will to give it a hearing. “This, even though I doubted the proposition myself, is what might justifiably be called the perfect impostor. The copy and the original are very nearly impossible to tell apart. And I know,” he added. “I’ve seen them both.”

“But it’s unbelievable. How could — “

The girl’s next words were masked by a ferocious bull-like bellow from the library, and they heard Patroclos Two screaming down the telephone.

“Impossible! Quite impossible! I tell you, I sent no such message!”

Simon followed Ariadne into the library. Patroclos Two was in an almost uncontrollable rage, thumping a fist on the desk in time with his words.

“I don’t care! Check again … Then double check, you fool! … Of course I’ll countermand it. Just as soon as I can make out a coded message. Do it then. Ring me back — and hurry!”

Patroclos Two’s eyes blazed and he slammed down the phone.

“Ariadne — upstairs, the safe. Get my codebook.”

He threw her the bunch of keys from his pocket, and she hurried off. Patroclos Two paced back and forth with a ferociously indignant expression on his face.

“Why? Why?”

“What’s happened?” asked the Saint calmly.

“Six cargo ships — on their way to Singapore. In mid-ocean, suddenly they change course, for an unknown destination. Unknown to me. Who ordered it? The Communications Office say / did — from Athens. Me! But I am here!”

The Saint went very still.

“Then it’s obvious, isn’t it,” he said quietly, “that the other you is there.”

Patroclos Two stared at him.

“No, no … Even he … “he seemed to consider for a moment. “Without my personal code — “

“What are these ships carrying ?” the Saint interrupted, ignoring Patroclos Two’s mention of the codebook.

“Who cares what they are carrying?”

“It seems he does.”

“Oh — agricultural machinery … a little paint, fertilisers …

Ariadne burst in, breathless.

“The codebook — it isn’t there, sir.”

“Of course it’s there,” said Patroclos impatiently. “You returned it to the safe yourself only yesterday.”

Ariadne looked almost guilty.

“But it’s not there now. I checked thoroughly.”

He stared at her, eyes blazing again, then grabbed the keys from her hand and strode from the room. Simon shook his head, chuckling. “Tremendous act your boss puts on. You should try and persuade him to go on the stage. Put it to him that he owes it to the world. As it is, he’s denying the theatre public so much fabulous talent.”

“But this is serious! If the codebook is missing — and I did put it back — “

She rushed out in Patroclos Two’s wake still almost visible, and the Saint followed. They found him in the bedroom raking all the papers out of the safe and on to the floor of the wardrobe. He glared around as they came into the room; and then he turned on the Saint, and there were little red specks of anger burning in the cores of his eyes.

“You!” he shouted, stabbing a sudden accusing finger. “You took the codebook! That cable from Athens — “

The Saint clapped politely.

“Bravo. Beautiful lines, beautifully delivered.”

“You’re working for the other side!”

Ariadne looked helplessly from one man to the other: from the squat powerful figure of Diogenes Patroclos (or was it his double?) with his musketball eyes and livid expression, to Simon Templar, calm and smiling and insolent. And the Saint’s voice floated coolly across the room with a challenge that was dazzlingly simple and which he knew Patroclos Two would be unable to refuse with credibility.

“Whether I’m working for him or not”, he pointed out, “it seems clear that the other Patroclos is in Athens. Why aren’t we there, knocking hell out of him?”

And in the pause that followed, he could almost hear the whirring of gears in Patroclos Two’s brain, as the mogul considered the implications of that logical proposal. For perhaps a minute he stood silent, with his head tilted slightly to one side as if to give him a new perspective on the Saint; and then he nodded thoughtfully,
“Of course, Templar. As I should have expected, you are absolutely right.” He turned briskly to Ariadne. “How soon can my plane be ready ?”

“It was having an engine overhaul, you remember. It was supposed to be finished tomorrow.”

“Well contact the pilot at once. They will have to work overtime and finish tonight. We will face this confounded impostor first thing tomorrow. Pack your bags. And cancel all my appointments. Nothing is as important as this!”

10
Patroclos’ private plane was faster than the aircraft in commercial service, and it landed in Athens, after a refuelling stop in Milan, only eight hours after leaving London. It was almost nine o’clock in the morning there.

“Our arrival at the office must be a complete surprise.” said Patroclos Two as he hailed a taxi outside the airport. “Obviously we cannot afford to alert the impostor and give him a chance to escape.”

Simon Templar raised an eyebrow.

“And what do you propose to do if by some chance he isn’t there?”

“We must follow!” Patroclos Two’s tone was vehement. “Wherever he goes, we will follow. Now that we have begun, now that we are on his trail, this man must be finally tracked down and confronted!”

“And of course,” added the Saint wearily, “you’ll be wanting to get your codebook back before you arrange to have this double of yours chucked into the sea. If he has it, that is.”

Patroclos Two’s face was expressionless.

“And you, Templar. If I find that my suspicions are justified — that you have been working for him as well as me… well, I will have to decide what to do when the time comes. But you should know that Diogenes Patroclos is never doublecrossed with impunity!”

Ariadne Two seemed totally confused by recent events, and had said practically nothing during the flight. The Saint supposed that she was doing some hard thinking of her own. She appeared to have been genuinely surprised when he had told her about the Patroclos double; and he had little doubt that before long she would receive several further jolts to her system.

When they reached the headquarters office building, Patroclos Two strode straight through the entrance and along the corridor to his own office suite, with the Saint and the girl following close behind.

As they burst into the outer office, Ariadne One looked up from her desk with a startled expression. Ariadne Two gasped at the sight of the girl who was almost her double — although the resemblance, when Simon saw them together, was not nearly so uncannily identical as that of Patroclos One and Two.

The Saint nudged her.

“See what I mean? Two Ariadnes.”

And Ariadne One looked equally bemused.

“Mr Patroclos — ” she began.

“Who the hell are you?” he snapped, and flung open the big double doors to the inner office.

The room was empty; and Patroclos Two turned in a fury as savage as the one that had gripped him in London.

“Where is he? This man who looks like me?”

“Who, Mr Patroclos?” Ariadne One seemed uncomprehending. “Did you… forget something?”

“Remember me, Ariadne?” said the Saint; and the girl looked relieved and grateful for the intervention.

“Mr. Templar. Yes, of course.”

“Well, this is the other Patroclos.”

“You are supposed to be Ariadne?” queried Patroclos Two.

“But of course I am Ariadne,” said the girl slowly, looking in amazement first at Patroclos Two and then at her own double.

“Don’t try to work it out,” advised the Saint. “Just tell us where he is.”

“But you… I mean he… well, you just left, Mr Patroclos.

“How long ago?” asked Simon quickly.