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but Simon kicked him under the table and smiled.
You do sound bloodthirsty, he murmured.
The bald fruity man got up. Standing on his feet, he looked big and solid in
spite of his rich complexion and extensive waist-line.
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Oh, no. Not particularly bloodthirsty. Just four old soldiers who got used
to being shot at quite a long while ago. I really don t think we d be the best
people for any gangsters to pick on-some of them would certainly get hurt.
It s worth thinking about, anyway!
A waitress came in with the next course of the Saint s dinner. She went over
and whispered something to the grey-moustached man, who dropped his pince-nez
and spoke in an undertone to the fair-haired man with the receding chin. The
other two looked at them as they got up.
You must excuse us, said the grey moustache, rather abruptly.
He went out, and the others followed him after a second s hesitation. Hoppy
Uniatz stared at the closing door blankly- he was experiencing some of the
sensations of an early Christian who, having braced himself for a slap-up
martyrdom, has been rudely sniffed at by a lion and then left high and dry in
the middle of the arena. Coming on top of the other incomprehensible things
that had happened to him since he arrived there, this was not soothing. He
turned to the Saint with a rough sketch of these complex emotions working
itself out on his face.
Boss, he said awkwardly, dis place makes me noivous.
IV
Simon Templar chuckled, and probed a tentative fork into the section of warm
rawhide crowned with a wodge of repulsive green mash which was apparently the
local interpretation of Leg de Mouton under the influence of spinach. I can t
imagine it, Hoppy, he said.
Mr. Uniatz s frown deepened.
Ja see dose guys take a run-out powder on us? he demanded, starting
methodically at the beginning. They do seem to have breezed on.
Maybe dey see me goin for my Betsy, said Mr. Uniatz, passing on to the
more nebulous realms of theory. They could hardly have helped it.
Well, where dey t ink dey get off pullin dat stuff an beatin it before we
say anyt ing? The Saint grinned.
I think we can say we ve been very politely warned off. In fact, I don t
think I ve ever seen it done in a more classical style-those birds must have
been reading the smoothest detective stories. How s your spinach? Mine tastes
as if they d been mowing the lawn this afternoon.
He struggled through as much more of the meal as his stomach would endure,
and lighted a cigarette. Mr. Uniatz was finished some time before him-Hoppy s
calloused maw would have engulfed a plateful of live toads dressed with
thistles and woodpulp without noticing anything extraordinary about the menu,
even in normal times, and when he was worried he was even less likely to
observe what he was eating. Simon pushed back his chair and stood up
cheerfully. Let s take a walk, he said. Mr. Uniatz licked his lips
yearningly. I could just do wit a drink, boss.
Afterwards, said the Saint inexorably. I want to look over the lie of the
land.
There was no sign of the four genial diners when they went out, nor of the
unpleasant ginger-haired man who had been foolish. A couple of obvious local
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inhabitants were poring over tankards of beer in the bar parlour off the hall-
Simon caught a mere glimpse of them as he went by, but he did not see Martin
Jeffroll, and there was nothing visible or audible to suggest that anything
worth the attention of a modern buccaneer had happened there for the last two
hundred years.
He got into his car and drove it round to the garage, a ramshackle shed
dumped inartistically on to the north wall of the inn. It had never been
designed to give a comfortable berth to cars of the Hirondel s extravagantly
rakish proportions, and there was a big grey lorry parked along one side which
forced the Saint to go through some complicated manoeuvres before he could get
in. He managed to squeeze himself into the available space with some
accompaniment of bad language, and rejoined Hoppy on the road.
We ll go down to the waterfront and smell some ozone. There was a rough
grey stone promenade where the lowest houses straggled along the edge of the
bay, and at one end of the village a similar stone causeway sloped down from
it and ran out for some distance along the edge of the channel through which
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