11 The Brighter Buccaneer

If you should desire further information on the subject I shall be pleased to supply it at the above address.

Yours faithfully, Melford Croon.

Simon Templar called on Mr. Croon one morning by ap­pointment; and the name he gave was not his own. He found Mr. Croon to be a portly and rather pale-faced man, with the flowing iron-grey mane of an impresario; and the information he gave-after a few particularly shrewd inquiries about his visitor's status and occupation-was very much what the Saint had expected.

"A friend of mine," said Mr. Croon-he never claimed per­sonally to be the author of the schemes on which he gave Fi­nancial Consultations-"a friend of mine is interested in send­ing a cargo of wines and spirits to America. Naturally, the expenses are somewhat heavy. He has to charter a ship, engage a crew, purchase the cargo, and arrange to dispose of it on the other side. While he would prefer to find the whole of the money-and, of course, reap all the reward--he is unfortunately left short of about two thousand pounds."

"I see," said the Saint.

He saw much more than Mr. Croon told him, but he did not say so.

"This two thousand pounds," said Mr. Croon, "represents about one-fifth of the cost of the trip, and in order to complete his arrangements my friend is prepared to offer a quarter of his profits to anyone who will go into partnership with him. As he expects to make at least ten thousand pounds, you will see that there are not many speculations which offer such a liberal re­turn."

If there was one role which Simon Templar could play bet­ter than any other, it was that of the kind of man whom finan­cial consultants of every size and species dream that they may meet one day before they die. Mr. Croon's heart warmed to­wards him as Simon laid on the touches of his self-created char­acter with a master's brush.

"A very charming man," thought the Saint as he paused on the pavement outside the building which housed Mr. Croon's offices.

Since at various stages of the interview Mr. Croon's effusive bonhomie had fairly bubbled with invitations to lunch with Mr. Croon, dine with Mr. Croon, shoot with Mr. Croon, watch Mr. Croon's horses win at Goodwood with Mr. Croon, and spend week-ends with Mr. Croon at Mr. Croon's house on the river, the character which Simon Templar had been playing might have thought that the line of the Saint's lips were unduly cynical; but Simon was only thinking of his own mis­sion in life.

He stood there with his walking cane swinging gently in his fingers, gazing at the very commonplace street scene with thoughtful blue eyes, and became aware that a young man with the physique of a pugilist was standing at his shoulder. Simon waited.

"Have you been to see Croon?" demanded the young man suddenly.

Simon looked around with a slight smile.

"Why ask?" he murmured. "You were outside Croon's room when I came out, and you followed me down the stairs."

"I just wondered."

The young man had a pleasantly ugly face with crinkly grey eyes that would have liked to be friendly; but he was very plainly nervous.

"Are you interested in bootlegging?" asked the Saint; and the young man stared at him grimly.

"Listen, I don't know if you're trying to be funny, but I'm not. I'm probably going to be arrested this afternoon. In the last month I've lost about five thousand pounds in Croon's schemes-and the money wasn't mine to lose. You can think what you like. I went up there to bash his face in before they get me, and I'm going back now for the same reason. But I saw you come out, and you didn't look like a crook. I thought I'd give you a word of warning. You can take it or leave it. Good­bye."

He turned off abruptly into the building, but Simon reached out and caught him by the elbow.

"Why not come and have some lunch first?" he suggested. "And let Croon have his. It'll be so much more fun punching him in the stomach when it's full of food."

He waved away the young man's objections and excuses without listening to them, hailed a taxi, and bundled him in. It was the kind of opportunity that the Saint lived for, and he would have had his way if he was compelled to kidnap his guest for the occasion. They lunched at a quiet restaurant in Soho; and in the persuasive warmth of half a litre of Antinori Chianti and the Saint's irresistible personality the young man told him what he knew of Mr. Melford Croon.