13 The Saint Intervenes (Boodle)

Those moods of contemplative contentment were an integral part of Simon Templar's enjoyment of life, the restful twi­lights between buccaneering days and adventurous nights. They usually came upon him when the second glass of dry sherry had been tasted and found good, when the initial deli­cacy of a chain of fastidiously chosen dishes had been set be­fore him, and the surroundings of white linen and gleaming silver and glass had sunk into their proper place as the back­ground of that epicurean luxuriousness which to him was the goal of all worth-while piracy. Those were the occasions on which the corsair put off his harness and discoursed on the philosophy of filibustering. It was a subject of which Simon Templar never tired. In the course of a flamboyant career which had been largely devoted to equalising what he had al­ways considered to be a fundamentally unjust distribution of wealth he had developed many theories about his own chosen field of art; and these he was always ready to expound. It was at such times as this that the Saint's keen dark head took on its most challenging alertness of line, the mocking blue eyes danced with their gayest humour . . . when everything about him matched the irresponsible spirit of his nickname except the technical morality of his discourse.

"Successful crime," said the Saint, "is simply the Art of the Unexpected."

Louis Fallen had similar ideas, although he was no philoso­pher. The finer abstractions of lawlessness left Louie not only cold but in a condition to make ice cream shiver merely by breathing on it. Neither were Louie's interpretations of those essential ideas particularly novel; but he was a very sound practitioner.

"It's a waste of time tryin' to think up new stunts, Sol," Louie declared, "while there's all the mugs you want still fallin' for the old ones. Anyone with a good uncut diamond can draw a dividend from it every day."

"Anyone who could put down five-hundred quid could float a good uncut diamond, Louie," replied Mr. Solomon, sympa­thetic but cautious.

"Anyone who could put down five hundred quid could float a company and swindle people like a gentleman," said Louie.

Mr. Solomon shook his head sadly. His business was pat­ronised by a small and exclusive clientele which was rarely in a position to bargain with him.

"Dot's a pity, Louie. I like to see a good man get on."

"Now listen to me, you old shark," said Louie amiably. "I want a diamond, a real classy bit of ice, and all I can afford is a hundred pounds. Look over your stock and see what you can find. And make it snappy—I want to get started this week."

"Vun honderd pounds iss for a cheap bit of paste," said Mr. Solomon pathetically. "You know I ain't got nothing like dot in my shop, Louie."

Half an hour later he parted grudgingly with an excellent stone, for which Louie Fallen was persuaded to pay a hun­dred and fifty pounds, and the business-like tension of the in­terview relaxed in an exchange of cheap cigars. In the estima­tion of Mr. Solomon, who had given thirty pounds for the stone, it was a highly satisfactory afternoon's work.

"You got a gift there, Louie," he said gloomily.

"I've got a gold-mine," said Louie confidently. "All I need beside this is psychology, and I don't have to pay for that. I'm just naturally psychological. You got to pick out the right kind of sucker. Then it goes like this."

The germ of that elusive quality which turns an otherwise normal and rational human being into a sucker has yet to be isolated. Louie Fallon, the man of action, had never both­ered to probe into it: he recognised one when he saw one, without analysing whys and wherefores, exactly as he was ac­customed to recognising a piece of cheese without a thought of the momentous dawn of life which it enshrines. Simon Templar himself had various theories.