By Leslie Charteris
Diving deep into difficulty, the Saint takes half in an underwater treasure hunt fraught with unexpected chance. Can he effectively raid Davy Jones’s locker and salvage his acceptance in addition to the sunken treasure?
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Additional info for Saint Overboard (Simon Templar 'The Saint', Book 16)
We’ve been the following for hours…” She used to be conversing aimlessly, for the sake of conversing, for the sake of any distraction that may reassure her of her personal braveness. His skinny lips edged outwards in what could have been a grin. “Would you love a drink? ” “Yes. ” He touched her arm. “Come. ” He led her into the wheelhouse and pressed the bell for a steward. because the guy entered silently, he acknowledged, “A highball? —I imagine that might be your nationwide prescription. ” She nodded, and he proven the order with a look. He held out an inlaid cigarette-box and struck a fit. She inhaled the smoke and stood as much as him with no recoiling, together with her head lifted in that white useless delight. Her center used to be beating in speedy leaden strokes, yet her hand was once regular. used to be it to be so quickly? She wanted it can be over prior to she used to be weakened by way of her worry, and but the intuition of get away prayed for a respite, as though time may possibly provide chilly common sense a extra crushing mastery of her revulsion. What did it quantity to in the end, this actual sacrifice, this short humiliation? Her brain, her self that made her a dwelling character, her soul or center or no matter what it would be known as, couldn't be touched. It was once past achieve of the entire assailments of the physique for as long as she selected to maintain it so. “You don’t burn your place down simply because a bit dust has been trodden into the ground. ” She, her crucial self, might triumph even within the defeat of the flesh. What loads of exaggerated nonsense used to be observed that one crude gesture…And but her center throbbed with that leaden pulse ahead of the upcoming truth. “Excuse me a second. ” both he had saw not anything, or he was once insensible to her feelings. with out touching her, he grew to become away and moved over to the bookcases on the after finish of the room. She had her respite. The steward lower back, and positioned down a tray at the desk beside her; he poured out a drink and went out back with out talking. Loretta took up the glass and tasted it: after she had sipped, it happened to her that it'd be drugged, and he or she nearly positioned it down. after which her lips moved within the ghost of a wry grimace. What did it subject? She seemed to work out what Vogel was once doing. He had taken a chair over to the bookcase and sat down in entrance of it. the higher cabinets had opened like a door, wearing the books with them, and within the aperture at the back of used to be the compact tool panel of a medium-powered radio transmitting station. Vogel had clipped a couple of earphones over his head, and his lengthy white palms have been flitting delicately over the dials—pausing, adjusting, timing his station with fast and practised touches. someplace within the stillness she may perhaps listen the faint whirr of a generator…And then she heard a clearer, sharper, intermittent tapping, Vogel had chanced on his correspondent, and he used to be sending a message. The staccato rhythm of the transmitter key pattered into her mind and translated itself nearly immediately into letters and phrases. Like everybody else in Ingerbeck’s, she had studied the Morse code as a part of her normal education: it used to be moment nature to interpret the rattle of dots and dashes, as easy a functionality as though she were hearing Vogel speaking.
- Risked (The Missing)