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to that alluring whimsy. There was no smell of gas. And as his escorts wedged
him through the encircling congregation and delivered him beside the Emir, at
the very base of the scaffolding, a shower of drops fell on him, and he caught
some on his hand and brought the hand right under his nostrils and then
touched it with his tongue and knew exactly what it was.
It was water.
v
As if it had been only six minutes ago, instead of six days, Simon re-lived
the capricious insubordinations of his mind, when he had been trying to
concentrate on oil, and had been wafted through refineries to the ocean and
through salads to irrigation; and it became clear to him that his latest
discovered talent would need a lot more disciplining before it would be
strictly commercial.
It also dawned on him that he was not his own only critic.
"Sheik know now, you one big goddam thief," Talib bawled at him.
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The Saint drew himself up.
In the superb unhesitating confidence of his recovery, he turned that
flabbergasting moment into one of his finest hours.
"Tell Joe," he said coldly, "that he is one big goddam fool."
Mr. Usherdown gasped, and even Talib blanched as he blurted out an
indubitably expurgated rendition of that retort.
"I didn't promise to find oil," Simon went on, without waiting for the Emir's
reaction. "I can't find it if it isn't here, which you've already been told. I
said I would make him rich. And I've done that. In Kuwait, isn't water worth
more than oil?"
As that was repeated, a hush began to fall, and even the Emir's furious eyes
settled into sharp and penetrating attention.
"Lots of places around here have oil," said the Saint disparagingly. "But
I've given Qabat something that none of the others have. I was told that
Kuwait is spending forty-five million dollars to build a pipeline to get
water. Won't they be glad to save nearly two hundred miles of it and just
bring the pipeline here, and give you the money instead? Is there any place
around this Gulf that wouldn't trade you ten barrels of oil for one barrel of
water? Let Kuwait and Dharhan sweat out their oil, while in Quaba you take
their money and buy beautiful cars and jewels and walk about in grass up to
your knees." He swept his arm grandly towards the jet of pure and glistening
H2O that was roaring merrily into the parched and burning sky. "This is what
I've done for you, Joe."
Talib was still stumbling over the last few words when Yusuf demonstrated his
lightning grasp of practical economics by enfolding the Saint in a grateful
and embarrassingly affectionate embrace.
He then turned ebulliently towards Mr. Usherdown, but concluded the gesture
much more perfunctorily, as if a different and disturbing thought had obtruded
itself midway in the movement.
Suddenly Mrs. Usherdown's voice cut stridently through the rising babble
around.
"I don't know what you're taking a bow for, Mortimer Usherdown," it said
scathingly. "After all,you didn't do anything."
The interruption was on such a rasping note that Yusuf turned inquiringly.
Talib, whose expression had been getting progressively sourer as the
atmosphere of congratulation and camaraderie seemed to be gaining the
ascendant, brightened visibly as he translated.
The carnivorous gleam came back into Yusef's stare as he stepped back and
contemplated Mr. Usherdown with a new and terrifying exultation.
But instead of quailing under that baleful regard, the little man ,was not
even aware of it. Instead of trembling with fear, he was quivering with the
stress of what Simon realized was: a far more cataclysmal emotion. He
straightened up to the last millimeter of his height, inflating all that there
was of his chest until the veins stood out on his neck, and sparks flashed
from his small watery eyes.
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"Why, you nasty creature," he squeaked indignantly. "I know what you're
trying to do. But you needn't bother." He stuck out a straight skinny arm
ending in a wrathfully pointing finger. "Idivorce you, I divorce you, I
divorce you.There!"
"Well," said Mrs. Usherdown tartly, "you're very welcome, I'm sure."
She turned, with a toss of her head, and strutted away towards the palace,
bouncing her ample hips.
Talib construed the passage in the tone of voice that he might have used to
bring tidings of a major disaster, and this time the hug that the Emir gave
Mr. Usherdown was unmarred by any reservations.
"Sheik say," Talib droned gloomily, "you ask anything you want, you get it,
if not too much."
"We'll settle for the price of one small oil well," said the Saint. "And our
tickets on the next plane to Basra," he added casually, wishing that he knew
more about geology, and vowing not to uncross his fingers until whatever
freakish artesian source they had tapped had proved that it was capable of
keeping the gusher flowing at least until he had taken off.
"Okay, dough kay," Talib said. "But tonight, Sheik order big feast and
whoopee."
Mr. Usherdown winked at the Saint, slapped the Emir on the back, and poked
the outraged Talib in the ribs, while a broad beam of ineffable rapture
overspread his lumpy little face.
"That's what I'm waiting for," he crowed. "Bring on the dancing girls!"
THE PLUPERFECT LADY
i
Simon Templar stayed at the Raffles Hotel in Singapore for sentimental
reasons. Although more modern and more luxurious caravanserais had been built
in the many years since he had last been there, the Raffles was one of the
places that was simply synonymous with Singapore to him, as it always will be
to the real Far East hands from away back. And as to why that one particular
place had won out over two others almost equally traditional, Major Vernon
Ascony had a theory.
"I just looked at the name on the front and felt sure you couldn't have
resisted it," Ascony said.
"Since you couldn't possibly have been thinking of A. J. Raffles, the
immortal Amateur Cracksman of fiction," said the Saint, "I wonder what there
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can be about me that reminds you of Sir Stamford Raffles, the illustrious
pioneer and Empire builder, whose name is commemorated on so many landmarks of
this romantic city."
Major Ascony permitted the vestige of a smile to stir under the shadow of his
closely clipped mustache.
"Nothing, old chap. Positively not one single thing."
"And why were you trying to find me anyway?" Simon inquired.
"I'm with the Police," Ascony said, and modestly refrained from specifying
that he was an Assistant Commissioner.
The Saint sighed.
"One day I'm going to have this printed on a card," he said. "But if you'll
accept it verbally, I can save you a lot of time. No, I am not here to stir up
any trouble. No, I am not looking for any crime or criminals. Yes, I am just
an ordinary tourist. Of course, if something irresistibly intriguing happens [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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