The Saint In New York (The Saint Series)

  THE ADVENTURES OF THE SAINT

  Enter the Saint (1930), The Saint Closes the Case (1930), The Avenging Saint (1930), Featuring the Saint (1931), Alias the Saint (1931), The Saint Meets His Match (1931), The Saint Versus Scotland Yard (1932), The Saint’s Getaway (1932), The Saint and Mr Teal (1933), The Brighter Buccaneer (1933), The Saint in London (1934), The Saint Intervenes (1934), The Saint Goes On (1934), The Saint in New York (1935), Saint Overboard (1936), The Saint in Action (1937), The Saint Bids Diamonds (1937), The Saint Plays with Fire (1938), Follow the Saint (1938), The Happy Highwayman (1939), The Saint in Miami (1940), The Saint Goes West (1942), The Saint Steps In (1943), The Saint on Guard (1944), The Saint Sees It Through (1946), Call for the Saint (1948), Saint Errant (1948), The Saint in Europe (1953), The Saint on the Spanish Main (1955), The Saint Around the World (1956), Thanks to the Saint (1957), Señor Saint (1958), Saint to the Rescue (1959), Trust the Saint (1962), The Saint in the Sun (1963), Vendetta for the Saint (1964), The Saint on TV (1968), The Saint Returns (1968), The Saint and the Fiction Makers (1968), The Saint Abroad (1969), The Saint in Pursuit (1970), The Saint and the People Importers (1971), Catch the Saint (1975), The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace (1976), Send for the Saint (1977), The Saint in Trouble (1978), The Saint and the Templar Treasure (1978), Count On the Saint (1980), Salvage for the Saint (1983)

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2014 Interfund (London) Ltd.

  Foreword © 2014 Gary Dobbs

  Preface originally published in the 1964 edition of The Saint in New York

  Publication History and Author Biography © 2014 Ian Dickerson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  ISBN-13: 9781477842744

  ISBN-10: 1477842748

  Cover design by David Drummond, www.salamanderhill.com

  To Malcolm Johnson

  Who propounded the idea,

  and helped in many other ways

  CONTENTS

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  FOREWORD TO THE NEW EDITION

  THE SAINT IN NEW YORK

  PREFACE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE: HOW SIMON TEMPLAR CLEANED HIS GUN AND WALLIS NATHER PERSPIRED

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER TWO: HOW SIMON TEMPLAR EAVESDROPPED TO SOME ADVANTAGE AND INSPECTOR FERNACK WENT FOR A RIDE

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER THREE: HOW SIMON TEMPLAR TOOK A GANDER AT MR PAPULOS AND MORRIE UALINO TOOK A SOCK AT THE SAINT

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER FOUR: HOW SIMON TEMPLAR READ NEWSPAPERS AND MR PAPULOS HIT THE SKIDS

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER FIVE: HOW MR PAPULOS WAS TAKEN OFF AND HEIMIE FELDER MET WITH FURTHER MISFORTUNES

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER SIX: HOW SIMON TEMPLAR INTERVIEWED MR INSELHEIM AND DUTCH KUHLMANN WEPT

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER SEVEN: HOW DUTCH KUHLMANN SAW A GHOST AND SIMON TEMPLAR RETURNED HOME

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER EIGHT: HOW FAY EDWARDS KEPT HER WORD AND SIMON TEMPLAR SURRENDERED HIS GUN

  1

  2

  3

  EPILOGUE

  PUBLICATION HISTORY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  WATCH FOR THE SIGN OF THE SAINT!

  THE SAINT CLUB

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The text of this book has been preserved from the original edition and includes vocabulary, grammar, style, and punctuation that might differ from modern publishing practices. Every care has been taken to preserve the author’s tone and meaning, allowing only minimal changes to punctuation and wording to ensure a fluent experience for modern readers.

  FOREWORD TO THE NEW EDITION

  It was Roger Moore, you know, who gave me my first experience with that debonair, buccaneering gentleman we know as the Saint. Those TV episodes, although broadcast in black and white, were likely the most colourful thing in my young life. They introduced me to a world of adventure, of excitement, of dastardly devilish plots and incredible heroics. I was only four years old when the ITC TV series ended, so I was getting my thrills several years after the fact with the reruns. It never mattered to me that this was an old series, since the best shows are never really reruns, and each time they are shown they come to life with their freshness and impeccable storytelling, and somehow they become new again.

  It wasn’t until years later and the 1978 TV series, The Return of the Saint, which starred Ian Oglivy in the title role (these were in colour though not nearly as colourful as the earlier series) that I discovered the real Saint. It was an article in, of all things, Look-In magazine that mentioned the Charteris novels that started me down the road of true saintly discovery. I liked the Oglivy series and still hold a soft spot for the show, but the original run coincided with me reading the original novels and the TV series felt rather lightweight in comparison.

  I think it was The Saint in New York that gave me my first taste of the literary character, and it’s no exaggeration to say that it knocked me off my feet. I couldn’t believe how gritty the book was and just how hardboiled a character Simon Templar was. I’ve since reread that novel several times, most recently before penning this introduction, and the book still has the power to create unparalleled excitement in the reader, which is surely the hallmark of great writing.

  I followed up that first reading of The Saint in New York by getting my hands on every Saint title I could find, and believe me, this wasn’t easy and often involved hunting through rows upon rows of second-hand books in the local market. Soon afterwards I discovered the RKO movies courtesy of the BBC, which often showed them on its second channel. I was a member of the Saint Club for a few years and thanks to that club I became pen pals with several like-minded fans and was told of an old radio series, which starred Vincent Price as the Saint.

  That Simon Templar certainly did get around.

  Of course over the years the character has popped up in almost every form of media you can think of, and he will continue to pop up from time to time, for just like Sherlock Holmes, Dracula, James Bond, and only a select few others, the Saint belongs to that band of characters who have lived on long after the creators and continue to thrive and prosper even as they are discovered by generation after generation.

  Charteris made his leading character an anti-hero, which means the books work perfectly in our cynical times and Templar is indeed a hero for this age. It’s just a pity he isn’t around to tackle our corrupt politicians and greedy bankers, as I’m sure he’d want to. The Saint in Westminster, anyone?

  Simon Templar a.k.a. the Saint may be independently rich, but he was and remains very much a champion of the underdog, a man of the people, truly a modern day Robin Hood.

  So please read on, surrender yourself to the skills of a master storyteller, and enjoy.

  —Gary Dobbs (2014)

  PREFACE

  I couldn’t,
even if I wanted to, pretend that this novel came off my typewriter yesterday. I am notoriously not a writer of historical stories, except those which have acquired that aura simply by being around so long, and the date of this one is implicit from the first pages of the first chapter.

  It was conceived, and worked out, during the latter days of Prohibition in America, that Noble Experiment which ended in 1933—which the most simple arithmetic shows to have been a fair while ago. And no revision, even if I wanted to attempt one, could possibly transfer it to a later day.

  So I can only hope that all those readers who were not even born when it happened will accept the background, which is actually about as authentic as any fictional background can be; I can vouch for this, because I was there, antique as I am. I don’t say that the plot had any factual foundation, as many of my plots have. But the kind of activities, the places, and the people who frequented them are not nearly as far-fetched as they may seem today. In fact, more than one of them really lived then, and might be recognised by a few old-timers through his thin disguise.

  —Leslie Charteris (1964)

  PROLOGUE

  The letter was delivered to the Correspondence Bureau in Centre Street. It passed, as a matter of routine, through the Criminal Identification Bureau, the Criminal Alien Investigation Bureau, and the Main Office Division. And in the end it was laid on the desk of Police Commissioner Arthur J. Question himself—it was a remarkable document by any standards, and even the studiously commonplace prose of its author could not make it uninteresting.

  Metropolitan Police,

  Special Branch,

  Scotland House

  London, S.W.1.

  Chief of Police

  New York City.

  Dear Sir,

  We have to inform you that there are reasons to believe that Simon Templar, known as “The Saint,” is at present in the United States.

  No finger-prints are available, but a photograph, description, and record are enclosed.

  As you will see from the record, we have no grounds on which to institute extradition proceedings, but it would be advisable for you, in your own interests, to observe Templar’s activities carefully if you are successful in locating him.

  Faithfully yours,

  C. E. Teal,

  Chief Inspector.

  The first enclosure came under the same letterhead.

  Simon Templar (“The Saint”).

  DESCRIPTION: Age 31, Height 6 ft. 2 in. Weight 175 lbs. Eyes blue. Hair black, brushed straight back. Complexion tanned. Bullet scar through upper left shoulder; 8-in scar right forearm.

  SPECIAL CHARACTERISTICS: Always immaculately dressed. Luxurious tastes. Lives in most expensive hotels and is connoisseur of food and wine. Carries firearms and is expert knife-thrower. Licensed air pilot. Speaks several languages fluently. Known as “The Saint” from habit of leaving drawing of skeleton figure with halo on scenes of crimes (specimen reproduced below).

  RECORD:

  First came to our attention five years ago as unofficial agent concerned with recovery of quantity of bullion stolen from Confederate Bank of Chicago and transported to this country. Was successful and claimed reward, leaving arrest of thieves to our own agent, Inspector Carn.

  For some time afterwards, with assistance of four accomplices, became self-appointed agent for terrorising criminals against whom we had been unable to secure evidence justifying arrest. Real identity at this time remained a mystery. Activities chiefly directed against vice. Was instrumental in obtaining arrest and conviction of leaders of powerful drug ring. Believed to have instigated murder of Henri Chastel, white slave trafficker, in Athens, at same period. Admitted killing of Golter, anarchist, in frustrating attempted assassination of Crown Prince Rudolf during state visit to London, following year.

  Kidnapped Professor K. B. Vargan while War Office was considering purchase of Vargan’s “electron cloud.” Vargan was later killed by Norman Kent, member of Templar’s gang, Kent himself being killed by Dr Rayt Marius, foreign Secret Service agent also trying to secure Vargan’s invention. Motive, established by Templar’s subsequent letter published in the Press, was alleged to be prevention of use in threatened war of what Templar thought to be inhuman method of slaughter. Both Templar and Marius escaped and left England.

  Three months later Templar reappeared in England in connection with second plot organised by Marius to promote war, which was unknown to ourselves. Marius finally escaped again and has not been heard of since, but intrigue was exposed and Templar received free pardon for frustrating attempt to wreck Royal train.

  Subsequently continued campaign of fighting crime by criminal methods. Obtained evidence in several cases and secured arrests; also believed, without proof, to have caused deaths of Francis Lemuel, vice trader, Jack Farnberg, gunman, Ladek Kuzela, and others. Suspicion also exists in murder of Stephen Weald, alias Waldstein, and disappearance of Lord Essenden, during period when Templar was working to clear reputation of the late Assistant Commissioner Sir Francis Trelawny, under direct authority of present Chief Commissioner Sir Hamilton Dorn.

  Activities continued until he left England again six months ago.

  Most of the exploits mentioned above, as well as many others of which for obvious reasons we have no definite knowledge, have also been financially profitable, and Templar’s fortune, acquired by these means, has been credibly estimated at £500,000.

  Is also well known to police of France and Germany.

  The photograph followed, and at the end of the sheaf were clipped on the brief reports of the departments through which the information had already been passed.

  BUREAU OF CRIMINAL IDENTIFICATION:

  No record. Copies of photograph and description forwarded to Albany and Washington.

  BUREAU OF CRIMINAL ALIEN INVESTIGATION:

  Inquiries proceeding.

  MAIN OFFICE DIVISION:

  Inquiries proceeding.

  The Commissioner put up a hand and scratched his grey head. He read the letter through a second time, with his bushy eyebrows drawn down in a frown that wrinkled the bridge of his nose. His faded grey-blue eyes had flabby pouches under them, like blisters that have been drained without breaking the skin, and his face was lined with the same weariness. A grim embittered soul-weariness that was his reward for forty years of the futile battle with lawlessness—a lawlessness that walked arm in arm with those who were supposed to uphold the law.

  “You think this may have something to do with the letter that was sent to Irboll?” he said, when he had finished the second reading.

  Inspector John Fernack pushed back his battered hat and nodded—a curt phlegmatic jerk of his head. He stabbed at another paper on the Commissioner’s desk with a square stubby forefinger.

  “I’m guessing that way. See the monicker Scotland Yard says this guy goes under? The Saint, it says. Well, look at this drawing. I’m not much on art, and it looks to me like this guy Templar ain’t so hot either, but the idea’s there. See that figger. The sort of things kids draw when they first get hold of a pencil—just a circle for a head, and a straight line for the body and four more for the arms and legs, but you can see it’s meant to be sumpn human. An’ another circle floating on top of the head. When I was a kid I got took to a cathedral, once,” said Fernack, as if he were confessing some dark blot on his professional career, “an’ there were a lot of paintings of people with circles round their heads. They were saints, or sumpn, and those circles was supposed to be haloes.”

  The Commissioner did not smile.

  “What’s happening about Irboll?” he asked.

  “He comes up in the Court of General Sessions to get his case adjourned again this afternoon,” said Fernack disgustedly. He spat, with a twisted mouth, missing the cuspidor. “You know how it is. I never had much of a head for figgers, but I make it this’ll be the thirty-first or maybe the thirty-second time he’s been adjourned. Considering it’s only two years now since he plugged Ionetzki, we�
�ve still got a chance of seeing him on the hot seat before we die of old age. One hell of a chance!”

  Fernack’s lips thinned into a hard down-drawn line. He leaned forward across the desk, so that his big clenched fists crushed against the mahogany, and his eyes bored into Quistrom’s with a brightness like the simmer of burning acid.

  “There’s times when I wish I knew a guy like this Saint was here in New York—doing things like it says in that dossier,” he said. “There’s times when for two cents I’d resign from the Force and do ’em myself. I’d sleep better nights if I knew there was things like that going on in this city.

  “Ionetzki was my sidekick, when I was a lieutenant in the Fifth Precinct—before they pushed me up here to headquarters. A square copper—and you know what that means. You’ve been through the works. You know what it’s all about. Harness bull—gumshoe—precinct captain—you’ve been through it all, like the rest of us. Which makes you about the first Commissioner that hasn’t had to start learning what kinda uniform a cop wears. Don’t get me wrong, Chief. I’m not handin’ you any oil. But what I mean, you know how a guy feels—an’ what it means to be able to say a guy was a square copper.”

  Fernack’s iron hands opened, and closed again on the edge of the desk.

  “That’s what Ionetzki was,” he said. “A square copper. Not very bright, but square. An’ he walks square into a hold-up, where another copper might’ve decided to take a walk round the block and not hear anything. An’ that yellow rat Irboll shoots him in the guts.”

  Quistrom did not answer; neither did he move. His tired eyes rested quietly on the tensed face of the man standing over him—rested there with a queer sympathy for that unexpected outburst. But the weariness in the eyes was graven too deep for anything to sweep it away.

  “So we pull Irboll in,” Fernack said, “and everybody knows he did it. And we beat him up. Yeah, we sweat him all right. But what the hell good does that do? A length of rubber hose ain’t the same as a bullet in the guts. It doesn’t make you die slowly, with your inside burning and your mouth chewed to rags so you won’t scream out loud with the agony of it. It doesn’t leave a good woman without her man, an’ good kids without a father. But we sweat him. And then what?