The Saint's Getaway (Saint Series)
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The Saint is back―50 audiobooks are now available starring the debonair classic crime hero. Simon Templar is the Saint―daring, dazzling, and just a little disreputable. On the side of the law, but standing outside it, he dispenses his own brand of justice one criminal at a time.
The Saint is on holiday in Austria with Patricia and his friend, Monty, fully intending to give up crime and lead a respectable life. All his good intentions come to nothing, though, when he sees a man being attacked by thugs and feels obliged to intervene. The stranger seems remarkably ungrateful, and soon they learn why: he is a thief, with a prize that men will kill for. Before the day is out, the Saint and his friends find themselves in a race against time, Prince Rudolf, and the police to retain ownership of the priceless jewels.
Leslie Charteris was born in Singapore and moved to England in 1919. He left Cambridge University early when his first novel was accepted for publication. He wrote novels about the Saint throughout his life, becoming one of the 20th century's most prolific and popular authors.
head, watching the two men who had just entered the room. They were, in their way, a brace of the most flabbergasting phenomena that he had seen for a long while, and yet they oiled into the inexorable scheme of things with a smoothness that was almost wicked. And the Saint’s face was utterly sterile of emotion as he tacked on to his opening announcement the one sweeping qualification that the arrival of those two men implied. “If we get away at all,” he said. 2 With the cigarette
hardly expected to renew his acquaintance with the prince quite so soon, and yet the conversation he had had with the detectives who now slept peacefully in the dining-room had illuminated many mysteries. It had indicated, amongst other things, that Rudolf was a worker with a classic turn of speed in his own class—if the Saint had required any enlightenment on that subject. Certain facts had been mentioned in that conversation which could never have been known to the police without Rudolf’s
throats or the unequivocal stammer of artillery. Then a door was flung open at the northward end of the carriage, and the heavy tread of official-sounding boots made his heart miss a beat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two men in uniform advancing down the passage. They stopped at the first compartment and barked a question, and the chattering of the group of Italians further up died away abruptly. A deeper stillness lapped down on the perspective, and through it Monty heard the question
making Nemesis look like a decrepit washer-woman going berserk on a couple of small ports. She was actually smiling at him, and the unblushing impudence of her put the finishing touch to Monty Hayward’s debacle. “It’s…it’s someone I met on the train,” he said faintly, and knew that Patricia Holm and the Saint were leaning on each other’s shoulders in a convulsion of Homeric mirth. It was Monty’s only consolation that his Waterloo could scarcely have overtaken him in a more attractive guise. The
smoked tranquilly until his turn came, and then he detached the cigarette-end from the long jade holder, placed the holder leisurely in an inside pocket, and extended his own hands for the bracelets. “This is a unique experience,” he remarked, as Monty locked the cuffs on his wrists. “May I ask where we are to go?” “Upstairs,” said the Saint coolly. “We’ve got a little talk coming, and the air’s better up there.” The prince raised his sensitive eyebrows, but he made no reply. They went up the