The first fragment was quite clear, since the newcomer uttered it before he had entered the alcove: “I am Inspector Mathieu...” LeGrand’s reactions were almost inaudible but had overtones of puzzled incomprehension. Inspector Mathieu mentioned a young woman, paintings, Leonardo da Vinci. LeGrand said, raising his voice, “But it is unbelievable...” Inspector Mathieu went on to insist, at length, that it was quite believable, but the details of his statements were lost as the street door of the salon opened and introduced a period of traffic noise from outside. Then, after a few seconds, the expensive cushioned hush of the salon was inviolate again, and the Saint moved around the end of one of the partitions to see a chic and beautiful woman of about thirty standing inside the doorway. Her outfit of brown suit and gloves did justice to a very deserving figure.
“Monsieur Marcel LeGrand?” she asked in French with a foreign accent so slight that it was impossible to identify.
Simon looked at her honey-colored hair and green eyes, and regretfully admitted that he was not Monsieur LeGrand. At that point LeGrand himself, hearing the voices, came alone very quickly out of the alcove and scurried toward the green-eyed lady. Apparently they had never seen one another before, but were otherwise acquainted. LeGrand was looking at the woman in a peculiar way as he nervously went toward her.
“You are...” he began in a low voice.
“Yes,” she said.
LeGrand was glancing meaningfully back over his shoulder without completely turning his head.
“Come back in ten minutes,” he whispered. “We can talk alone then.”
She looked at him with the first traces of indignation. Then, over his shoulder she saw the dark-haired Inspector Mathieu step between the curtains of the alcove and look toward her. Realizing that it was to him that LeGrand’s nervous glances referred she suddenly changed her expression and spoke in a completely natural voice.
“Well, if you are busy, monsieur, I shall come back later. I am thinking of something for my husband’s birthday.”
“I am certain we can furnish the perfect gift for him. Would you care to wait?”
LeGrand had regained his usual sangfroid and was speaking at normal volume.
“No, thank you,” the woman said. “Until later.”
“Au revoir, then. Thank you, madame.”
Inspector Mathieu waited by the curtains.
“I hope you have not lost a customer because of me,” he said.
“The lady was in a hurry,” LeGrand replied. “But of course the sooner we can finish this discussion, the sooner I can get on with my business.”
Mathieu looked at the Saint, who no longer had any intention of leaving LeGrand’s gallery, where so many fascinating bits of side-play took place in the course of an afternoon, until he had satisfied his curiosity as to what was going on. He stood his ground and looked mildly back at Mathieu, who seemed to grow a little uneasy under the gaze of those brilliant blue eyes.
“Well,” the Inspector said, “I believe I have given you all the facts...”
“Facts!” LeGrand said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “Fantasies would be a better word.”
“We shall see,” Mathieu said.
He bowed slightly to the art dealer, granted the Saint a slight nod of his head, and walked to the door. LeGrand did not accompany him all the way, and just before stepping out on to the sidewalk the Inspector paused and spoke over his shoulder.
“We have kept this quite secret,” he said. “If you wish to speak with me on this subject, call me only at the number — I have given you.”
When he was gone, Marcel LeGrand exhaled like an underwater swimmer surfacing at the limit of his endurance. His body seemed to sag a little and he put one hand over his heart, which apparently was going a good deal faster than its normal rate.
“I think I’ve been missing something,” the Saint remarked. “I never realized there was quite so much excitement in the art business.”
“Nor did I,” LeGrand said weakly. “If I survive all this I think I shall retire.”
“You asked me to stay,” Simon said. “I hope that means you’re intending to tell me what ‘all this’ is about — or did it just mean you still want to sell me something?”
LeGrand sank down on a bright purple leather chair in the center of the display room and motioned Simon to take its yellow mate.
“Both,” he answered. “I both wanted to tell you something and at the same time interest you as a buyer. This sudden intrusion of the police was completely unexpected.”
The Saint had taken the chair which LeGrand had offered. He settled back and crossed his long legs.
“And Mata Hari?” he asked.
“Pardon?” said LeGrand.
“That lovely creature you shooed out of here a minute ago.”
“Ah, she,” the dealer said. “Yes; she is a part of what we are calling ‘all this.’ She is almost the most important part.”
“Almost?”
“Yes. What she has is the most important.”
The Saint smiled reflectively.
“Having seen her, I wouldn’t question that... except to ask if you have anything specific in mind.”
LeGrand leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. His voice was low, secretive, and almost melodramatically intense.
“To leave all humor aside, this is truthfully the most fantastic thing which has ever happened to me. It is an art dealer’s dream — if it is true — and the greatest art discovery of this century. The young woman you saw here may have in her possession five paintings — three Leonardo da Vincis, one Titian, and one Raphael — which until now were not known to exist, and any one of which would be worth more than all the paintings in this room put together.”
2
Marcel LeGrand had no time to continue his explanation. The door of the room opened and the same woman who had come in a few minutes before stepped from the sunlight into the strangely artificial atmosphere of the salon.
“I am sorry, Monsieur,” she said. “I am afraid I cannot continue to wait. If you...”
Marcel LeGrand was instantly on his feet, hurrying toward her and showing every sign of being ready to prostrate himself on the carpet in front of her. With simultaneous shrugs, wags of his head, and wavings of his hands he shepherded her toward the cluster of four chairs in the center of the room, apologizing every step of the way. Simon was standing, waiting with more outward nonchalance than he actually felt. His interest had been aroused, but more than that, he was experiencing that peculiar sense of involvement that had so often marked the point of no return in his adventures — a feeling of fated inclusion in a course of events in whose beginnings he had had no part, but in whose outcome he was destined to play a crucial role. He had no idea how he might become further involved in LeGrand’s business, but he suddenly had no doubt that he had had only a taste of what was to come.
“You will understand my behavior when you hear what happened,” LeGrand was saying to his new guest. “It was an impossible situation, and there was nothing I could do but ask you to leave.”
The woman looked at Simon icily.
“I see that you still have business,” she said to LeGrand. “Perhaps I should go elsewhere.”
That sent the dealer into renewed paroxysms of apology and entreaty.
“This gentleman is Monsieur Simon Templar, a most valued client and a man completely to be trusted,” LeGrand concluded. “You must have heard of him? The Saint?”
The woman’s green eyes revealed nothing.
“I lead a rather sheltered life,” she said.