By Leslie Charteris
Diving deep into difficulty, the Saint takes half in an underwater treasure hunt fraught with unexpected risk. 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)
Simon nodded vaguely. yet there has been not anything obscure in his brain. each fibre of his being looked as if it would were dissected into a person sentience of its personal: he used to be aware of the power of each cellphone and corpuscle of his physique, as if each one separate atom of him was once pressed into the provider of that supercharged aliveness. His entire mind used to be ready, cat-like, for Vogel to teach his hand. Vogel gave him no signal. His delicate aggressively profiled face could have been moulded out of wax, with its visual appeal of tough and uniform opacity lower than the skinny glaze of pores and skin. The Saint’s keenest scrutiny may well locate no flaw in it. He had watched Vogel operating up via a conspiracy of tricky and marvellously juggled tensions in the direction of a climax of crafty that were exploded like a soap-bubble on the very quick of main issue; he knew that even after that Vogel should have taken, a re-staggering surprise whilst he came across the vanishment in their prisoner and the shut eye of Otto Arnheim; he may well bet that even Vogel’s impregnable placidity should have felt the impression of a cumulation of reverses that will have shaken the other guy to the beginnings of worry; and but there has been now not a microscopical fissure within the modern veneer of that vulturine face. Simon admitted afterwards that the realisation of all that used to be implied via that immovable self-command gave him a queer short-term superstitious feeling of utter helplessness, like not anything else that he had ever skilled within the presence of one other man or woman. He took carry of the sensation with a wide awake attempt and trod it ruthlessly down. Vogel was once conserving his drink up in a single regular hand, imperturbably surveying the main points of the saloon, with the eyelids drooping lower than the shadow of his black overhanging brows, and Simon watched him with no tremor within the careless strong humour of his gaze. “But this can be a fascinating boat,” Vogel, remarked idly. “What is her tonnage? ” “About twenty-five. ” “Delightful…” Vogel acquired up and commenced to wander round, learning the panelling, touching the fittings, investigating the inventive economic climate of area with the entire quiet excitement of an fanatic. “I envy you, really—to have the ability to have anything like this all to your self, with out bothering approximately crews and formalities. If I have been 20 years younger…Did you will have her outfitted out your self? ” “Yes. ” “Of direction. And are all of the different rooms as appealing as this one? ” in order that used to be the way it used to be coming. The Saint felt a tiny pulse starting to beat long ago within the depths of his mind, just like the frantic ticking of clock racing with time. “They’re beautiful comfortable,” he stated modestly, and Vogel stuck him up and not using a second’s hesitation. “I want i'll see them. I’m drastically interested—I had no notion a small boat can be so sumptuous. it's possible you'll even convert me! ” Simon introduced the top of his cigarette to a pink glow, and feathered a fading cloud of smoke via his lips. He was once for it. The fuse was once lighted. there has been no excuse, in spite of the fact that believable, no tactful manner of fixing the topic, despite the fact that fluent, from which Vogel wouldn't draw his personal conclusions.