“The Saint? The Robin Hood of Modern Crime, the twentieth century’s brightest buccaneer, the” — she blushed — “the devil with dames.”
It occurred to Simon, with a shock of remembrance, that her phrases were exactly those of Big Bill’s when he learned his host’s identity. And even they had been far from new. The Saint thought of this for a moment, and rejected what it suggested. He shook his head.
“Let’s consider that fire opal then, children. It’s slightly fabulous, you know. Now, I don’t think anybody knows more than I do about famous jools. Besides such well-known items as the Cullinan and the Hope diamonds, I am familiar with the history of almost every noteworthy bauble that was ever dug up. There’s the Waters diamond, for example. No more than a half dozen persons know of its existence, its perfect golden flawless color. And the Chiang emerald, that great and beautiful stone that has been seen by only three living people, myself included. But this cameo opal is the damn warp of history. It couldn’t be hidden for three generations without word of it getting out. In the course of time, I couldn’t have helped hearing about it. But I didn’t... So it doesn’t exist. But it does. I know it exists; I’ve held it in my hand—”
“And put it in your pocket,” Big Bill said.
The Saint felt in his jacket.
“So I did.” He pulled out the chamois bag with its precious contents and made as if to toss it. “Here.”
Big Bill stopped him with flared hands.
“Please keep it for me, Mr Templar. Things will get rather bad around here soon. I don’t want Appopoulis to get his fat hands on it.”
“Soon? Surely not for a couple of hours.”
Big Bill frowned.