BARON VON DORTVENN is one visitor to London who is not likely to spend any sleepless nights on account of the wave of crime with which the police are trying in vain to cope. He has come to England to look after the bracelet of Charlemagne, which he is lending to the International Jewellery Exhibition which opens on Monday. The famous bracelet is a massive circle of gold four inches wide and thickly encrusted with rubies. It weighs eight pounds, and is virtually priceless. At present it is locked in the drawer of an ordinary desk at the house in Campden Hill which the Baron has rented for a short season. He takes it with him wherever he goes. It has been in the care of his family for five centuries, and the Baron regards it as a mascot. Baron von Dortvenn scorns the precautions which would be taken by most people who found themselves in charge of such a priceless heirloom. "Every criminal is a coward," the Baron told an Evening News representative yesterday. "I have been attacked three times in the course of my travels with the bracelet —"
"Sounds like a job for our friend the Fox," remarked Peter Quentin carelessly; and was amazed at the look Simon Templar gave him. It leapt from the Saint's eyes like blued steel.
"Think so?" drawled the Saint.
He skimmed the rest of the half-column, which was mainly concerned with the Baron's boasts of what he would do to anyone who attempted to steal his heirloom. Half-way down there was an inset photograph of a typical Junker with a double chin, close-cropped hair, monocle, and waxed moustaches.
"A nasty-looking piece of work," said the Saint thoughtfully.
Patricia Holm finished her Dry Sack rather quickly. She knew all the signs — and only that afternoon the Saint had hinted that he might behave himself for a week.
"I'm starving," she said.
They went into the restaurant, and the subject might have been forgotten during the Saint's profound study of the menu and wine list, for Simon had a very delicate discrimination in the luxuries of life. Let us say that the subject might have been forgotten — the opportunity to forget it simply did not arise.
"To get the best out of caviare, you should eat it like they used to in Rumania — in half-pound portions, with a soup-ladle," said the Saint, when the cloud of bustling waiters had dispersed.
And then he relaxed in his chair. Relaxed completely, and lighted a cigarette with infinite deliberation.