"Why not?" asked the Saint reasonably. "Other people have. And the publicity alone would be almost worth it. Ask your press agent. Besides, it needn't really even cost you anything. That famous diamond necklace of yours, for instance — even in the limited markets I could take it to, it d fetch fifty thousand dollars easily. And if you bought yourself a good imitation hardly anyone would know the difference."
For a moment her mouth stayed open at the implication of what he was saying, and then she burst into a deep cackle of laughter.
"You almost scared me," she said. "But people have tried to bluff me before. Still, it was nice of you to give me the warning." She stood up. "Mr. Templar, I'm not going to threaten you with the police because I know that would only make you laugh. Besides, I think I can look after myself. I'm not going to give you fifty thousand dollars, of course, and I'm not going to let you steal my necklace. If you can get either, you'll be a clever man. Will you come and see me again when you've hatched a plot?"
The Saint stood up also, and smoothed the clothes over his sinewy seventy-four inches. His lazy blue eyes twinkled.
"That sounds almost like a challenge."
"You can take it as one if you like."
"I happen to know that your necklace isn't insured — no company in the country will ever carry you for a big risk since that fraudulent claim that got you a suspended sentence when you were in the Follies. Insurance company black lists don't fade."
Her thin smile broadened.
"I got ten thousand dollars, just the same, and that's more than covered any losses I've had since," she said calmly. "No, Mr. Templar, I'm not worried about insurance. If you can get what you're after I'll be the first to congratulate you."
Simon's brows slanted at her with an impudent humour that would have given her fair warning if she had been less confident. He had completely recovered from the smithereening of his first ingenious plans, and already his swift imagination was playing with a new and better scheme.