She laughed shortly.
“That’s two questions. But I’ll tell you. Nobody goes too far because they wouldn’t be here if they did. Or they’d only do it once. And then — out. No guy wants to live in the middle of a mountain feud, and after all, Freddie’s the meal ticket. He’s got a right to have some peace for his money. So everybody behaves pretty well. As for marrying him — that’s funny.”
“Guys have been married before.”
“Not Freddie Pellman. He can’t afford to.”
“One thing that we obviously have in common,” said the Saint, “is a sense of humor.”
She shook her head.
“I’m not kidding. Didn’t you know about him?”
“No. I didn’t know about him.”
“There’s a will,” she said. “All his money is in a trust fund. He just gets the income. I guess Papa Pellman knew Freddie pretty well, and so he didn’t trust him. He sewed everything up tight. Freddie never will be able to touch most of the capital, but he gets two or three million to play with when he’s thirty-five. On one condition. He mustn’t marry before that. I guess Papa knew all about girls like me. If Freddie marries before he’s thirty-five, he doesn’t get another penny. Ever. Income or anything. It all goes to a fund to feed stray cats or something like that.”
“So.” The Saint poured himself some coffee. “I suppose Papa thought that Freddie would have attained a certain amount of discretion by that time. How long does that keep him safe for, by the way?”