The Saint In New York (The Saint Series)
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The New York underworld in the 1930s was no place for an amateur. The gangsters tended to shoot first and ask questions later, and half the police were crooked whilst the other half were powerless against a corrupt judiciary. Luckily, Simon Templar is no amateur. In the space of forty-eight hours, he cleans up corruption in New York and brings the mob and its mysterious leader to justice. Another weekend’s work—for the Saint.
a performance to which Simon Templar raised his hat. It had the tremendous simplicity of true greatness. In a deceitful hypocritical world, where all the active population was scrambling frantically for all the dough it could get its hands on, and at the same time smugly proclaiming that money could not buy happiness, it burned like a bright candle of sincerity. Not for Wallis Nather were any of these pettifogging affectations. He had his dough, and if he believed that it could not buy happiness,
like bar Centre Street.” The granite lines of the detective’s face twitched. There were limits to his capacity for boiling indignation, a point where the soaring curve of his wrath curled over and fell down a precipitous switchback—and the gay audacity of the man at his side had boosted him to that point in two terrific jumps. For a second the detective’s temper seemed to teeter breathlessly on the pinnacle like a trolley stalling on a scenic railway, and then it slipped down the gradient on the
the parking lights to illuminate the scene. A good enough spot for a murder, the Saint was forced to admit, and he wondered how many other men had dared the vengeance of Dutch Kuhlmann and the Big Fellow, only to pay for their temerity in that lonely place. With the switching off of the purring engine all sound seemed to have been blotted out of the night, as if the world had been folded under a dense pack of wool; even the distant hum of other cars way back on the highway they had left, if
down and out.” She was as casual about it as if she had been discussing an ephemeral scandal of nine days’ importance, as if nothing of great interest to anyone hung on what she said. “He told me about his idea. It was a good one. I was able to help him because I knew how to contact the sort of people he had to get hold of. I’ve been his mouthpiece ever since—until tonight.” “D’you mean you—parted company.” “Oh, no. I just changed my mind.” “He must be a remarkable fellow,” said the Saint.
by distributing quantities of free poisoned cigarettes. His second novel, The White Rider, was published the following spring, and in one memorable scene shows the hero chasing after his damsel in distress, only for him to overtake the villains, leap into their car…and promptly faint. These two plot highlights may go some way to explaining Charteris’s comment on Meet—the Tiger!, published in September 1928, that “it was only the third book I’d written, and the best, I would say, for it was that