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.But the Saint's intuition told him that the final goodnights were not racing up on him.Samantha nestled close, her head resting on his shoulder, and they spokePage 33 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlsparingly as Gaby obeyed his instructions and sent the Buick speeding backtoCannes.Samantha's suite occupied a comer of the floor, providing a panorama of thebay town from the floodlit prison of the Man in the Iron Mask ontheislandofSte.Margu6rite on the left to the Suquet in the western background.She made no move to call for room service.Her arms hung loosely around theSaint's shoulders, and he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek.Her voice barely rose above a whisper."If you're Sebastian Tombs of the blackboards and cobwebby laboratories, I'mFlorence Nightingale."Simon's lips brushed hers in a fleeting kiss."You minister most ably, Miss Nightingale."Samantha drew back slightly, looking directly into his eyes."Who are you really?""My name is Simon Templar."The revelation of his true identity had, in the past, been known to provoke anumber of reactions-fear, anger, and disbelief being the usual ones.Butrarely had he experienced the response that Samantha displayed.She laughed."Simon.The Saint! Thank God, I thought you might be the Law.But youare working for Maclett?""Yes."Samantha stopped laughing and looked thoughtful, moving away slightly."We must get together."Simon's arms encircled her waist."I'm all for togetherness."She ignored that interpretation for the moment."Help me persuade him to go and work inMoscow, and I'll split my fee withyou." Samantha removed herself from his embrace and sat on the arm of a sofa."You sell people to the Communists?"Samantha lit a cigaret and considered the glowing end pensively."Only a few of the best.Listen, it's not such a bad deal.The equivalent oftwo hundred thousand dollars a year, the big flat inMoscow, the dacha in thecountry, the box at the Bolshoi, and the big car, with no traffic jams becausenobody else has one."The Saint laughed."Sam, I'm afraid you're a cynic.""That's just a name romantics call realists." She walked slowly back to him,Page 34 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlher arms sliding up the front of his jacket and resting on his shoulders."Let's talk it over."Her lips moved to meet his, stopping a fraction of an inch away."Keep talking," Simon murmured."I don't make up my mind in a hurry."In the event, the ensuing conversation was less than verbose, but it stillgave the Saint no indication of what else Samantha had hoped to gain from it.Or if, indeed, there was anything.He was sleeping peacefully in his own room when he was awakened by aninsistent knocking on the door.As he rolled out of bed, a glance at his wristwatch showed him that it was nine in the morning-a not unreasonable hour forvisitation, except that he was not expecting one.The visitor was Emma, and she confronted him furiously."Where were you all night? I kept calling you.""I was a bit late getting in.I had to go to an Arab chum's bar mitzvah."She stormed in as he stood hospitably aside."What's going on? My father got a message to meet you at the port athalf-past nine-""Which port?""I don't know, but it said opposite the Hotel Mediterranee.I found the notein his room, so I thought I'd find out if you'd already left.Why-"The Saint reversed his welcome abruptly, turning his back towards the door."I'm leaving now, as soon as I can get dressed.I'm afraid I overslept.Sorry, I just haven't time to explain.I'll see you later."He physically pushed her out, unceremoniously but necessarily.As he ran anelectric razor over his chin, splashed cold water on his face, and threw onthe nearest shirt and slacks, he was cursing himself more than Samantha."Very neat." His thoughts were racing."You keep me occupied while yourpeople organize a snatch."In front of the hotel, he looked around desperately for a taxi, for in such alocality, at that hour, the world was barely coining to life.But as if inanswer to his prayer, a white Buick seemed to materialise."Le quai St.Pierre-et gazez!"Gaby nodded, wrenching the wheel almost full circle and sending themsquealing out of the hotel grounds.Ignoring the protesting horns and flashinglights of the cars that tried to block his way, he sped the taxi along theBoulevard.Professor Maclett had, probably, chosen to make the rendezvous as a morningstroll along the sea front.Even now, it was not absolutely impossible for theSaint to keep his mythical appointment close to time.The early traffic on theCroisette was scanty, and in only a minimum of minutes Gaby was pulling intothe parking lot beside the quay opposite the hotel.Page 35 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThe Saint was out of the car before it had stopped, his eyes franticallyscanning the peaceful morning scene as he hurried along the wharf.Then,through a gap in the sardine-packed rows of boats, he saw an open launchcreaming its way towards the open sea, and even from that distance he couldidentify the burly figure and flaming hair of Professor Maclett standing inthe stern.Gaby had climbed out of his cab and come up beside the Saint, following theline of his eyes.Simon turned to him."I need a boat.A fast boat
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