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strings pulled in Rome, where Mussolini's wagon careered behind the maniac
star of Berlin. It could all be plausible . . . And the Saint wondered whether
it was right that he should ruthlessly call it good fortune that no man had
come out alive from that latest sacrifice to the ravening ambition of the
hysterical megalomaniac who was putting out the lights of Europe as a
screaming guttersnipe would break windows . . .
He went back to the bar room and found Gallipolis regarding Hoppy with a
despairing frown.
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"That cricket outfit is going to wow the Indians," he told Simon
apprehensively. "But I gave you the only things I've got that 'd come near
fitting him. Maybe he can swap it for a blanket. Anyhow it'll help keep the
rattlesnakes away."
"We're goin' out huntin', ain't we?" argued Mr Uniatz. "I buy dese sport
clothes in Times Square, so dey can't be nut'n wrong wit' dem."
Gallipolis gave it up and pushed back the bar.
"When I'm walking wide-eyed into trouble, I like my chopper," he explained.
He took his Tommy gun out of the floor cavity, picked up a can of cartridges,
and weighted down another pocket with a heavy automatic. A powerful flashlight
followed. Simon was keyed for treachery like a taut violin string, but there
was no sign of it. Gallipolis turned down the lamp until it flickered out,
shone the flashlight against the door, and said: "Come on."
They followed the path across the palmetto land, with the Greek leading the
way. There were small fleecy clouds playing tag with the moon, but the stars
gave a steady glimmer of illumination that relieved the fluctuating dark. A
frog barked in the canal, and the night was full of the gabble and screech of
insects.
Simon stopped for a moment to examine Mr Uniatz's Lincoln again under the
flashlight.
"This is what you came in, I suppose," he said.
"Dat's it, boss," assented Mr Uniatz unblushingly. "I borrow it from de clip
jemt, on account of I t'ink I am goin' back."
"We'd better move it out-it's probably on the air by now. I'll stop about a
mile up the road, and you can park it and get in with us."
He started the Cadillac and let it go, and braked again after they had been
on the highway about eighty seconds and the last of Miami had fallen behind.
While the lights of the following car went out, and he waited for Hoppy to
join them, he took another look at the Greek.
"I don't want you to misunderstand anything, comrade," he murmured, "but
there's one other side to that grand I promised you. If I can buy you, I
expect anybody else can. But you ought to remember one thing before you go
into the auction market. Hoppy and I are both a little quick on the trigger
sometimes. If we thought you were going to try to be clever and turn that
perforator of yours the wrong way, your mother might have to do her job all
over again."
Gallipolis gave him the full brilliance of his limpid black eyes.
"I never met a big shot like you before, mister." he said curiously. "Does
anybody know just what your angle is?"
"Believe it or not, I've done most of my killings for the sake of peace,"
said the Saint cryptically.
The Cadillac swept on again until the speedometer touched seventy, eighty,
eightyfive and crept towards ninety. Bugs battered shatteringly against the
windshield and disintegrated in elongated smears. Simon's face was a mask of
cold graven bronze with azure eyes. Then the world about them disappeared
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entirely, and they were roaring through mist westward on the Tamiami Trail.
3
A single light showed like a puffball through the fog and rocketed up to meet
them.
This is Ochopee," said the Greek, and touched Simon's arm.
The Cadillac slowed down. The light turned out to be a single bulb over a
pump in front of a darkened filling station. It was the only sign of life in
the shrouded town.
"Boss," said Mr Uniatz from the back seat, in a voice of glum foreboding,
"dey pulled in de sidewalks. If dey's a bar open now it's because somebody
forgot to lock up."
Gallipolis said: "Charlie Halwuk lives on a dredge about half a mile on the
other side of town."
"What sort of dredge?" Simon asked.
"There's a lot of 'em around here. They used 'em to build the road, and then
left 'em. Now they're nothing but skeletons with most of the planking gone.
Keep straight ahead."
Simon drove on. Above the whisper of the engine, the night emphasised its
silence with the clatter of crickets and a throaty chorus of bullfrogs. It
sounded like a thunderclap when the Greek said "Turn here." Simon pulled over
and saw the headlights glisten on two lines of milky water.
"There's sand underneath it," said Gallipolis. "Go on."
They followed the ruts for a tenth of a mile or more, and then Simon stopped
again. A great flat boat, with grinning ribs at the stern topped with a crazy
superstructure, showed starkly in the double glare of the headlights. The
Saint switched on the spotlight and played it from side to side.
Gallipolis called "Charlie!" musically, and said: "Blow your horn."
The howl of the klaxon rasped through the cheeping stillness, and when Simon
took his hand from the button the bullfrogs had stopped their oratorio. Close
beside them on the left, the air was suddenly beaten to tatters with a
deafening whirr like the wings of a thousand invisible angels. White shapes
floated upwards, loomed briefly in the headlight beams, and were gone.
"Birds," said Gallipolis mechanically. "We frightened them away."
In the back, Mr Uniatz said pessimistically: "I bet de jernt has been
padlocked."
The Greek reached down beside him, turned around, and magnanimously presented
Hoppy with a fresh quart of shine.
"I'm charging this stuff to you at a buck a bottle," he told Simon. "It's a
good thing I brought some along."
Simon sat still. A man had come slowly erect on the deck of the abandoned
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