[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Somebody else thought he could improve on the system of firstaid which was being practised; and Simon handed the case over to him and fadedquietly through the swelling congregation.He moved on towards the Hotel de la Mer, as quickly as he dared, but withanxiety tearing ahead of his footsteps.That chance encounter if it was achance encounter had wasted more of his precious and dwindling margin of time.And then he stopped again, and plunged down in a shop door-way to tie up animaginary shoelace.He had seen Kurt Vogel, smooth and immaculate in a whitesuit and a white-topped cap.turning into the entrance of the hotel.He wastoo late.And something inside him turned cold as he realised that there wasnothing more that he could do about it nothing that would not risk makingLoretta's danger ten times greater by linking her with him.Murdoch had wonafter all, and Loretta would have to make the voyage unwarned.V.HOW SIMON TEMPLAR WALKED IN A GARDEN,AND ORACE ALSO HAD HIS TURNIT was half-past four when the Corsair came skimming up over the blue swellpast St Martin's Point, with her sails trimmed to coax the last ounce of powerfrom the mild south-westerly breeze which had held steadily on her quarter allthe way from the Pierres des Portes.In those five and a half hours since theyhad cleared the rocks and shoals that fringe the Côtes du Nôrd, Simon Templarhad never taken his hands from the wheel: his eyes had been reduced toemotionless chips of blue stone, me-chanical units of co-operation with hishands, ceaselessly watch-ing the curves of the canvas overhead for the firsthint of a flut-ter that would signify a single breath of the wind going byun-used.During those hours he almost surrendered his loyalty to the artisticgrace of sail, and yearned for the drumming engines of the Falkenberg, whichhad overtaken them in the first hour and left a white trail of foam hissingaway to the horizon.He hardly knew himself what was in his mind.With all the gallant thrust ofthe Corsair through the green seas under him, he was as helpless as if he hadbeen marooned on an iceberg at the South Pole.Everything that might be meantto happen on the Falkenberg could still happen while he was out of reach.Vogel could say "She decided not to come," or "There was an accident"; withall the crew of the Falkenberg partnering in the racket, it would be almostimpossible to prove.The Saint stared at the slowly rising coastline with a darken-ing of satiricalself-mockery in his gaze.Did he want proof? There had been many days when hePage 55 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlwas his own judge and jury: it was quicker, and it left fewer loopholes.Andyet.It wasn't quite so simple as that.Revenge was an unthinkable triviality, aremote shadow of tragedy that cut grim lines be-tween his lowered brows.Morethan any revenge he wanted to see Loretta again, to see the untiring mischiefin her grey eyes and hear the smiling huskiness of her voice, to feel thetouch of her hand again, or.More than any boodle that might lie at the endof the adventure.Why? He didn't know.Something had happened to him inthe few hours that he had known her something, he realised with a twist ofdevastating candour, that had happened more than once in his life before, andmight well happen again.The breeze slackened as they drew up the channel, and he started theauxiliary.As they chugged past the sombre ugliness of Castle Cornet androunded the point of the Castle Breakwater, he had a glimpse of the whiteaero-foil lines of the Falk-enberg already lying snug within the harbour, andfelt an odd indefinable pressure inside his chest.He sat side-saddle on the edge of the cockpit and lighted a cigarette whileOrace finished the work of tidying up.The Falk-enberg had probably been ather berth for three hours by then, and apart from a jerseyed seaman who waslethargically washing off the remains of salt spray from her varnish, and whohad scarcely looked at the Corsair as she came past, there was noth-ing to beobserved on board.Most likely Vogel and his party were on shore; but Loretta.He shrugged, with the steel brightening in his eyes.Presently he wouldknow many an-swers."Wot nex', sir?"Orace stood beside him, as stoical as a whiskered gargoyle; and the Saintmoved his cigarette in the faintest gesture of direc-tion."You watch that boat.Don't let them know you're doing it you'd better gobelow and fix yourself behind one of the port-holes most of the time.Butwatch it.If a girl comes off it, or a box or a bundle or anything that mightcontain a girl, you get on your way and stick to her like a fly-paper.Otherwise you stay watching that ship till I come back or your moustache growsdown to your knees.Got it?""Yessir."Orace went below, unquestioningly, to his vigil; and the Saint stood up andsettled his belt [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl trzylatki.xlx.pl
.Somebody else thought he could improve on the system of firstaid which was being practised; and Simon handed the case over to him and fadedquietly through the swelling congregation.He moved on towards the Hotel de la Mer, as quickly as he dared, but withanxiety tearing ahead of his footsteps.That chance encounter if it was achance encounter had wasted more of his precious and dwindling margin of time.And then he stopped again, and plunged down in a shop door-way to tie up animaginary shoelace.He had seen Kurt Vogel, smooth and immaculate in a whitesuit and a white-topped cap.turning into the entrance of the hotel.He wastoo late.And something inside him turned cold as he realised that there wasnothing more that he could do about it nothing that would not risk makingLoretta's danger ten times greater by linking her with him.Murdoch had wonafter all, and Loretta would have to make the voyage unwarned.V.HOW SIMON TEMPLAR WALKED IN A GARDEN,AND ORACE ALSO HAD HIS TURNIT was half-past four when the Corsair came skimming up over the blue swellpast St Martin's Point, with her sails trimmed to coax the last ounce of powerfrom the mild south-westerly breeze which had held steadily on her quarter allthe way from the Pierres des Portes.In those five and a half hours since theyhad cleared the rocks and shoals that fringe the Côtes du Nôrd, Simon Templarhad never taken his hands from the wheel: his eyes had been reduced toemotionless chips of blue stone, me-chanical units of co-operation with hishands, ceaselessly watch-ing the curves of the canvas overhead for the firsthint of a flut-ter that would signify a single breath of the wind going byun-used.During those hours he almost surrendered his loyalty to the artisticgrace of sail, and yearned for the drumming engines of the Falkenberg, whichhad overtaken them in the first hour and left a white trail of foam hissingaway to the horizon.He hardly knew himself what was in his mind.With all the gallant thrust ofthe Corsair through the green seas under him, he was as helpless as if he hadbeen marooned on an iceberg at the South Pole.Everything that might be meantto happen on the Falkenberg could still happen while he was out of reach.Vogel could say "She decided not to come," or "There was an accident"; withall the crew of the Falkenberg partnering in the racket, it would be almostimpossible to prove.The Saint stared at the slowly rising coastline with a darken-ing of satiricalself-mockery in his gaze.Did he want proof? There had been many days when hePage 55 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlwas his own judge and jury: it was quicker, and it left fewer loopholes.Andyet.It wasn't quite so simple as that.Revenge was an unthinkable triviality, aremote shadow of tragedy that cut grim lines be-tween his lowered brows.Morethan any revenge he wanted to see Loretta again, to see the untiring mischiefin her grey eyes and hear the smiling huskiness of her voice, to feel thetouch of her hand again, or.More than any boodle that might lie at the endof the adventure.Why? He didn't know.Something had happened to him inthe few hours that he had known her something, he realised with a twist ofdevastating candour, that had happened more than once in his life before, andmight well happen again.The breeze slackened as they drew up the channel, and he started theauxiliary.As they chugged past the sombre ugliness of Castle Cornet androunded the point of the Castle Breakwater, he had a glimpse of the whiteaero-foil lines of the Falk-enberg already lying snug within the harbour, andfelt an odd indefinable pressure inside his chest.He sat side-saddle on the edge of the cockpit and lighted a cigarette whileOrace finished the work of tidying up.The Falk-enberg had probably been ather berth for three hours by then, and apart from a jerseyed seaman who waslethargically washing off the remains of salt spray from her varnish, and whohad scarcely looked at the Corsair as she came past, there was noth-ing to beobserved on board.Most likely Vogel and his party were on shore; but Loretta.He shrugged, with the steel brightening in his eyes.Presently he wouldknow many an-swers."Wot nex', sir?"Orace stood beside him, as stoical as a whiskered gargoyle; and the Saintmoved his cigarette in the faintest gesture of direc-tion."You watch that boat.Don't let them know you're doing it you'd better gobelow and fix yourself behind one of the port-holes most of the time.Butwatch it.If a girl comes off it, or a box or a bundle or anything that mightcontain a girl, you get on your way and stick to her like a fly-paper.Otherwise you stay watching that ship till I come back or your moustache growsdown to your knees.Got it?""Yessir."Orace went below, unquestioningly, to his vigil; and the Saint stood up andsettled his belt [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]