Saint Overboard (Simon Templar 'The Saint', Book 16)

By Leslie Charteris

Diving deep into hassle, the Saint takes half in an underwater treasure hunt fraught with unexpected threat. Can he effectively raid Davy Jones’s locker and salvage his popularity in addition to the sunken treasure?

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The impact needs to nonetheless were dim and shadowy, yet at that shut variety it is going to nonetheless be recognisable. And Vogel recognized it. His black burning eyes widened into fathomless swimming pools of horror, and the skinny cold lips drew again from his tooth in one of those snarl. For the 1st time the sleek waxen masks used to be smashed clear of his face, and simply the snarl of the wolf remained. Then he started to converse. His mouth twisted within the form of soundless phrases that no human ears might ever pay attention. till he came across that there has been no resolution and no obedience, and considered one of his fingers groped around and located the free trailing finish of his severed line… God understands what innovations, what roaring maelstroms of incredulous knowing, should have long past thundering via his mind in these endless seconds. He should have identified even then that the demise which he had meted out to others had chanced on him in his flip, yet he could by no means understand how it had happen. He have been at the peaks of triumph. He had gained each element, and this final descent must have been not more than a stereotyped epilogue to a accomplished background. He had left Simon Templar a prisoner, outwitted and disarmed and overwhelmed, locked as much as look ahead to the instant while he selected to take away him without end from the facility of interference. And but the Saint was once there, smiling at him with set lips and bleak steel-blue eyes, the place Ivaloff must have been. The Saint had come again, now not crushed, yet loose and inescapable. The group had dressed him and despatched him down with out a observe. That used to be the final sour dreg of realisation which he needed to settle for. The Saint had reversed their guns. yet the way it were performed, how the team were bribed or intimidated, through what unattainable alchemy the Saint had became the tables, remained a riddle that he could by no means resolve. He fought. as though the surprise had wiped away the final fragments of that greater than human self-discipline, his hand shot out and clawed on the Saint’s shoulder. His hands slipped at the coarse twill, and the Saint grasped his wrist and twisted it away. From the space of a foot, which would were the breadth of the Atlantic, Simon Templar checked out him in the course of the wall of water which minimize them off, and his blue eyes smiled with a soundless and negative laughter into the wild distorted face. And he introduced down the stone he used to be maintaining in a frightened blow at the arms of Vogel’s correct hand the place they clung to the rock. A spasm of pain crawled throughout Vogel’s positive factors. and because the beaten hand published its carry, Simon slashed his knife fresh via Vogel’s air pipe and driven him away. Vogel fell, absurdly slowly, toppling backwards from the ladder very progressively and intentionally, along with his palms waving and his fingers clutching spasmodically on the yielding water. He went down, and the darkness of his personal treasure-cave closed on his glowing helmet. A narrow trickle of bubbles curled up out of the gloom… The Saint climbed lumberingly to his ft. “Otto,” he stated curtly, nonetheless imitating Vogel’s voice, and in a second Arnheim responded.

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