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. When he s sober, he s as nice a fellow as you could meet.Just like you dthink he would be from his pictures. A vague identification in the Saint s mind suddenly came into surprisingfocus. I get it, he said. Of course.Orlando Flane-the heart-throb of theHemisphere. Yeah.He really is a nice guy.Only when he s had a few drinks you gottahumor him. Page 56 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html Next time, said the Saint, you should ask him about the Chineselaundryman. It took no little ingenuity to frustrate the bartender s pro-fessionalcuriosity about that unguarded remark, but it was as entertaining a way ofpassing the time as any other, and the Saint felt almost human again when heturned back to the white walls of Liberty Studios.He had no lasting interest in Orlando Flane as a person at all, and mighthave forgotten him again altogether if they had not been literally throwntogether so very shortly after-wards.That is, to be excruciatingly specific, Orlando Flane was thrown.Or appearedto be.At any rate, he seemed to be nearing the end of a definite trajectorywhen Simon opened the outer door of Mr.Ufferlitz s office and almost trippedover him.Only because he was prepared by a lifetime of lightning reactions,Simon adapted himself resiliently to the shock and scooped the actor up withone sinewy arm. Is there a lot of fun like this around here? he inquired pleasantly,looking at Peggy Warden, who was getting up rather suddenly from hertypewriter.Then he saw that Mr.Ufferlitz himself was standing in the communicatingdoorway to his private office, and realised exactly what certain remarks ofthe cynical Lazaroff were intended to convey, and why out of his ownexperienced judge-ment he had sensed long ago that Mr.Ufferlitz was notmerely a farcical stock character. Get out of here, Byron Ufferlitz was saying coldly. And stay out, youdrunken bum. Orlando Flane might have gone back to the floor a second time, if the Sainthad not been interestedly holding him up.He reeled inside the supportingsemicircle of the Saint s arm, and wiped the back of his head across hisbruised lips.But he had sobered surprisingly, and there was no more alcoholicslur in his syllables than there was in the savage set of his dark long-lashedeyes as he looked back across the room. All right, you bastard, he said distinctly. You can throw me out nowbecause I m drunk.But I can remember just as far back as you can.I ve gotplenty of things to settle with you, and when I fix you up you re going tostay fixed! 3THE COLORED BUTLER showed Simon into April Quest s living-room, and broughthim a Martini.It was a comfortable room, modern in style, but it had theuntouched impersonal feeling of an interior decorator s exhibit.Everything init looked very new and overwhelmingly harmonious.But the chairs were largeand relaxing, the sort of chairs that a man likes, and at least there were nosham-period gewgaws or laboriously exotic touches.Simon lighted a cigarette and amused himself with some magazines which hefound on a shelf under the table by the couch.Some of them were fanmagazines, and one of them had her picture on the cover.He remembered nowthat it had caught his eye on a newsstand not long ago.Naturally it was abeautiful face, since that was part of her profession, framed in softly wavedauburn hair, with a small nose and high cheekbones and large expressive eyes.But he had noticed her mouth, which was generous and yet sultry, laughing andPage 57 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlyet wilful, as if she could be passionate in her selfishness but never cold orunkind.Then he looked up, and she was standing in front of him.It was a slight shock, as if the picture had suddenly come to life.She wasso exactly like it.The only thing different was her dress, and this wassomething formal and white and very simple.But the neck was cut down to herwaist, and the material was so sheer that you would have known exactly whatshe wore underneath it if she had worn anything.She looked like a waywardMadonna decked out in a suitable disguise to find out what really went on innight clubs.She said: Sorry I wasn t ready, but I had the goddamned-est time gettingdressed.Every lousy rag I put on looked like hell. Well, he said, I m glad you were able to save something out of the junkpile. Pretty frightening, isn t it? she said, looking down at herself. Bringsout all the floozie in me.And everything else.Well, nobody can ever say Ididn t give my All. She had a glass in her hand, practically empty.She emptied it, and sat downbeside him and tinkled a small hand-bell. Shall we have some more serum before we go to the rat race? He drained his own glass and nodded, but the acceptance was hardly necessary.The butler appeared like a watchful genie with a shaker in his hand, andproceeded to pour with-out any instructions.Simon gazed at her speculatively over his cigarette. It s a hell of a way to get acquainted, isn t it? he re-marked. But it snice of you to cooperate, as Byron calls it. If a girl never had to cooperate any worse than this, she said, thisgoddamn racket would be a breeze. Just how much cooperation is supposed to be ordered here? Simon asked. Byron left it a little vague. She looked at him. It doesn t sound like Byron to leave anything to your imagination. Maybe my imagination is a little slow. Are you kidding me, or where have you been all your life? I haven t been getting an Ufferlitz-Hollywood build-up all my life. Her eyes were curious. We re going to Ciro s together.In this town, that auto-matically means abudding romance.If we leer at each other and hold hands a bit, they ll justabout have us in bed together.We don t actually have to go to bed beforewit-nesses, because you can t print that anyway.Disappointed? Not a bit, said the Saint. It s much more fun with-out witnesses. Page 58 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html For Christ s sake, she said pleasantly. You didn t have to be here long tolearn the routines, though. His clear blue eyes rested on her again, and this time their lazy mockery hada different twinkle.A slow grin etched itself around his mouth. Thank God, he drawled, and held out his hand.She couldn t help shaking it,and smiling back at him; and suddenly they were laughing together. Now we canhave fun, he said.So they were friends.Simon Templar had to admit that inefficiency at least was not one of Mr.Ufferlitz s failings, or at any rate of his assist-ants.The head waiter atCiro s, whom Simon had never seen before in his life, said Good evening, MissQuest, and then: Good evening, Mr.Templar! -with an air of glad surprise,as though he were greeting an old and valued cus-tomer who had been away for along time, and ushered them to a ringside table from which he removed theRESERVED card with a flourish.He said enticingly: A cocktail to start with? Dry Martinis, said the Saint; and he bowed and beamed himself away. The works, said April Quest. So I see, murmured the Saint. Let s pretend we re used to it. You re going to be an experience, she said. Did you ever do any acting? Not for the camera. Were you on the stage? He shook his head. Not that either.Just what you might call privately.You see, when you leada wicked life like mine, you can t always be yourself, he explained. According to the job in hand, you may want to pretend to be anything, from adyspeptic poet with Communist tendencies to a retired sea-captain with whitewhiskers and a perpetual thirst. She was studying him with candid interest now
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