Send for the Saint by Leslie Charteris, Peter Bloxsom

something.”
    “Or something,” agreed the Saint.
    Ariadne continued going through the files, and suddenly pulled out a folder.
    “Here, will this help? Papers on a ship called the Macedonian Queen. She was supposed to sail for Singapore with the other five but she was held up with steering trouble … There’s a repair bill. But she’s still here.”
    “In Athens?” The Saint could hardly believe his luck.
    “In Piraeus, the port. But she sails at midnight.”
    “Ariadne,” said the Saint. “I love you. Call me Theseus.”
    12
The Macedonian Queen was not hard to find among the few freighters berthed in Piraeus at the time. Simon Templar and the girl simply wandered along the wharf to which she guided him until they came to the smart-looking but unexceptional freighter painted in the blue and gold Patroclos colours. The gangplank was unguarded, and only one seaman was visible on deck, a Greek in a grubby dark-blue sweat-shirt and dungarees who was leaning over the rail at the bow, with his back to them. It seemed quite probable that he represented the entire watch left on board, while the rest of the crew were enjoying their last hours ashore.
    Patroclos had still not returned to the office by one o’clock, when the Saint had insisted on taking Ariadne out for an ouzo, leaving a note for him, and then to lunch.
    “There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to go without regular meals,” he maintained, “and I’m sure there isn’t in yours either.”
    They had eaten dolmades and moussaka, but he had declined to be tempted by retsina, the traditional resin-flavoured wine which is said to have been invented by the Greeks to discourage hostile invaders from swilling or swiping it. Simon found it just as unpalatable as the earlier barbarians, and ordered a bottle of Cypriot Othello instead.
    He had sensed that while Ariadne might not yet be a full ally, she would not be an enemy, and decided at the end of the meal to tell her his plan.
    “I want to have a look around the Macedonian Queen. I think I might find the answers to some of the questions that are still nagging me. But I’m not going to tell Dio.”
    “But he’ll expect you to be in the office if he wants you,” she objected.
    “The impostor has crashed. Technically, my job is finished. I’m free to slope off and go sightseeing if I feel like it. How do I get to Piraeus ?”
    She pondered for only a few seconds.
    “I’ll take you.”
    “But you’ve still got a job to keep.”
    “And I’ve got more questions, too. I shall telephone the office and leave a message that everything this morning has given me such a terrible headache that I have to go home and go to bed, and I will be back tomorrow.”
    That was how they came to be lurking behind a pile of crates near the untended gangway in the gathering dusk, unnoticed by the bored seaman on so-called “watch” on the foredeck. The Saint gripped the girl’s arm gently.
    “This is where I go aboard, and it could develop into a rough party if they catch me. Stay out of sight and keep your fingers crossed.”
    “I’m going with you,” said Ariadne in a determined voice, “since I brought you as far as this.”
    The Saint smiled at her and stood up.
    The glided unobserved up the narrow gangplank on to the deck, and then down a ladder through a hatchway into the after cargo hold. The lighting was dim, but they could see to move among the mountains of crates, in several shapes and sizes, that were stacked there. Simon peered at random at the export labels, bringing his pencil flashlight to bear on them, and spoke in a whisper.
    “As you’d expect. All Singapore. That’s where the ships were officially headed.”
    “This label says Paint. Why don’t we have a look inside?” suggested the girl in an equally low voice.
    Lying on one of the crates was a pair of metal-shears and a crowbar. There was a sharp twang as Simon used the shears to sever the steel customs bond on the crate, and