The Saint Sees it Through (The Saint Series)
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When the Saint goes for a drink in a New York nightclub—Cookie’s Cellar—he discovers the rather lovely nightclub singer Avalon Dexter; however, he soon meets the less lovely Cookie herself.
time of year?” he asked the attendant. “It isn’t a question of warmth, sir—it’s—ah, shall we say face? He’s a Meldon property, you know.” Simon could detect no trace of irony in tone or attitude. “But—mink? A trifle on the ostentatious side?” “What else, sir?” asked the gentleman’s gentleman. The Saint rang the doorbell. He and Avalon were presently shown into the drawing-room, furnished in chrome and leather, lightened by three excellent Monets, hooded in red velvet drapes. Mrs Meldon came
were going. A kick, a frown, a shake of the head. These had made the boys jittery. “Well, Saint,” Sam said. “You know how it is. Just back from a long trip. We were kinda thinkin’ of girls of our own. Course, I’ll have to get one for Joe, here, but still—” He nodded at Avalon. “Thought we had something there—uh, Miss. But seems she’s staked out. So we’ll blow.” More handshakes, and they were gone. Kay Natello came over to greet them, and in that voice like a nutmeg grater on tin cans asked,
psychiatrist—tall, leonine, carelessly but faultlessly dressed, with one of those fat smiles that somehow reminded the Saint of fresh shrimps. “My dear Mr Templar. And Miss Dexter. So glad you could manage the time. Won’t you sit down?” They did, and he did. Dr Zellermann displayed as much charm as a bee tree has honey. “Miss Dexter, I feel that I must apologise for the other night. I am inclined to forget that universal adjustment to my psychological patterns has not yet been made.” “Don’t
much more so. She took sex into the sewer and brought it out again, dripping. She introduced verses and adlibs of the kind that are normally featured only at stag smokers of the rowdiest kind. But through it all she glowed with that great gargoyle joviality that made her everybody’s broad-minded big sister, and to the audience she had, much as the USO would have disapproved and the YMCA would have turned pale with horror, it was colossal. They hooted and roared and clapped and beat upon the
Le Saint, Cookie et cie in 1948, closely followed by the Dutch translation, De Saint en de zangeres in 1950. The remarkable international sales of the first Saint TV series prompted editions in Denmark (Helgenen ordner paragrafferne) in 1970, Finland (Pyhimyksen kolme naista) in 1967, and Norway (Helgenen overtar) in 1965. Also inspired by the first TV series was Slovenian publisher Mladinska Knjiga who decided to test the market for Saint books in Slovenia by publishing a translation of this