Meet the Tiger

Baycombe is a village on the North Devon coast that is so isolated from civilisation that even at the height of the summer holiday season it is neglected by the rush of lean and...

Algernon de Breton Lomas-Coper was one of the genial Algys made famous by Mr. P. G. Wodehouse, and accordingly he often ejaculated “What? What?” to show that he could hardly bel...

“He’s gone,” Templar said. “He ducked as soon as I spoke. But maybe now you realise how hard it is not to be killed when someone’s really out for your blood. It looks so easy in...

“No,” said the Saint, shaking his head sadly, “it can’t be done. It can’t really. For one thing, we’re getting all melodramatic, and I know how you hate that. For another thing,...

Bittle did not answer, and the Saint gazed genially around and seemed almost surprised to see Patricia standing a little behind him. The girl had not known what to make of most...

Patricia Holm landed safely on her feet in the road outside the wall and set off steadily for home. She ran easily and smoothly, as a healthy girl can who has spent most of her...

“A trifle primitive,” he said urbanely, “but very effective. I have views of my own, however, on the subject of physical violence, which I shall present you with in due course.”

It was only a moment before Carn opened the door. Simon could have fallen on the detective’s neck when he saw that Carn’s features registered nothing more than a faint surprise,...

Bloem wheeled with a smothered exclamation, for the interruption came from behind him. Then the Boer slowly lowered his automatic—because Orace was carrying the enormous revolve...

She disengaged her hand and sat down again; and he shifted his own chair round so that they were knee to knee. She was chilled by the definiteness with which he reverted to pure...

It was Orace, that stern disciplinarian, who ruthlessly interrupted the seance in order to lay the table for lunch. That was half an hour later, though Simon and Pat would both...

Detective Inspector Carn of Scotland Yard, temporary medico, was not far from being typical of the modern C.I.D. man—the difference, in fact, being little more than an extra gra...

Agatha Girton had not appeared at breakfast that morning, and when Patricia returned home to buckle into the task that the Saint had entrusted to her the housekeeper told her th...

Could she have been living for months and years in the home of the Tiger? It seemed impossible, and yet the theory seemed to get more watertight with every second. It would acco...

Her face had become the face of a fiend. Hard and grim it always was—now, with smears of blood from brow to chin and her hair straggling damply over her temples, it was devilish.

They lay on the grass at the edge of the cliff, gazing out to sea. It was a cloudless night, and although there was as yet no moon, the stars shone brightly and covered the worl...

To fall one hundred and sixty feet takes just a shade over three seconds, but it seems a lot longer. Simon Templar knew this very vividly, for he seemed to live through three æo...

Coming from the opposite side of the tor to that of the Saint’s take-off, Patricia and her two lieutenants had no need to make a _détour_. They approached the Tiger’s ship on th...

He was in his shirt sleeves, and the fact that he had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar for comfort in the sultriness of the evening increased the ruffianly effect of h...

“Good-evening, dear Bittlekins,” murmured the Saint affably. “Fancy meeting you!—as the vicar said when he saw one of the leading lights of the parish Mothers’ Union dancing at...

“Things have gone very badly,” said the Tiger. “As Bittle said, Mr. Templar, you have beaten us. I bear you no malice. Perhaps it was ordained that it should end like this. You...