The Saint vs Scotland Yard (34 page)

And down in the well-deck aft, Simon Templar was sitting
on a
wardrobe trunk discoursing genially to two stewards, a
porter, an irate lady
with pimples, and a small group of fasci
nated passengers.

“I agree,” the Saint was saying. “It is an outrage. But
you
must blame Bertie for that. I can only conclude that he
doesn’t
like red flannel nighties either. So far as can be de
duced from the
circumstances, the sight of your eminently
respectable robes
filled him with such an uncontrollable frenzy
that he began to empty
the whole contents of your trunk out
of the window. But am I to blame? Am I
Bertie’s keeper? At a
moment when my back was turned——
”

“I don’t believe you!” stormed the irate lady. “You’re a
common
thief, that’s what you are! I should know that trunk
anywhere. I can
describe everything that’s in it——
”

“I’ll bet you can’t,” said the Saint.

The lady appealed to the assembled spectators.

“This is unbearable!” she raved. “It’s the most barefaced
imposture I ever heard of! This man has stolen my clothes and put his own
labels on the trunk——
”

“Madam,” said the Saint, “I’ve never disputed that the
trunk, as
a trunk, was yours. The labels refer to the desti
nation of the contents. As a strictly
law-abiding citizen——”

“Where,” demanded the pimply female hysterically, “is the
Captain?”

And at that point Teal shouldered himself into the front
rank of
the crowd.

Just for a second he stood looking at the Saint, and Simon saw that
there were shadows under his eyes and the faintest
trace of flabbiness
about his cheeks. But the eyes themselves were hard and expressionless, and the
lips below them were
pressed up into a dour line.

“I thought I should find you here,” he said.

The last of the Lovedews whirled round.

“Do you know this man?”

“Yes,” said Teal rigidly. “I know him.”

The Saint crossed his legs and took out a cigarette-case. He indicated
the detective with a wave of his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he murmured, “allow me to intro
duce the
deus
ex machina,
or whizzbang out of the works. This is Mr. Claud Eustace Teal,
who is going to tell us about his wanderings in Northern Euthanasia. Mr. Teal,
Miss Lovedew.
Miss Lovedew ——
”

“Teal?”
The infuriated lady
leapt back as though she had
been stung. “Are you Teal?”

“That is my name,” said the slightly startled detective.

“You stand there and admit that to me?”

“Yes—of course.”

The woman reeled back into the arms of one of the bystand
ers.

“Has everyone gone mad?” she wailed. “I’m being robbed in
broad
daylight! That is this man’s accomplice—he hasn’t de
nied it! Can nobody
do anything to stop them?”

Teal blinked.

“I’m a police officer,” he said.

“You’re a liar!” screamed the woman.

“My
good lady ——”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that! You’re a low, mean,
impertinent
thief——
”

“But——
”

“I want my trunk. I’m going to have my trunk! How can I
go to New
York without my trunk? That is my own trunk——
”

“But, Claud,” said the Saint earnestly, “have you seen the
trunk of the butler of her uncle? That is a trunk of the most
colossal.”

Miss
Lovedew gazed wildly about her.

“Will no one help me?” she moaned.

Simon removed the cigarette from his mouth and stood up.
He placed
one foot on the trunk, rested his right forearm on his knee, and raised a hand
for silence.

“May I be allowed to explain?” he said.

The woman clutched her forehead.

“Is
anyone going to listen to this—this—this——”

“Gentleman?” suggested the Saint, tentatively.

Teal stepped forward and took a grip of his belt.

“I am a police officer,” he repeated trenchantly, “and I
should
certainly like to hear his explanation.”

This time he made the statement of his identity with such a bald
authoritativeness that the buzz of surrounding comment died down to a tense
hush. Even the pimply protagonist gaped
at him in silence,
with her assurance momentarily shaken. The
stillness piled up
with almost theatrical effect.

“Well?” said Teal.

The Saint gestured airily with his cigarette.

“You arrive,” he said, “in time to arbitrate over a
serious
misunderstanding. Let me give you the facts. I travelled down
by the boat
train from Waterloo this morning in order to keep
an eye on a friend of
ours whom we’ll call Bertie. During the
journey I lost sight
of him. I tootled around to find out what
was happening to him,
and eventually located him in the
luggage van and in the very act of
throwing the last of Miss
Lovedew’s what’s-its out of the window.”

“It’s a lie!” bleated the lady, faint but pursuing. “He
stole
my clothes, insulted me in my carriage——
”

“We come to that in a minute,” said the Saint imperturbably
. “As
I was saying, I found Bertie just crawling into the
trunk he had so
unceremoniously emptied. At great personal
peril and
inconvenience, Claud, I helped him towards his
objective and locked him
up for delivery to yourself. In order to do this, I was compelled to make a
temporary alteration to
the labels on the trunk, which I admit I
borrowed for the
good cause without Miss Lovedew’s permission. I made one
attempt to
explain the circumstances to her, but was rejected with contumely. Then, while
I was waiting for you to arrive,
this argument about the rightful ownership of
the property
began. The trunk, as I’ve never denied, belongs to Miss
Love
dew. The dispute seems to be about Bertie.”

Miss Lovedew goggled at him.

“Do you mean to say that there’s a
man
in that trunk?”
she
demanded hideously.

“Madam,” said the Saint, “there is. Would you like him?
Mr. Teal
has the first claim, but I’m open to competitive
offers. The specimen
is in full running order, suffering at the moment from a black eye and an
aching jaw, but otherwise
complete and ready for the road. He is
highly-strung and
sensitive, but extremely virile. Fed on a diet of rye
whisky and
caviare——
”

Teal bent over the trunk and examined the labels. The
name on
them was his own. He straightened up and levelled
his gaze inflexibly
upon the Saint.

“I’ll talk to you alone for a moment,” he said.

“Pleasure,” said the Saint briefly.

The detective looked round.

“That trunk is not to be touched without my permission,”
he said.

He walked over to the rail, and Simon Templar strolled
along by
his side. They passed out of earshot of the crowd,
and stopped. For a
few seconds they eyed each other steadily.

“Is that Perrigo you’ve got in that trunk?” Teal asked pres
ently.

“None other.”

“We’ve had a full confession from Elberman. Do you know
what the
penalty is for being in possession of illicit
diamonds?”

“I know what the penalty is for being caught in possession
of illicit
diamonds,” said the Saint circumspectly.

“Do you know where those diamonds are now?”

Simon nodded.

“They are sewn into the seat of Perrigo’s pants,” he said.

“Is that what you wanted Perrigo for?”

The Saint leaned on the rail.

“You know, Claud,” he remarked, “you’re the damnedest
fool.”

Teal’s eyes hardened.

“Why?”

“Because you’re playing the damnedest fool game with me.
Have you
ever known me be an accessory to wanton murder?”

“I’ve known you to be mixed up in some darned funny
things.”

“You’ve never known me to be mixed up in anything as
darned
funny as that. But you work yourself up to the point
where you’re ready to
believe anything you want to believe.
It’s the racket. It’s dog eating dog.
I beat you to something,
and you get mad. When you get mad, I have to
bait you. The more I bait you, the madder you get. And the madder you get,
the more I
have to bait you. We get so’s nothing’s too bad for
us to do to each
other.” The Saint smiled. “Well, Claud, I’m
taking a little
holiday, and before I go I’m giving you a
break.”

Teal shrugged mountainously, but for a moment he said
nothing.
And the Saint balanced his cigarette on his thumb
nail and flipped it
far and wide.

“Let me do some thinking for you,” he said. “I’m great on
doing other people’s thinking for them these days… . Over
night you
thought over what I said to you last evening. This
morning you verified
that I hadn’t been bluffing. And you
knew there was only one thing for you to do. Your
conscience
wouldn’t let you lie down under
what I’d done. You’d got to
take what
was coming to you—arrest me, and face the music.
You’d got to play square with yourself, even if it broke you. I
know just how you felt. I admire you for it. But
I’m not going
to let you do it.”

“No?”

“Not in these trousers,” said the Saint. “Why should you?
You’ve got Perrigo, and I’m ready for a short rest. And here’s
your
surprise packet. Get busy on what it tells you, and you
may be a
superintendent before the end of the season.”

Teal glanced at the book which the Saint had thrust into his
hands, and
turned it over thoughtfully.

Then he looked again at the Saint. His face was still as
impassive
as the face of a graven image, but a little of the
chilled steel had
gone out of his eyes. And, as he looked, he
saw that the Saint
was laughing again—the old, unchangeable,
soundless, impudent
Saintly laughter. And the blue imps in
the Saint’s eyes danced.

“I play the game by my own rules, Claud,” said the Saint.
“Don’t
you forget it. That profound philosophy covers the craziest things I do. It
also makes me the only man in this
bleary age who enjoys every minute of
his life. And”—for the
last time in that story, the Saintly
forefinger drove gaily and
debonairly to its mark—“if you take a
leaf out of my book,
Claud, one day, Claud, you will have fun and
games for ever.”
And then the Saint was gone.

He departed in the Saintly way, with a last Saintly smile and
the clap
of a hand on the detective’s shoulder; and
 
Teal
watched him go without a word.

Patricia was waiting for him farther along the deck. He fell
into step
beside her, and they went down the gangway and
crossed the quay. At the corner of a
warehouse Simon stopped.
Quite quietly he
looked at her, propping up the building with
one hand.

And the girl knew what his silence meant. For him, the die
was cast;
and, being the man he was, he was ready to pay cash.
His hand was in his
pocket, and the smile hadn’t wavered on
his lips. But just
for that moment he was taking his
unflinching farewell of the fair
fields of irresponsible adven
ture, understanding just what it would mean to
him to pay the
score, scanning the road ahead with the steady eyes that
had
never feared anything in this life. And he was ready to start the
journey
there and then.

And Patricia smiled. She had never loved him more than she
did at
that moment; but she smiled with nothing but the smile
behind her eyes. And
she answered before he had spoken.