Perry stepped forward, with a flaming face.
'It's a lie!'
'Sure it is. We agreed about that before I started, if you recall the dialogue. . . . Where was I? Oh, yes. Deducing back from that joke--'
'I'd like Miles to hear some of this,' Perry said through his teeth.
'So would I,' murmured the Saint. 'I told you I wanted to find him. If you see him first, you may tell him all about it. Give him my address.' The Saint yawned. 'Now may I go, sweetheart?'
He stood up, his cigarette tilted up in the corner of his mouth and his hands in his pockets; and Perry stood aside.
'You're welcome to go,' Perry said. 'And if you ever try to come back I'll have you thrown out.'
Simon nodded.
'I'll remember that when I feel in need of some exercise,' he remarked. And then he smiled. For a moment he gripped the boy's arm.
'Don't forget about Moyna,' he said.
Then he crossed the landing and went down the stairs; and Nigel Perry, silent in the doorway, watched him go.
The Saint went down slowly. He was really sorry about it all, though he had known it was inevitable. At least, he had made it inevitable. He was aware that he asked for most of the trouble that came to him-in many ways. But that couldn't be helped. In the end . . .
He was on the last flight when a man who was running up from the hall nearly cannoned into him.
'Sorry,' said the man.
'Not at all,' said the Saint politely.
And then he recognized the man, and stopped him with a hand on his sleeve.
'How's the trade in death?' murmured the Saint.
Miles Hallin turned, staring; and then he suddenly knew where he had seen the Saint before. For an instant the recognition flared in his eyes; then his face became a mask of indignation.
'What the devil do you mean?' he demanded.
Simon sighed. He always seemed to have something to sigh about in those days.
'I'm getting so tired of that question,' he sighed. 'Why don't you try it on Nigel? Perhaps he doesn't have so much of it as I do.'
He turned, and continued on his way. As he opened the front door he heard Hallin resuming his ascent at a less boisterous speed, and smiled gently to himself.
It was late, and the street outside was dark and practically deserted. But in front of the house stood an immense shining two-seater that could only have belonged to Miles Hallin.
For a space of seconds the Saint regarded it, fingering his chin, at first thoughtfully, and then with a secret devil of merriment puckering the corners of his eyes.
Then he went down the steps, He found the tool box in a moment. And then, with loving care, he proceeded to remove the nuts that secured the offside front wheel. . . .
Two minutes later, with the wheel-brace stowed away again as he had found it, and the nuts in his pocket, he was sauntering leisurely homewards, humming to the stars.
4
The Saint was in his bath when Inspector Teal arrived in Upper Berkeley Mews the next morning; but he presented himself in a few moments arrayed in a superb pair of crepe-de-Chine pajamas and a dressing gown that would have made the rainbow look like something left over from a sale of second hand mourning.
Mr. Teal eyed him with awe.
'Where did you hire that outfit?' he inquired.
Simon took a cigarette.
'Have you come here to exchange genial backchat,' he murmured, 'or is it business? I have an awful suspicion that it's business.'
'It is business,' said Mr. Teal.
'Sorry,' said the Saint, 'my office hours are twelve noon to midday.'
Teal shifted his gum across to the east side of his mouth. 'What's your grouse against Hallin?' he asked.
'Hallin? Who's Hallin? Two aitches.'
'Miles Hallin's car was wrecked last night,' said Teal deliberately.
The Saint raised his eyebrows.
'Really? Was he drunk, or did he lend the divisional surgeon a fiver?'
'The offside front wheel of his car came off when he was driving down Park Lane,' said Teal patiently. 'He was driving pretty fast, and he swerved into a taxi. He ought to have been killed.'
'Wasn't he?' said the Saint.
'He wasn't. What have you got to say about it?'
'Well, I think it's a great pity.'
'A great pity he wasn't killed?'
'Yes. Probably he wanted to die. He's been trying to long enough, hasn't he? . . . And yet it mightn't have been his fault. That's the worst of these cheap cars. They fall apart if you sneeze in them. Of course, he might have had a cold. Do you think he had a cold?' asked the Saint earnestly.
The detective closed his eyes.
'When Hallin looked at the car,' Teal explained, 'he found that someone had removed the nuts that ought to have been keeping the wheel on.'
The Saint smoothed his hair.
'Well, really, dear old broccoli,' he drawled, with a pained expression, 'is that all you've come to see me about? Are you going to make a habit of coming to me to air your woes about everything that happens in London? You know, I'm awfully afraid you're getting into the way of thinking I'm some sort of criminal. Teal, you must not think that of me!'
'I know all about last night,' Teal replied, without altering his weary tone. 'I've already seen Perry.'
'And what did Perry tell you?'
'He told me you said you were going to kill Hallin.'
'Beer, beer!-I mean, dear, dear!' said the Saint. 'Of course he was a bit squiffy---'
Teal's eyes opened with a suddenness that was almost startling.
'See here, Templar,' he said, 'it's time you and me had a straight talk.'
'I beg your pardon?' said the Saint.
'You and I,' said Teal testily. 'I know we've had a lot of scraps in the past, and I know a lot of funny things have happened since then. I don't grudge you your success. In your way, you've helped me a lot; but at the same time you've caused disturbances. I know you've had a pardon, and we don't want to bother you if we can help it, but you've got to do your share. That show of yours down at Tenterden, for instance-that wasn't quite fair, was it?'
'It wasn't,' said the Saint generously. 'But I'm afraid it appealed to my perverted sense of humour.'
Mr. Teal rose ponderously.
'Then do I take it you're going on as before?'
'I'm afraid you do,' said the Saint. 'For the present, any way. You see, I've got rather a down on Miles Hallin. He killed a friend of mine the other day.'
'He what?'
'At Brooklands. Since you're making so many inquiries about funny things that happen to cars, why don't you investigate that crash? I don't know if there was enough left of Teddy Everest to make an investigation profitable; but if it could be done, I expect you'd find that he was thoroughly doped when he got into that car. I expect you'd
