The Saint Closes the Case

Teal lifted one eyelid.

'How do you know?' he inquired mildly.

'He knows I'm telling the truth!' cried Roger triumphantly. 'He's given himself away. Now I'll tell you—the man's name was Dr. Rayt Marius. And if you don't believe me, get hold of one of his shoes and see how it matches the plaster casts you've got of the footprints!'

Both Mr. Teal's chins were sunk on his chest. He might have been asleep. His voice sounded as if he was.

'And these people traced you here?'

'They did,' said Roger. 'And on the way they got hold of the girl who was with Templar that first night—the girl he's in love with—and Marius came to say that he would ex­change her with Templar for Vargan. But Templar wasn't swapping. He wanted 'em both. We were able to find out where the girl was being taken, and Templar went off to rescue her. I was left to guard the prisoners—Marius and Hermann and another man called Otto. They tricked me and got away —Marius and Otto—and Hermann was left to guard me. I was to be an additional hostage against Templar. Marius and Otto went off in pursuit—they'd already arranged for an am­bush to stop Templar on the road. Marius did that by tele­phone, from here—you can ring up the exchange and verify that, if you don't believe me. And Templar doesn't know what he's in for. He thinks he'll take the men in the house on the hill off their guard. And he's gone blinding off to certain death——'

'Half a minute,' said Teal. 'What house on the hill is this you're talking about?'

The tone of the question indicated that the authentic ring of truth in the story had not been lost on Teal's ears; and Roger drew a deep breath.

Now—what? He'd told as much as he'd meant to tell—and that was a long and interesting preface of no real importance. Now how much could he afford to add to it? How great was the Saint's danger?

Roger knew the Saint's fighting qualities. Would those quali­ties be great enough to pull off a victory against all the odds? And would the arrival of the police just after that victory serve for nothing but to give the Saint another battle to fight? . . . Or was the Saint likely to be really up against it? Might it be a kind treachery to spill the rest of the beans—if only to save Pat? How could a man weigh a girl's safety against the peace of the world? For, even if the betrayal meant the sacrifice of the Saint and himself, it would leave Vargan with Norman Kent. And, in case of accidents, Norman had definite instruc­tions. ...

But where was Norman?

Roger looked into the small bright eyes of Chief Inspector Teal. Then he looked away, to meet the glittering, veiled eyes of Hermann. And, in the shifting of his gaze, he managed to steal another glimpse of the clock—without letting Teal see that he did so.

'What house on what hill?' demanded Teal again.

'Does that matter?' temporised Roger desperately.

'Just a little,' said Teal, with frightful self-restraint. 'If you don't tell me where Templar's gone, how am I going to rescue him from this trap you say he's going into?'

Roger bent his head.

Unless Norman Kent came quickly, now, and outwitted Teal, so that Roger and Norman could go together to the relief of the Saint, there would be nothing for it but to tell some more of the truth. It would be the only way to save the Saint— whatever that salvation might cost. Roger saw that now.

'Get through on the phone to the police at Braintree first,' he said. 'Templar will pass through there. Driving an open Hirondel. I'll go on when you've done that. There's no time to lose. ...'

All at once, Teal's weary eyes had become very wide awake. He was studying Roger's face unblinkingly. 'That story's the truth?'

'On my word of honour!'

Teal nodded very deliberately.

'I believe you,' he said, and went to the telephone with surprising speed.

Roger flicked his cigarette-end into the fireplace, and sat with his eyes on the carpet and his brain reeling to encompass the tumult unleashed within it.

If Norman was coming, he should have arrived by then. So Norman had decided not to come. And that was that

The detective's voice came to Roger through a dull haze of despair.

'An open Hirondel . . . probably driving hell-for-leather. . . . Stop every car that comes through to-night, anyway. . . . Yes, better be armed. . . . When you've got him, put a guard in the car and send him back to London —New Scotland Yard —at once. . . . Ring me up and tell me when he's on his way. ...'

Then the receiver went back on its hook.

'Well, Conway—what about this house?'        Something choked Roger's throat for a moment.

Then:

'We only know it as 'the house on the hill.' That was what it was called in the letter we found on Marius. But it's at——'

Zzzzzzing . . . zzzzzing!

Teal looked at the door. Then he turned sharply.

'Do you know who that is?'

'I haven't the faintest idea.'

Zzzzzzzzzzing!

Again the strident summons; and Roger's heart leapt crazily. He never knew how he kept the mask of puzzlement on his face, but he knew that he did it: the fading suspicion in Teal's stare told him that. And he had put everything he knew into his lie. 'I haven't the faintest idea. . . .'

But he knew that it could only be one man out of all the world;

Hermann also knew.

But Roger gave no sign, and never looked at the man. It remained a gamble. With Roger telling the truth— and intend­ing, for all Hermann knew, to go on telling the truth—the man was in a quandary. The story that Roger was building up against himself was also giving Hermann a lot to answer. . . . Would Hermann be wise and swift enough to see that he would have a better chance with his unofficial enemies than with the police? . . .

Hermann never spoke.

Then Teal went out into the hall; and Roger could have cried his relief aloud.

But he could not cry out—hot even to warn Norman. That would be no use against Teal, as it would have been of use against Hermann. Norman had got to walk into the snare— and might all the Saint's strange gods inspire him as they would have inspired the Saint himself. . . .

Teal opened the front door. And he kept his right hand in his coat pocket.

Norman hesitated only the fraction of a second.

Afterwards, Norman said that the words came to his lips without any conscious thought, as if a guardian angel had put them unbidden into his mouth.

'Are you Mr. Templar?' asked Norman Kent.

And, as he heard the words that he had not known he was going to speak, he stood appalled at the colossal simplicity and colossal daring of the ruse.

'No, I'm not,' said Teal curtly.

'Is Mr. Templar in?'

'Not at the moment.'

'Well, is there anything you could do? I've never met Mr. Templar; but I've just had an extraordinary message, and I thought, before I went to the police——'

The word pricked Teal's ears.

'Maybe I can do something for you,' he said, more cordially. 'Will you come in?'

'Certainly,' said Norman.

Teal stood aside to let him pass, and turned to fasten the door again.

Hanging on the walls of the hall were a number of curious weapons, relics of the Saint's young lifetime of wandering in queer corners of the globe. There were Spanish knives, and a matador's sword; muskets and old- fashioned pistols; South Sea Island spears, Malay krises and krambits and parangs; a scim­itar, a boomerang from New Zealand, an Iroquois bow, an assegai, a bamboo blow-pipe from Papua; and other things of the same