Knight Templar, or The Avenging Saint

'That is one thing I've been wanting to know for many weeks,' said the Saint quietly; and for a moment something blazed in his eyes like a sear of blue flame.

And then, once again, he was smiling.

'It'll be quite a rally, won't it?' he murmured. 'And we shall have such a lot to tell each other. . . . But perhaps you'd like to open the pa­laver yourself—Highness? For instance, how's Heinrich?'

'' I believe him to be in good health.'

'And what did he tell the police?''

'Ah! I thought you would ask that question.'

'I'm certainly curious.'

The prince tapped his cigarette fastidiously against the edge of an ashtray.

'If you wish to know, he said that his uncle—an invalid, and unhappily subject to violent fits—had arrived only yesterday from Munich. You entered the house, pretending to be a doctor, before he could disclaim you; and you immediately threat­ened him with an automatic. You then informed him that you were the Saint, and abducted his uncle. Dussel, naturally, had no idea why you should have done so—but, just as naturally, he considered that that was a problem for the police to solve.''

Simon nodded admiringly.

'I'm taking a distinct shine to Heinrich,' he drawled.

'You will admit that it was an ingenious expla­nation.'

'I'll tell the world.'

'But you own strategy, my dear Mr. Templar— that was superb! Even if I had not been told that it was your work, I should have recognized the artist at once.'

'We professionals!' sighed the Saint.

''And where did you take the lady? '

The question was thrown off so carelessly, and yet with such a perfect touch, that for an instant the Saint checked his breath. And then he laughed.

'Oh, Rudolf, that wasn't worthy of you!'

'I am merely being natural,' said the prince, without annoyance. 'There was something you wanted to know —you asked me—I answered. And then I followed your example.'

Simon shook his head, smiling, and sank deeper into his chair, his eyes intent upon an extraordi­narily uninteresting ceiling. And he wondered, with a certain reckless inward merriment, what thoughts were sizzling through the brain of the im­perturbable hidalgo opposite him.

He wondered . . . but he knew that it would be a waste of time to attempt to read anything in the prince's face. The prince was his match, if not more than his match, at any game like that. If Si­mon had come there to fence—that would have been a duel! Already, in the few words they had exchanged, each had tested afresh the other's mettle, and each had tacitly recognized that time had fostered no illusions about the other: neither had changed. Weave and feint, thrust, parry, and riposte—each movement was perfect, smooth, cool, effortless . . . and futile. . . . And neither would yield an inch of ground. . . . And now, where cruder and clumsier exponents would still be ineffectually lunging and blundering, they had ad­mitted the impasse. The pause was of mutual con­sent.

Their eyes met and there was a momentary twist of humour in each gaze.

'We appear,' observed the prince politely, 'to be in the position of two men who are fighting with invisible weapons. We are both equally at a disad­vantage.'

'Not quite,' said the Saint.

The prince fluttered a graceful hand.

'It is agreed that you are an obstacle in my path which I should be glad to remove. I might hand you over to the police—'

'But then you might have some embarrassing questions to answer.'

'Exactly. And as for any private action—'

'Difficult—in the Ritz Hotel.'

'Exceedingly difficult. Then, there is reason to believe that you are—or were—temporarily in pos­session of a property which it is necessary for me to recover.'

'Dear old Heinrich's uncle.'

'Whereas my property is the knowledge of why it is necessary for me to recover—your property.'

'Perhaps.'

' And an exchange is out of the question.'

'Right out.'

'So that the deadlock is complete.''

'Not quite,' said the Saint again.

The prince's eyes narrowed a fraction.    '

'Have I forgotten anything?'

'I wonder!'

There was another moment of silence; and, in the stillness, the Saint's amazingly sensitive ears caught the ghost of a sound from the corridor out­side the room. And, at that instant, with the break­ing of the silence by the perfunctory knock that followed on the door, the grim mirth that had been simmering inside the Saint for minutes past danced mockingly into his eyes.

'Highness—'

It was Marius, looming gigantically in the door­way, with a flare of triumph in the face that might have served as a model for some hideous heathen idol, and triumph in his thin rasping voice.

And then he saw the Saint and stopped dead.

'You see that our enterprising young friend is with us once more, my dear Marius,' said the prince suavely; and Simon Templar rose to his feet with his most seraphic smile.

3

'MARIUS—my old college chum!''

The Saint stood there in the centre of the room, lean and swift and devil-may-care, his hands swinging back his coat and resting on his hips; and all the old challenging hints of lazy laughter that both the other men remembered were glinting back through the tones of his voice. The reckless eyes swept Marius from head to foot, with the cold steel masked down into their depths by a shimmer of gay disdain.

'Oh, precious!' spoke on that lazy half-laugh­ing voice. 'And where have you been all these months? Why haven't you come round to hold my hand and reminisce with me about the good old days, and all the fun we had together? And the songs we used to sing . . . And do you remember how you pointed a gun at me one night, in one of our first little games, and I kicked you in the—er— heretofore?'

'Marius has a good memory,' said the prince dryly.

'And so have I,' beamed the Saint, and his smile tightened a little. 'Oh, Angel Face, I'm glad to meet you again!''

The giant turned and spoke harshly in his own language; but the prince interrupted him.

'Let us speak English,' he said. 'It will be more interesting for Mr. Templar.''

'How did he come here?'

'He walked up.'

'But the police—'

'Mr. Templar and I have already discussed that question, my dear Marius. It is true that Dussel had to make certain charges in order to cover him­self, but it might still be inconvenient for us if Mr. Templar were arrested.''

'It is awkward for you, you know,' murmured Simon sympathetically.

The prince selected a fresh cigarette.

'But your own news, my dear Marius? You seemed pleased with yourself when you arrived—'

'I have been successful.'

'Our friend will be interested.'

Marius looked across at the Saint, and his lips twisted malevolently. And the Saint remembered what lay between them. ...

'Miss Delmar is now in safe hands,' said the giant slowly.