The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

The Saint sighed.

'The old story book again,' he murmured unhappily. 'You know, I've always wondered what would happen if the hero missed his train and blew in half an hour too late. And I suppose we shall never know. . . . But what was the idea?'

She told him, exactly as Gugliemi had told her, while the Italian stood pallidly silent under the continued menace of the Saint's automatic. And when, at the end of the story, Simon turned suddenly on him, Gugliemi almost jumped out of his skin.

'You really mean to tell me the police passed you that yarn?' demanded the Saint. 'And you expect me to believe it?'

'But it is true, sair.'

'Which policeman?'' inquired the Saint skeptically.

'A big man—with a moustache—like this——'

Gugliemi frowned down his eyebrows, twisted his mouth, and thrust out his jaw in a caricature which the Saint recognized at once. So did Jill.

'Cullis!'

Simon sat down on the bed, regarding the Italian with a thoughtful air.

'But how did you get here?' Jill was asking.

'Oh, I breezed along,' said the Saint. 'As a matter of fact, I was coming round to see you. My respectable friend thought he'd like to meet you, so I was sent off to bring you along. Just as I turned the corner by the studio I saw you get into a car and drive away. There wasn't a taxi in sight to give chase in, and in the circumstances I couldn't raise happy hell in the street. But I nailed down the num­ber of the decamping dimbox, and then it was easy enough to find out who the owner was.'

'But how did you do that?'

'I consulted a clairvoyant,' said the Saint, 'and he told me at once. It took a bit of time, though. However, I got the man just as he was putting the car away in the garage. He was persuaded to talk——'

'You made him talk?'

'I hypnotized him,' said the Saint blandly, 'and he talked. Then I came right along here.'

The girl shook her head ruefully.

'I'm luckier than I deserve to be. If I'd thought I should ever live to fall for a gag like that——'

'It's an old gag because it's a good one, darling. Given the right staging, it never fails. So I shouldn't take it too much to heart. And now let's go home, shall we?'

He stood up, and Jill Trelawney was at a loss for any­thing more to say at that moment. She could only think of one feeble remark.

'But what are we going to do with—this?'

She indicated Gugliemi, and Simon looked at the man as if he had never seen him before.

'I'll take him back to Upper Berkeley Mews,' he said. 'I think I'd like to have a little private talk with him; that break of yours might turn out to be the most useful thing you ever did.'

And take Gugliemi he did, with one hand holding the man's arm and another jamming the muzzle of the automatic into his ribs, all the way from Lambeth to the studio in Chelsea, in a taxicab which they were lucky enough to find as soon as they emerged onto the main road. He left Jill at the studio, saying that he would return in an hour; and he himself went on in the