The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

himself as unmistak­ably as if he had chalked it up on a board.

'By the way,' Simon said, 'you really must stop an­noying Essenden. He came in to see us the other day, and he was most upset. Remember that his nerves aren't as strong as mine. If you murdered him, for instance, I couldn't promise you that he wouldn't be really seriously annoyed.'

'Whether I'm responsible for any shocks that Essenden's had, or not,' said the girl calmly, 'is still waiting to be proved.'

'I don't expect it will wait very long,' said the Saint comfortably. 'You amateur crooks are never very clever.'

Jill Trelawney took from her bag a tiny mirror and a gold-cased lipstick. She attended to the shaping of her mouth unconcernedly.

'Templar, you gave me your word of honour you would come alone to-day.'

'Fancy that! And did you believe it?'

'I was prepared to.'

'Child,' said the Saint, 'you amaze me.'

He stood up and walked to the window in long jerky strides.

From there he beckoned her, looking down to the street from behind the curtains.

'Come here.'

She came, after a pause, with a bored languidness; but it was impossible to make him show the least impatience.

'See there!'

He pointed down with a challenging forefinger.

'See and hear that man singing 'Rose in the Bud' at the harmonium? He's just waiting for me to come out and tell him he can go home. And you see the man farther up with the ice-cream cart? He's standing by. And the man selling newspapers on this side? More of the posse. You credited me with the darn thing, so I thought I'd live up to it. There's ten of 'em spread around this block now!'

'I'm sorry. I thought even your word of honour might be worth something. But now——'

'You'll know better next time, won't you?' Little flinty jags of amusement twinkled in his eyes. 'What was the joke I was supposed to buy? Pinky Budd waiting down­stairs in the hall with a handful of Angels? Or just a button you press up here that starts off the trapdoor and the electric banister rail and the mechanical gadget in the thirteenth stair?'

She faced him, flaming now without the slightest at­tempt at concealment, suddenly transformed into a beautiful tigress.

'You think you're clever—Saint!'

'I'm darn sure of it,' murmured the Saint, modestly.

'You think——'

'Often and brilliantly. I kicked up the rug before I stepped on it, and saw the edge of the trap. I'm always suspicious of iron banister rails on indoor staircases. And the thirteenth stair gave an inch under my weight, so I ducked. But nothing happened. Rather lucky for you the things weren't working—in the circumstances—isn't it?'

It was bewildering to think that the girl, according to official records, was only twenty-two. Simon Templar treated her like a petulant child because it pleased him to do so. But in that moment he recognized her anger as a grown reality with nothing childish in it. That he chose to keep the recognition to himself was nobody's business.