The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

know or you don't,' said the Saint.

He picked up a small black notebook from the table and stuffed it into the detective's breast pocket.

'You can have that,' he said. 'It's an exact transcrip­tion of a book that the late lamented Essenden lost in Paris. You may have heard the story. Personally decoded and annotated by Simon Templar. There are about twen­ty-five names and addresses there, with full records and enough evidence to hang twenty-five archangels—all the main squeezes in the organization that Waldstein and Essenden were running. You may have it with my bless­ing, Claud. I'd have dealt with it myself once, but life is getting too short for these diversions now. Take it home with you, old dear, and don't tell anyone how you got it; and if you play your cards astutely you may make some mug believe you always were a real detective, after all. And I'm going back to bed.'

Teal followed him into the bedroom.

'Templar,' said Teal drowsily, 'are you still sure it wouldn't be worth your while to come across?' '

'Quite sure,' said the Saint, closing his eyes.

Teal masticated thoughtfully.         

'You're taking on a lot,' he said. 'You've been lucky so far, but that doesn't say it's going on for ever. And sooner or later, if you keep on this way, you're going to find a big hunk of trouble waiting for you round the corner. I'm not looking forward to anything like that happening. I'll admit you've scored off me more than once, but I'm ready to call that quits if you are.'

'Thanks,' yawned the Saint. 'And now do you mind shutting your face?'

'You're clever,' said Teal, 'but there are other bright people in the world besides you, and——'

'I know,' drawled the Saint. 'You're a bright boy yourself. That bit of sleuthing over the mud in the car was real hot dog. I'll send the chief commissioner an un­solicited testimonial to your efficiency one day. Good­night.'

 

2

 

Teal departed gloomily.

He was very busy for the rest of the day with other business, but that did not prevent him taking frequent peeps at the notebook which the Saint had pressed upon him. The entries were almost shockingly transparent; and Teal did not take twenty minutes to realize that that little book placed in his pudgy hands all the loose threads of an organization that had been baffling him on and off for years. But the realization did not uplift his soul as much as it might have done. He knew quite well that once upon a time the contents of that book would, as Simon Templar had frankly admitted, have remained the private property of the same gentleman un­der his better-known title of the Saint, and there would have been twenty-five more mysterious deaths or disap­pearances, heralded by the familiar trade-mark, to weed some more of the thinning hairs from Chief Inspector Teal's round pate. The Saint's own statement, that the old game had lost its charm, and that he was on the eve of another of his perennial lapses into virtue, Teal was inclined to regard skeptically. It seemed almost too good to be true; and Teal had never been called an incorrigible optimist.

He waded through his divers affairs with a queer cer­tainty that something was shortly going to shatter the comparative peace of the past few days; and in this sur­mise he was perfectly right.

It was not until after dinner that he returned to Scot­land Yard; but by that time he had formed a distinct resolve, and he had not been in the building five minutes before he was asking to see the chief commissioner.

The answer which he received, however, was not what he expected.