The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

friendly advance towards me,' he murmured. 'But of course there was some prejudice against me at the time. Tell me that story again—from the inside.'

Cullis settled himself.

'The inside is that Trelawney swore all along that he'd been framed,' he said. 'It's not such an inside, any­way, because he told exactly the same tale at the inquiry. After all, that was the only defense open to him: he was caught so red-handed that no one could have thought out any other explanation except that he was guilty.'

'The story?'

'Police plans were leaking out; raids falling flat regu­larly. Something had to be done. The chief commissioner took a chance on myself and another superintendent— we had the longest service records—and arranged for us to lead a surprise raid on a Thursday night. On Thursday morning he let it get round the Yard that the raid was to take place on Saturday. We raided on Thursday with­out any fuss, roped in a gang that had slipped us twice before, and kept everyone on the premises—including the men who made the raid, and they were officially sup­posed to be on leave. Therefore there was nobody left at the Yard, except the chief, who knew that the raid was over. We had one man sitting over the telephone and another over the letter box. First post on Friday morning, a letter came in. Just one word, typewritten: Saturday. It was on official paper, with the heading cut off, and the experts put it under the microscope and traced it to the typewriter in Trelawney's office.'

'Which anyone might have used.'

'It was postmarked Windsor. Trelawney went down to Windsor for a consultation on Thursday afternoon—and he went alone.'

'Flimsy,' said the Saint. 'An accomplice might have posted it.'

Cullis nodded.

'I know it wasn't any good by itself. But it was a clue. Nobody saw the letter but the chief and myself. We watched Trelawney ourselves. We were after Waldstein then. He was always slippery, and at that time we reck­oned he was vanishing an average of one girl a week through the Pan-European Concert Agency, which was one of his most profitable incarnations. But he was clever, and he never appeared in person, and there was never a line of evidence. Then I had the inspiration. I suggested to the chief that he go to Trelawney with the story that one of Waldstein's men had squealed. He saw the point, and agreed. He told the tale of Trelawney, as he'd natu­rally have told him anything else in the way of business that he was pleased about. Waldstein was in Paris, and the chief said that the Surete had arranged to intercept any letters, telegrams, or telephone calls addressed to him, so that no one could warn him, and one of our men was going over to arrest him the next morning. And the next morning, bright and early, Trelawney chartered a special aeroplane and set off for Paris.'

'No!'

'He did. The chief and I, having been waiting for just that, chased him in a faster aeroplane, and trailed him all the way from Le Bourget to Waldstein's hotel. Then, when we'd heard him ask for Waldstein at the office, the chief tapped him on the shoulder.'

'And?'

'He'd got his story pat. Gosh, I've never met such a nerve! He just blinked a bit when he first saw the chief and me, but from then on he never batted an eyelid. We went into a private room, and the chief told him the game was up.

' 'What game?' asked Trelawney.

' 'What are you doing here?' asked the chief.

' 'What you told me to do,' says Trelawney.

' 'I never told you to come here,' says the chief.

'The chief says Trelawney went a bit white then, but I never noticed it. Anyway, Trelawney's story was that he'd been called up by the chief early that