The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

delicately on the edge of an ashtray.

'Is that all you came to say?' she asked patiently.

'Not quite,' said the Saint, in that tone of gentle mockery that would have been like sandpaper rasped across the nerves of anyone less self-possessed. 'I just wanted to ask one thing—about your father.'

She faced him.

'Haven't I told you,' she said dangerously, 'to leave my father out of this?'

'I know,' said the Saint. 'And I've told you that I shall bring anyone into it whom I choose to bring in. So we know where we are. And now listen to this. I've been making some inquiries about your father, and I've come on a name which interests me. It may mean something to you. The name is—Waldstein.'

She stared at him narrowly.

'Well?'

The monosyllable dropped like a flake of hot metal.

'I thought you might be after him,' said the Saint. 'Do you mind telling me if I'm right?'

Slowly she nodded. .   'You're quite right—Templar!'

The Saint beamed.

'That's one of the most sensible things I've heard you say,' he remarked. 'In fact, if you concentrated your attention on Waldstein you'd be doing yourself and every­one else much more good than you're doing at present. If your father was framed, Waldstein knows all about it. I'll tell you that. But what good you expect to do by simply making yourself a nuisance to the police force in general is more than my logical mind can see.'

She pointed to the table.

'I suppose you've seen the papers?'

'We have. All about the inefficiency of the police. Of course, everybody doesn't know that I'm in charge of the situation. But does it give you the satisfaction you want?'

'It gives me some satisfaction.'

'We are also amused,' said Simon. 'The chiefs of the C. I. D. meet together twice a day to roar with laughter over it. ... And I think that's all for today. I'll see you again soon. If you like, I'll drop you a line to say when I'm coming, so that you can arrange to be out.'

'Perhaps,' she said silkily, 'you will not be in a posi­tion to come again. So you might save the stamp.'

'That's all right,' said the Saint easily. 'I shouldn't have stamped the letter.'

He stood up and picked up his hat, which he brushed carefully with his sleeve. She made no move to delay him.

At the door he turned for his parting shot.

'Just for information,' he said, 'is there going to be any trouble about my leaving this time?'

'No,' she said quietly. 'Not just now.'

He smiled.

'Something else arranged, I suppose. Not machine guns, I hope. And no more poisoned milk. I don't want you to let yourself down by repeating yourself too often, you know.'

'You won't be in suspense for long,' she said.