The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

said the Saint pleasantly. 'I'm behaving myself. I'm in my own flat, just about to go to bed like any respectable citizen. There's nothing you can accuse me of. What you're doing, Teal, is to put up a very thin bluff, and I'm calling the bluff. Laugh that off.'

Teal closed his eyes.

'In Paris——'

'In Paris,' said Simon calmly, 'I stole two hundred thousand francs from Lord Essenden. I admit it. If you like, I'll put it in writing, and you can take it home with you to show the chief commissioner. But you can't do anything about it. The hideous crime was commit­ted on French soil and it's a matter for the French police alone. I'm in England. An Englishman cannot be extradited from England. Sorry to disappoint you, I'm sure, but you shouldn't try to put things like that over on me.'

'In Birmingham——'

'In Birmingham,' said the Saint, in the same equable manner, 'a man known lately as Stephen Weald and formerly as Waldstein was shot by Jill Trelawney. Wheth­er it was in self-defense or not is a matter for the jury which may or may not try her—I suppose you had some sort of a story from Donnell. However, I did my duty and arrested her. I thought I had disarmed her, but in the taxi she produced another gun and stuck me up. I was forced to get into a train with her. Not far north of London, she forced me to jump out. I don't know what happened after that. I lay stunned beside the track for several hours ——'

'What kind of a gag,' demanded Teal, 'are you trying to put over?'

The Saint beamed.

'I'm merely giving you a free sample of my defense, which will also be the means of getting you thoroughly chewed up in the courts if you get nasty, Claud Eustace, old corpuscle. The commissioner should have had my letter of resignation, in which I explained that I was so overcome with shame that I couldn't face him to hand it in personally. It was posted the same evening. I admit I proved to be the duddest of all possible dud policemen, but my well known desire to save my own skin at all costs ——'

Teal spread a scrap of paper on the table.

'And this—your receipt to Essenden? I know one of these pictures, Templar, but the other——'

'My wife,' said the Saint breezily.

'Oh, yes. And when were you married?'

'Not yet. The tense is future.'

The detective closed his eyes again.

'So that's your story, is it?'

'And a darn good story it is, too,' said Simon Templar complacently.

'And what about this new home of yours?'

'Since when has it been illegal for a respectable citizen to have a second establishment—or even an alias? . . . But I wouldn't mind knowing how you located it so quickly, all the same.'

'I've known about it for months,' said the detective sleepily. 'When I drew blank at Upper Berkeley Mews, I came straight here.'

The Saint laughed.

'And then you go straight home again. Teal, that's too bad! . . . But you ought to have known better, honey, really you ought. Now, are you going to take Uncle's advice and have a glass of barley water before