The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

'And if he knows you so well,' said the Saint, 'he'll be expecting trouble.'

'Of course.'

'And he's going to get it?'

With a cup of coffee in her hand, the girl answered, quite calmly: 'A year ago I swore to kill every man who had a hand in ruining my father. Waldstein is dead. I suspect Essenden. If I find proof against him—'

'That was my way, once,' said the Saint quietly. 'But doesn't it ever occur to you that you might be doing much better work if you looked for the evidence to clear your father's name, instead of merely looking for revenge?'

Jill Trelawney said: 'My father died.'

Simon had nothing to say.

They spent another inactive day, reading and talking desultorily. To Simon Templar, those long conversations were fascinating and yet maddening. She never spoke of the Angels of Doom, or the charge that lay against her, or the unchanged inflexibility of her purpose. These things remained as a dark background to her presence: they were never allowed to steal out of the background, and yet they could not be escaped. Against that background Simon Templar felt himself a stranger. Not once yet, in that bizarre alliance of theirs, had he been allowed to enter into the secret places of her mind. But he played up to her. Because she had that air of unawareness, he left her unaware. He tried no cross-examinations. She was the soloist: he was the accompaniment, heard, valuable, per­fectly attuned, but subordinate and half ignored. It was one of the most salutary experiences of the Saint's violent life. But what else could he do? The mind of a woman with an Idea is like a one-way street: you have to run with the traffic, or get into trouble.

She obliterated their forthcoming adventure until the evening. Until after dinner; when she smiled at him across the table and his cigarette case, and said: 'Saint, it's very nice of you to be coming with me.'

'Very nice of you to be come with,' said the Saint politely.

He offered her a match; but for a moment she looked past it.

'Does the idea of being an accessory to another murder attract you?' she asked.

'Tremendously,' said the Saint.

'It will probably come to that, you know.'

'I've always enjoyed a good murder.'

She touched her waist. He knew what she carried there, under her coat. Since the night before, he had inspected the weapon again, with a professional eye.

'Have you got a gun?' she asked him.

'Don't care for 'em,' he said. 'Nasty, noisy things. Dangerous, too. Might go off.'

She laughed suddenly.

'And yet,' she said, 'you've proved you aren't a fool. If you hadn't, I'd have taken a lot of convincing. . . . Are you ready?'

He glanced at his watch.

'The car should be here now,' he said.

They went out to the car five minutes later—a luxurious limousine, with liveried chauffeur, ordered by telephone for the occasion.

Simon handed the girl in, and paused to give directions to the chauffeur.