The Saint vs Scotland Yard (The Holy Terror)

Teal nodded; then he met the Saint's mocking eyes seriously.

'They'd have the coat off my back if it ever got round,' he said, 'but between you and me and these four walls, I'll make a deal—if you'll make one too.'

Simon settled on the edge of the table, his cigarette slanting quizzically upwards between his lips, and one whimsically sar­donic eyebrow arched.

'What is it?'

'Save the Scorpion for me, and I won't ask how you paid your income tax.'

For a few moments the Saint's noncommittal gaze rested on the detective's round red face; then it wandered back to the impaled memorandum above the mantelpiece. And then the Saint looked Teal in the eyes and smiled again.

'O.K.,' he drawled. 'That's O.K. with me, Claud.'

'It's a deal?'

'It is. There's a murder charge against the Scorpion, and I don't see why the hangman shouldn't earn his fiver. I guess it's time you had a break, Claud Eustace. Yes—you can have the Scorpion. Any advance on fourpence?'

Teal nodded, and held out his hand.

'Fourpence halfpenny—I'll buy you a glass of beer at any pub inside the three-mile radius on the day you bring him in,' he said.

Chapter V

Patricia Holm came in shortly after four-thirty. Simon Templar had lunched at what he always referred to as 'the pub round the corner'—the Berkeley—and had ambled ele­gantly about the purlieus of Piccadilly for an hour thereafter; for he had scarcely learned to walk two consecutive steps when his dear old grandmother had taken him on her knee and enjoined him to 'eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow is Shrove Tuesday'.

He was writing when she arrived, but he put down his pen and surveyed her solemnly.

'Oh, there you are,' he remarked. 'I thought you were dead, but Teal said he thought you might only have taken a trip to Vladivostok.'

'I've been helping Eilen Wiltham—her wedding's only five days away. Haven't you any more interest in her?'

'None,' said the Saint callously. 'The thought of the approaching crime makes my mind feel unbinged—unhinged. I've already refused three times to assist Charles to select pyjamas for the bridal chamber. I told him that when he'd been married as often as I have——'

'That'll do,' said Patricia.

'It will, very nearly,' said the Saint.

He cast an eye over the mail that she had brought in with her from the letter-box.

'Those two enevelopes with halfpenny stamps you may exter­minate forthwith. On the third, in spite of the deceptive three-halfpenny Briefmarke, I recognise the clerkly hand of Ander­son and Sheppard. Add it to the holocaust. Item four'—he picked up a small brown-paper package and weighed it calcu­latingly in his hand—'is much too light to contain high explo­sive. It's probably the new gold-mounted sock-suspenders I ordered from Asprey's. Open it, darling, and tell me what you think of them. And I will read you some more of the Hideous History of Charles.'

He took up his manuscript.

'With what a zest did he prepare

For the first meeting (open-air)!

With what a glee he fastened on

His bevor and his morion,

His greaves, his ventail, every tace,

His pauldrons and his rerebrace!

He sallied forth with martial eye,

Prepared to do, prepared to die,

But not prepared—by Bayard! not

For the reception that he got.

Over that chapter of the tale

It would be kind to draw a veil:

Let it suffice that in disdain,

Some hecklers threw him in a drain,

And plodding home——

'Excuse me,' said the Saint.