The Saint vs Scotland Yard (The Holy Terror)

and ask the big—ask him about scorpions. 28 Mallaby Road, Harrow'. That's right, isn't it?'

'That's my name and address,' said .Garniman shortly. 'But I have still to learn the reason for this—er—'

'Visit,' supplied the Saint. He was certainly feeling helpful this morning.

He closed his book and returned it to his pocket.

'As a matter of fact,' he said, 'we heard that the Saint was interested in you.'

He was not even looking at Garniman as he spoke. But the mirror over the mantelpiece was in the tail of his eyes, and thus he saw the other's hands, which were clasped behind his back, close and unclose—once.

'The Saint?' said Garniman. 'Really—'

'Are you sure I'm not detaining you?' asked the Saint, suddenly very brisk and solicitous. 'If your staff will be anx­ious . . .'

'My staff can wait a few minutes.'

'That's very good of you. But if we telephoned them——'

'I assure you—that is quite unnecessary.'

'I shouldn't like to think of your office being disorganised——'

'You need not trouble,' said Garniman. He moved across the room. 'Will you smoke?'

'Thanks,' said the Saint.

He had just taken the first puff from a cigarette when Garniman turned round with a carved ebony box in his hand.

'Oh,' said Mr. Garniman, a trifle blankly.

'Not at all,' said the Saint, who was never embarrassed. 'Have one of mine?'

He extended his case, but Garniman shook his head.

'I never smoke during the day. Would it be too early to offer you a drink?'

'I'm afraid so—much too late,' agreed Simon blandly.

Garniman returned the ebony box to the side table from which he had taken it. Then he swung round abruptly.

'Well?' he demanded. 'What's the idea?'

The Saint appeared perplexed.

'What's what idea?' he inquired innocently.

Garniman's eyebrows came down a little.

'What's all this about scorpions——and the Saint?'

'According to the Saint ——'

'I don't understand you. I thought the Saint had disap­peared long ago.'

'Then you were grievously in error, dear heart,' murmured Simon Templar coolly. 'Because I am myself the Saint.'

He lounged against a book-case, smiling and debonair, and his lazy blue eyes rested mockingly on the other's pale plump face.

'And I'm afraid you're the Scorpion, Wilfred,' he said.

For a moment Mr. Garniman stood quite still. And then he shrugged.

'I believe I read in the newspapers that you had been pardoned and had retired from business,' he said, 'so I suppose it would be useless for me to communicate your confession to the police. As for this scorpion that you have referred to several times——'

'Yourself,' the Saint corrected him gently, and Garniman shrugged again.

'Whatever delusion you are suffering from '

'Not a delusion, Wilfred.'

'It is immaterial to me what you call it.'

The Saint seemed to lounge even more languidly, his hands deep in his pockets, a thoughtful and reckless smile playing lightly about his lips.