The Saint vs Scotland Yard (The Holy Terror)

And thus he rolled into the sitting-room.

'Sorry to have kept you waiting, old dear,' he murmured; and Chief Inspector Claud Eustace Teal rose from an arm­chair and surveyed him heavily.

'Good morning,' said Mr. Teal.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' agreed the Saint affably.

Patricia was smoking a cigarette in another chair. She should, according to the book of etiquette, have been beguil­ing the visitor's wait with some vivacious topical chatter; but the Saint, who was sensitive to atmosphere, had perceived nothing but a glutinously expanding silence as he entered the room. The perception failed to disturb him. He lifted the silver cover from a plate of bacon and eggs, and sniffed appre­ciatively. 'You don't mind if I eat, do you, Claud?' he mur­mured.

The detective swallowed. If he had never been required to interview the Saint on business, he could have enjoyed a tolera­bly placid life. He was not by nature an excitable man, but these interviews never seemed to take the course which he in­tended them to take.

'Where were you last night?' he blurted.

'In Cornwall,' said the Saint. 'Charming county—full of area. Know it?'

'What time did you leave?'

'Nine-fifty-two pip.'

'Did anybody see you go?'

'Everyone who had stayed the course observed my departure,' said the Saint carefully. 'A few of the male popula­tion had retired hurt a little earlier, and others were still enthusiastic but already blind. Apart from seven who had been ruled out earlier in the week by an epidemic of measles—'

'And where were you between ten and five minutes to five this morning?'

'I was on my way.'

'Were you anywhere near Wintney?'

'That would be about it.'

'Notice anything peculiar around there?'

Simon wrinkled his brow.

'I recall the scene distinctly. It was the hour before the dawn. The sleeping earth, still spell-bound by the magic of night, lay quiet beneath the paling skies. Over the peaceful scene brooded the expectant hush of all the mornings since the beginning of these days. The whole world, like a bride listening for the footfall of her lover, or a breakfast sausage hoping against hope——'

The movement with which Teal clamped a battered piece of spearmint between his molars was one of sheer ferocity.

'Now listen,' he snarled. 'Near Wintney, between ten and five minutes to five this morning, a Hirondel with your num­ber-plates on it was called on to stop by a police officer—-and it drove straight past him!'

Simon nodded.

'Sure, that was me,' he said innocently. 'I was in a hurry. D'you mean I'm going to be summoned?'

'I mean more than that. Shortly before you came past, the constable heard a scream——'

Simon nodded again.

'Sure, I heard it too. Weird noises owls make sometimes. Did he want me to hold his hand?'

'That was no owl screaming—'

'Yeah? You were there as well, were you?'

'I've got the constable's telephoned report—'

'You can find a use for it.' The Saint opened his mouth, inserted egg, bacon, and buttered toast in suitable proportions, and stood up. 'And now you listen, Claud Eustace.' He tapped the detective's stomach with his forefinger. 'Have you got a warrant to come round and cross-examine me at this ungodly hour of the morning-—or any other hour, for that matter?'

'It's part of my duty            '