'My good man, you're dippy!' said the Saint languidly. 'Who makes this charge, anyway?'
'I do.'
It was Bloem. Bloem with his leathery face perfectly composed, and just the ghost of a light of triumph in his slitted eyes betraying him. Bloem, walking past Carn into the room with just the right shade of deference and just the right suggestion of regret for having to make a scen6 — but quite firmly the law-abiding citizen determined to do his duty and bring the criminal to justice.
'A thousand pardons, Doctor.' Bloem bowed to Carn, and then turned and bowed to the girl. 'I am deeply sorry, Miss Holm, that I should be compelled to do this in your presence. Perhaps you would like to retire for a minute....'
Patricia tossed her head.
'Thanks — I'll stay,' she said. 'I'm sure there's a mistake, and perhaps I can help. I've been with Mr. Templar most of the evening.'
Bloem's eyes rested long and significantly on the girl's torn frock arid Scratched arms, but she met his gaze boldly, and at last he turned away with a lift of shoulder and eyebrow.
'I'll explain,' he said. 'I was reading in my study, shortly after eleven this evening, when this man walked in. He threatened me with a revolver, making some remark which I did not understand. I am not a young man, but I have led a hard life, and I? did not hesitate to grapple with him. He is very strong, however, and he managed to hit me with the butt of the revolver. I remember nothing more until the time when I came to and found him rifling my desk. Since he was armed, and had already beaten me once in a hand-to-hand tussle, I pretended to be still unconscious. He searched the room minutely, but apparently failed to find whatever it was he was looking for. When he left I followed him, and traced him here. Then I went and fetched Hopkins. That is the complete story.'
'Anjew better come along quietly,' advised the policeman, tightening his grip on the Saint's shoulder and holding his truncheon at the ready.
'Fine,' said the Saint softly. 'I should like to be searched now, so that your statement about the revolver can be verified.'
Bloem smiled.
'You left it behind,' he said. 'Here it is.'
Carn took the weapon from Bloem's hand and examined it.
'Belgian make,' he said. 'Is this yours, Mr. Templar?'
'It is not,' answered Simon promptly. 'I object to firearms on principle. They make such a noise.'
'Come along,' urged the constable, jerking the Saint forward.
Simon was not easily peeved, but one thing that made him see red was anybody trying to haze him. For a second he forgot his Saintly pose. He caught the policeman's wrist with both hands and twisted like an eel. There was a flurry of arms and legs, a yell, and George Hopkins landed with a crash on the other side of the room, with most of the breath knocked out of him.
The Saint straightened his tie, and looked bang into the muzzle of an automatic in Bloem's hand, but that he ignored.
'Anyone who wants a quiet life is advised to keep his filthy hands off me,' murmured the Saint. 'Don't do it again, son.'
The constable was getting shakily to his feet.
'That's assaulting the police,' he stormed.
'Oh, don't be childish,' drawled the Saint, cool again. 'When we want your little chatter we'll ask for it. Just now, Bloem, we'll argue this out by ourselves. We can soon smash this cock-and-bull yarn of yours. One: were you alone in the house?'
'I was.'
'Where was Algy?'
'He'd gone over to see Miss Holm,'
That knocked the bottom out of a neat little alibi that the Saint had thought of trying to put over, but he did not show his disappointment.
'Two: didn't anyone follow me here with you?'
'I refuse to be cross-examined. I've told you I was alone — ''
'You're talking,' said the Saint coldly. 'Don't. Be a good boy and just answer when you're spoken to. And the point is, if you've been quite alone all this time, as you say you have, what's your word against mine? Suppose I say I called in for a chat, and you stuck me up with that gun and tried to pinch my watch? Why shouldn't you be run in yourself?'
'Let 'im tell that to the judge,' growled the constable.
'I think,' said Bloem acidly, 'that my reputation will survive your wild accusations.'
The Saint was not impressed.
'We had a stand-up fight, did we?' he went on. 'I grant you I look as if I'd been in some rough stuff. Now suppose you take off that mac and let's see how you came out of it.'
Bloem smiled, a little wearily, and unbuttoned his coat. The Saint's lips tightened. Bloem certainly had a convincing air of having been violently handled, and that put the Tiger another point to the good. Simon saw the Tiger's score soaring skyward at an alarming rate, but the only effect of that was to key up his own nerves, while his easy and confident manner never faltered. There were still a few more minutes to play.
'It's rather hopeless, isn't it?' said Bloem.
He was appealing to the audience, and the constable grunted his agreement.
'What was this remark you didn't understand?' asked Carn. 'When he — as you say — threatened you with the revolver.'
'It was most mysterious,' said Bloem. 'He said:
'I'm looking for the tiger's den, and I think I'm getting warm.' I still can't make out what he meant.'
Simon fished out his cigarette case and began to tap a cigarette thoughtfully on his thumbnail. Apparently bored with the whole proceeding, he nevertheless saw Carn's face become a mask. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Bloem, and the Boer's bland demeanour almost took his breath away. The colossal audacity of that last statement was the crowning stroke to a truly masterly bluff. The Saint wondered if Carn himself was suspect, but Bloem's gaze rested only on the Saint. No — the gang knew nothing about Carn's real profession. Bloem was simply taking a vindictive pleasure in kicking the man whom he thought he had got where he wanted him.
And it looked dangerously as if he had got the Saint tied hand and foot and gagged. Patricia could not help him, and Carn could not — even if he cared to. It was Bloem's word against Simon's, and there was no doubt which the Bench would prefer to accept. And Bloem knew that the Saint knew that any reference to the evening's entertainment at Bittle's would be futile. Bittle would lie like a Trojan, and the Tiger was sure to have provided him with a plausible explanation of the noise that had occurred earlier that night.
The Saint grasped the consummate efficiency of the Tiger's tactics. Simon was to be shopped, and the shopping had been slickly done. He would be lucky to get away with six months' hard — and taken in conjunction with the assault upon the police in the execution of its duty the whole charge sheet might well put the Saint behind bars for upward of a year. And in that time T. T. Deeps could be salted, and the Tiger Cubs could fade gracefully away. The Saint lounged even more languidly against the mantelpiece. This last deal had certainly given the Tiger one Hades of a hand.
Yet indisputably the Saint dominated the situation. They were all waiting for him. Bloem, watching him through narrowed lids, and still training the automatic upon him, was utterly confident of the strength of his combination. He was just waiting for the Saint to confess defeat. The constable, more wary after his taste of the Saint's anger, was hanging about in the background waiting for somebody else to start the next dance. Patricia was looking anxiously at the Saint, powerless to help him, and wondering if any daring sideslip was being planned behind that lazy exterior. The one certain thing was that she did not believe Bloem's story for an instant. At any other time she might have credited it, but seen in the light of previous events that evening it savoured of nothing but the complicated web of mystery which had caught her up in its meshes and which threatened her Saint with the most sinister things. And Carn had nothing to say. As far as Bloem's story was concerned it might or might not be true — his knowledge of the Saint inclined him to believe it. But in any case the Saint was working against him, even if he was also working against the Tiger. And to have disclosed himself as Central Detective Inspector Carn of Scotland Yard would have written Finis to every chance he had of succeeding on his mission.
