13 The Saint Intervenes (Boodle)

The Colonel frowned at him for a moment. He was, as we have explained, a born conservative. He never allowed him­self to be carried away. He deliberated. He calculated. He explored. He would, but for the ever-present stimulus of Mr. Immelbern, have done as little as any other conservative.

But gradually the frown faded, and a dignified smile took its place.

'There may be something in what you say, Sid,' he con­ceded.

'Go on,' ordered Mr. Immelbern crudely. 'Hop it. And try to wake your ideas up a bit. If somebody threw a purse into your lap, you'd be asking me what it was.'

Lieut.-Colonel Uppingdon gave him an aristocratically with­ering look, and rose sedately from the table. He went over to where the young man sat and coughed discreetly.

'Excuse me, sir,' he said, and the young man looked up from his idle study of the afternoon's runners at Sandown Park. 'You must have thought me a trifle rude just now.'

'Not at all,' said the young man amiably. 'I thought you were busy and didn't want to be bothered. How are things these days, George?'

The Colonel suppressed a start. The use of his Christian name implied an intimacy that was almost alarming, but the young man's pleasant features still struck no responsive chord in his memory.

'To tell you the truth,' he said, 'I'm afraid my eyes are not as good as they were. I didn't recognise you until you had gone by. Dear me! How long is it since I saw you last?'

The young man thought for a moment.

'Was it at Biarritz in 1929?'

'Of course!' exclaimed Uppingdon delightedly—he had never been to Biarritz in his life. 'By Gad, how the times does fly! I never thought I should have to ask when I last saw you, my dear——'

He broke off short, and an expression of shocked dismay overspread his face.

'Good Gad!' he blurted. 'You'll begin to think there's something the matter with me. Have you ever had a lapse of memory like that? I had your name on the tip of my tongue —I was just going to say it—and it slipped off! Wait—don't help me—didn't it begin with H?'

'I'm afraid not,' said the young man pleasantly.

'Not either of your names?' pursued the Colonel hopefully.

'No.'

'Then it must have been J.'

'No.'

'I mean T.'

The young man nodded. Uppingdon took heart.

'Let me see. Tom—Thomson—Travers—Terrington——'

The other smiled.

'I'd better save you the trouble. Templar's the name— Simon Templar.'

Uppingdon put a hand to his head.

'I knew it!' He was certain that he had never met anyone named Simon Templar. 'How stupid of me! My dear chap, I hardly know how to apologise. Damned bad form, not even being able to remember a fellow's name. Look here, you must give me a chance to put it right. What about joining us