13 The Saint Intervenes (Boodle)

appeared to be speaking the truth; and Mr. Teal was not greatly surprised—the Saint had a habit of being acquaint­ed with the most unlikely people. But Teal's curiosity was not fully satisfied.

'I suppose you're here for the same reason as I am,' he said.

'More or less, I take it,' answered Simon. 'Do you think Yearleigh will be murdered?'

'You've seen the anonymous letters he's been receiving?'

'Some of 'em. But lots of people get anonymous threatening letters without getting a Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard sent down as a private pet.'

'They aren't all M.P.'s, younger sons of dukes, and well-known influential men,' said the detective rather cynically. 'What do you think about it?'

'If he is murdered, I hope it's exciting,' said the Saint callously. 'Poison is so dull. A hail of machine-gun bullets through the library window would be rather diverting, though. . . . What are you getting at, Claud—are you trying to steal my act or are you looking for an alliance?'

Mr. Teal unwrapped a wafer of chewing gum and stuck it in his mouth, and watched the Saint fixing buttons in a white waistcoat with a stolid air of detachment that he was far from feeling. It was sometimes hard for him to re­member that that debonair young brigand with the dangerous mouth and humorous blue eyes had personally murdered many men, beyond all practical doubt but equally beyond all pos­sibility of legal proof; and he found it hard to remember then. But nevertheless he remembered it. And the fact that those men had never died without sound reason did not ease his mind—the Saint had a disconcerting habit of assassinating men whose pollution of the universe was invisible to any­one else until he unmasked it.

'I'd like to know why you were invited,' said Mr. Teal.

Simon Templar put on his waistcoat, brushed his tuxedo, and put that on also. He stood in front of the dressing-table, lighting a cigarette.

'If I suggested that Yearleigh may have thought that I'd be more use than a policeman, you wouldn't be flattered,' he remarked. 'So why worry about suspecting me until he really is dead? I suppose you've already locked up the silver and had the jewels removed to the bank, so I don't see how I can bother you any other way.'

They went downstairs together, with Chief Inspector Teal macerating his spearmint in gloomy silence. If the Saint had not been a fellow-guest he would have taken his responsibili­ties less seriously; and yet he was unable to justify any sus­picion that the Saint was against him. He knew nothing about his host which might have inspired the Saint to take an un­lawful interest in his expectation of life.

The public, and what was generally known of the private, life of Lord Thornton Yearleigh was so far above reproach that it was sometimes held up as a model for others. He was a man of about sixty-five with a vigour that was envied by men who were twenty-five years his junior, a big-built natural athlete with snow-white hair that seemed absurdly premature as a crown for his clear ruddy complexion and erect carriage. At sixty-five, he was a scratch golfer, a first-class tennis player, a splendid horseman, and a polo player of considerable skill. In those other specialised pastimes which in England are particularly dignified with the name of 'sport,' hunting, shooting, and fishing, his name was a by-word. He swam in the sea throughout the winter, made occasional published com­ments on the decadence of modern youth, could always be depended on to quote 'mens sana in corpore sano' at the right moment, and generally stood as the living personifica­tion of those robust and brainless spartan ideals of cold baths and cricket which have contributed so much to England's share in the cultural progress of the world. He was a jovial and widely popular figure; and although he was certainly a member of the House of Commons, the Saint had not yet been known to murder a politician for that crime alone— even if he had often been known to express a desire to do so.

There was, of course, no reason at all why the prospective assassin should have been a member of the party; but his reflections on the Saint's character had started a train of thought in the detective's mind, and he found himself weigh­ing up the other guests speculatively during dinner.

The discussion turned on the private bill which Yearleigh was to introduce, with the approval of the Government, when Parliament reassembled during the