Prelude For War

Valerie Woodchester, an' she'd escaped from you, an' they 'ad reason to believe she might 'ave come here to Anford, an' you might be arfter 'er to try an' kidnap 'er again, an' we was to endeavour to trace 'er an' afford her every protection, an' if we found you hanging about there was a warrant for your arrest. Well, we tried the hotels first, and as soon as we rang up 'ere they told us that Lady Valerie 'ad just come in and taken a room. So I come along to see if she'd like to make a statement an' if she wanted a man to look arfter 'er, an' now you're here with'er, and . . . Well,' said the sergeant, plugging his initial thesis, 'there must be somethink barmy about it.'

'There's a warrant for my arrest?' Simon ejaculated. 'What on earth is it for?'

'Kidnapping Lady Valerie. An' obstructing the police in the execution of their duty.'

Simon had wondered how Mr Teal would officially describe being locked up in a wardrobe with an ex-cabinet minister.

'Good Lord,' he said, 'does it look as if Lady Valerie was excited about being rescued?'

'That,' said the sergeant, with lugubrious finality, 'is wot looks so barmy.'

The Saint grinned and leaned back.

'Are you sure somebody hasn't been pulling your leg?' he suggested.

'I dunno. If anybody has, 'e'll be sorry he ever tried it before I've finished with 'im. But it sounded all right, just like the regular communications we 'ave from the Yard when there's anythink doing.' The sergeant turned his dis­appointedly bewildered eyes back to the girl. 'Did Mr Tem­plar kidnap you, miss?' he asked, like a drowning man clutching at the last straw.

Lady Valerie looked at the Saint again and back to the two policemen.

Simon put his cigarette between his lips and drew at it very slowly.

'Why,' she said, 'that's the funniest thing I ever heard!'

There was a silence in which no pins could have been heard dropping because nobody was dropping pins. The sergeant scratched another part of his head and squeezed little wedges of coagulated dandruff from under his fingernails. He looked as unhappy as any public servant must look when confronted by a situation that fails to follow the dot­ted line. Simon took his cigarette out of his mouth and trickled the smoke out in a long leisured streamer through the unaltered quizzical curve of his lips. His gaze rested contemplatively on Lady Valerie as her glance returned to him. She looked coy and complacent, like a puppy that has got away with an unguarded plate of foie gras canapes. It was left to the constable to make the first constructive con­tribution. An expression of mingled relief and pride had ironed the wrinkles out of his countenance when he heard Lady Valerie's confirmatory denial: quite plainly he had been making a dutiful effort to convince himself that the Saint had actually been caught more or less red handed, but he had never really made it stick hard enough to be able to let go of it, and it was distinctly cheering to him to be absolved from the strain of continuing to hold it down. Now he was free to indulge in his own theories, and the solution came to him with dazzling simplicity.

'I can see wot's 'appened,' he proclaimed. 'It's as clear as daylight. It's a gang. That's wot it is. One of these gangs which Mr Templar is always breakin' up 'as got it in for 'im, and they're tryin' to frame him for this kidnapping which he knows nothing about so as to get 'im out o' the way and leave 'emselves free to get on with their dirty work. That's wot it is.'

The sergeant did not seem impressed.

'It isn't because any threats 'ave bin made to you in case you tell the truth, is it, Lady Valerie?' he persisted, as if hoping against hope. 'Because if they 'ave, I can tell you that while we're here you need 'ave no fear of any menaces, no matter ooze——'