Prelude For War

Reginald,' said the Saint feebly. 'Indeed you may. And for all I know, you may be the last.'

'Well, I dunno,' said the sergeant, harping on his theme.'I suppose in that case all we can do is take a statement an' let both of you go.'

'I'll take it down,' said the constable.

He rummaged eagerly in his pocket and pulled out sheets of official foolscap. With his tongue protruding, he wrote laboriously at dictation.

' 'My name is Lady Valerie Woodchester. ... I was not kidnapped by Mr Simon Templar. I am in love with him. We have eloped together. ... I eloped in secret because we did not wish any fuss. . . .' Will you sign your name 'ere, miss?'

Lady Valerie signed.

'Mr Templar 'd better sign it, too,' said the sergeant gloomily.

The Saint drew a deep breath, but he could say nothing. He took the pen and wrote his name with a steady hand.

The sergeant read over the sheet, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

'Well,' he said despondently, 'that's all we can do. Will you be stayin' 'ere for some time, sir ?'

'No,' said the Saint definitely. 'We were only spending a few hours before we went on to Southampton to catch a boat.' He got up. 'We'll go out with you.'

They went out. The constable carried Lady Valerie's tiny valise. Simon paid the bill for her room at the desk. They left the hotel.

Simon steered the cortege along the street to the side turning where he had parked the Daimler. If Lady Valerie was surprised to see it she gave no sign. He opened the near-side door and ushered her in with ceremonial courtesy. Just then he was too full of thoughts for words. He went round the car and got into the driving seat.

The constable leaned in at the window.

'Good-bye, sir,' he said jovially. 'And I 'opes all your troubles are little ones.'

'So do I,' said the Saint, from the bottom of his heart, and let in the clutch.

The sergeant and the constable stood and watched him go. Simon saw them receding in the driving mirror. The sergeant looked vaguely frustrated, as if he still thought he ought to have done something else even though he couldn't think of anything else he could have done. The constable looked as if he wished he had had a handful of confetti in his pocket.

Simon drove out of town and took the cross-country road that led towards Amesbury. His emotions were approxi­mately those of a shell that has just been fired out of a gun. He had been shot into space with one terrific explosion, and now he was sailing along with the fateful knowledge that there was another almighty bang waiting at the other end of the journey. The old proverbial voyagings between fry­ ing pans and fires seemed like comparatively pale and peace­ful transitions to him. He drove very carefully, as if the car had been made out of glass.

Lady Valerie snuggled up against him.

'Are you happy, darling?' she said.

'Beloved,' said the Saint chokily, 'I'm so happy that I could wring your neck.'

'Don't you appreciate what I've done for you?'

'Every bit of it,' he said, with superhuman moderation. 'So much so that if I'd had the least idea what was in your mind——'