Prelude For War

aeroplanes.'

Simon clutched his head.

'What guys?'

'De guys,' explained Mr Uniatz proudly, 'who break de bottles of liquor.'

 

 

2

The inquest was to be held at the Assembly Rooms in Anford, a largish building which served at various times for dances, whist drives, auctions and a meeting place for the Boy Scouts. When Simon arrived a small crowd had already started to gather, and three or four policemen were on duty to keep them back. Among the policemen Simon recognized the constable who had taken his arm on the night of the fire. He strolled across to him.

'Hullo, Reginald,' he murmured. 'What's new?'

'Oh, it's you, sir.' The policeman lowered his voice confidentially. 'Well, it all seems quite simple now. The pore devil never left 'is bed—'e come down, bed and all, right through into the libry. Shocking sight 'e was, too. But there, he couldn't 've felt nothing. He must 've bin spifli­cated by the smoke before ever the fire reached 'im.' He went on looking at the Saint with a certain amount of awe. 'I didn't know 'oo you was till after you'd gorn, sir,' he said apologetically.

'I'm sorry,' said the Saint gravely. 'But you can still arrest me now if you want to, so there's no harm done.'

'Arrest you?' repeated the policeman. 'Wot—me?' A beaming grin split his face almost in half. 'Why, I've read everythink they ever printed about you, and fair larfed myself sick sometimes, the way you put it over on those smart alecks at Scotland Yard. But I never thought I'd 'ave the pleasure of meeting you and not know it—though I did wonder 'ow you knew my name the other night.'

'Your name?' said the Saint faintly.

'Yes sir. Reginald. That was pretty good, that was. But I suppose you've got pretty near the 'ole police force of the country taped, haven't you?'

The Saint swallowed. He searched unavailingly for an adequate reply.

Fortunately his anguished efforts were cut short by the blessed advent of two large cars that rolled up to the steps at the entrance of the building, and a spontaneous move­ment of the crowd drew the policeman back to his job. The Saint took out his cigarette case with a feeling of precarious relief and watched the cars disgorge the digni­fied shapes of Luker, Fairweather, Sir Robert and Lady Sangore, and Lady Valerie Woodchester.

'It must be wonderful to be famous,' remarked Peter Quentin reverently.

'Get yourself some reflected glory,' said the Saint. 'Take Pat inside—I'm going to float around for a bit.'

He waited while they disappeared, and presently fol­lowed them in. Immediately inside the entrance was a fair-sized hall in which a number of people were standing about, conversing in cathedral mutters. There were single doors on each side, and a double pair facing the entrance which opened into the main room where the inquest was to take place. Near these farther doors Lady Valerie was standing alone, waiting, rather impatiently tapping the ground with one trim-shod foot. Simon went over to her.

'Good morning,' he said.

She turned languidly and inspected him, one finely arched eyebrow slightly raised. She had lovely eyes, large and dark and sparkling, shaded by very long lashes. Her dark hair gleamed with a warm autumn richness. The poise of her exquisitely modelled head, the angle of her childishly tip-tilted nose, the curl of her pretty lips, proclaimed her utter