Prelude For War

delicate. I want you to bear this in mind a little later on.'

He turned back to the Saint.

'You appear to have acted with singular courage, Mr Templar,' he said. 'I'm sure that that is quite obvious to all of us here in spite of the modest way in which you have told your story. I should like to compliment you on your extremely gallant attempt to save this unfortunate young man's life. Next witness, please.'

A glint of steel came into the Saint's eyes. He knew that the coroner had had a good talk with the party from Whiteways, and it had been evident from the start of the proceed­ings that everything was laid out to lead up to a verdict of accidental death with as little fuss as possible. That was all very well; and the Saint had quite enjoyed himself while he was waiting for his turn. But now he realized that he was not intended to have a turn. His own evidence had been adroitly manoeuvred towards bolstering up the desired verdict; and the coroner, warned about him in time, was getting rid of him with a pontifical pat on the back before he had a chance to derange the well-oiled machinery. Which was not by any means the Saint's idea.

'Haven't the jury any questions?' he asked breezily.

He turned towards them and looked hard at the black-bearded little man, who was sitting slumped disconsolately in his chair. There was something compelling about his direct gaze.

The black-bearded little man's figure straightened and an eager light came into his eyes. He rose.

'Yus,' he said defiantly. 'I've got some questions.'

The coroner's hands tightened together.

'Very well,' he snapped. 'Go on and ask your questions.'

The way in which he spoke explained to the entire audi­ence that the questions could only be a pointless waste of their time as much as his own.

The little man turned to Simon.

'You're the chap they call the Saint, ain't you?' he said. 'You've 'ad a lot of experience of crime—murders, and that sort o' thing.'

Before Simon could answer the coroner intervened.

'Mr Templar's past life .and any nickname by which he may be known to the public are not subjects which we have to consider at this inquiry. Kindly confine your questions to facts relevant to the case.'

There was an awkward pause. The little juryman's atti­tude was still undaunted, but he didn't seem to know what to say next. He looked about him desperately, as if search­ing the room for inspiration. Finally he spoke.

'Do you think there was something fishy about this fire?' he demanded.

'Mr Templar's personal opinions are not matters which concern this court,' interrupted the coroner sternly.

The Saint smiled. He looked at the little juryman, and spoke very clearly and distinctly.

'Yes,' he said. 'I think there were a lot of very fishy things about it.'

There was a moment of silence so heavy that it seemed almost solid. And then it broke in a babble of twittering speculation that surged over the room as if a swarm of bees had been turned loose. There was a craning of necks all over the court, a quick rustling of notebooks among the reporters.

Simon stood at his ease,