Prelude For War

'You know,' he said earnestly, 'there's something about you—an innocence, a freshness, a sort of girlish appeal that attracts me irresistibly. You're so—so ingenuous and uncal­culating. Will a check do, or shall you want it in cash?'

'Damn,' she said in dismay. 'I believe you'd have paid a hundred if I'd asked for it. Oh well, I suppose a bargain's a bargain. A check will do.'

The Saint grinned.

'Thursday, then, at eight o'clock. At the Berkeley. And since this is a business deal I shall expect you to be punctual. The fee will go down one guinea for every minute I'm kept waiting.'

She tossed the stub of her cigarette across the room into the empty fireplace.

'Well, now we've finished talking about business can't we enjoy ourselves? I was hoping we'd have a chance after the inquest, but Algy hustled me away before I could even look round. They were all as mad as hornets, and I can't blame them. After all, you did make rather an ass of yourself, didn't you?'

'Do you really think I was just playing the fool?' he asked curiously.

'I mean trying to make out that Johnny had been mur­dered and Algy set fire to the house and so on. I mean, it was all so ridiculous, wasn't it?'

This time he knew beyond doubt that her artlessness was not so naive as it seemed. Her chatter was just a little too quick; besides, he had seen her face at one stage of the inquest.

He paused to consider his reply for a moment. If she knew what he had seen in London, it might startle some­thing out of her. He felt that the move must be made with a fine hand.

He had no chance to make it in that way.

There was a sound of footsteps descending stairs, reach­ing the entrance of the lounge. Simon glanced over his shoulder; and then he rose leisurely to his feet.

'It's time you were getting ready, my dear——'

Fairweather's thinly jovial voice broke off sharply as he realized that there was someone else in the room. He stared at the Saint for a long moment, with his mouth slightly open, while his fat face turned into the likeness of a piece of lard. And then, without any acknowledgment of recog­nition, he turned deliberately back to Lady Valerie.

'We shouldn't have left you so long,' he said. 'I hope you haven't been annoyed.'

'Of course she's been annoyed!' General Sangore's stormy voice burst out without the subtlety of Fairweather's snub. 'It's an insult for that feller to speak to any decent person after his behaviour this morning. Damned if I know what he meant by it, anyway.'

Simon put his hands in his pockets and relaxed against a cabinet full of hideous porcelain.

'What I meant by it was that I believe Kennet was mur­dered,' he said good-humouredly. 'Now have I made myself quite clear?'

The general glared at him from under his bushy eye­brows. He seemed to expect Simon to melt like wax.

'By Gad, sir,' he said truculently, 'you're—you're a bounder! I've never heard such bad form in my life!'

'You mean that if it was murder you'd rather have it hushed up, don't you?' Simon said gently. 'You didn't murder him yourself by any chance, did you?'