Prelude For War

Sangore's complexion went a rich mottled puce. He tried to speak, but there seemed to be an obstruction in his throat.

Simon went on talking, and his voice was cool and piti­less.

'Last year, when there was a strike at the Pyrford Aviation Works, which is a subsidiary of the Wolverhamp­ton Ordnance Company, you stated publicly that the ring­leaders ought to be put up against a wall and shot. This year, addressing the Easter rally of the Imperial Defence Society, you said: 'A great deal of nonsense has been talked about the horrors of war.' If you would have liked to kill half-a-dozen men for the sake of dividends, and if you think it's a great deal of nonsense to object to people being massacred in millions, I can't help feeling that you qualify as a good suspect. What do you think?'

What General Sangore thought could only be inferred; he was still choking impotently.

Lady Sangore came to his rescue. Her face had gone from white to scarlet, and her small eyes were glittering with vindictive passion.

'The man's a cad,' she proclaimed tremblingly. 'It's no use wasting words on him. He—he simply isn't a sahib!'

She appeared to be slightly appalled by her temerity, as if she had pronounced the ultimate unspeakable condem­nation.

'It's—it's an outrage!' spluttered Fairweather. 'The man is a well-known criminal. We're only lowering ourselves——'

The Saint's cold blue eyes picked him up like an insect on a pin.

'Let me see,' he said. 'I seem to remember that you played a forward part in getting a change made in the workings of the National Defence Contribution a few years ago. The sales talk was that the tax on excess profits would have paralyzed business enterprise; but the truth is that it would have hit hardest against the firms that were booming on the strength of the new rearmament program—of which, I think, Norfelt Chemicals was by no means the smallest. And you recently stated before a royal commission that 'The armament industry is one which provides employment for thousands of workers. The fact that its products are open to misuse can no more be held against the industry per se than can the production of drugs which would be poisonous if taken without medical advice.' If those are samples of your logic, I don't see why we shouldn't have you on the suspected list—do you?'

Luker stepped forward.

'Surely, Mr Templar,' he remarked urbanely, 'you aren't going to leave me out of your interesting summary.'

The Saint looked at him steadily.

'I can give you some news,' he said. 'That is, if you haven't heard it already. I spent the afternoon going to London to see if I could catch Ralph Windlay, the man Kennet lived with, before an accident happened to him. I'm sure you'll be cheered to know that everything went off without a hitch and he was already dead when I got there.'

There was a dead silence.

And then Lady Valerie Woodchester was tugging uncon­sciously at the Saint's arm. Her full lips were quivering and there was an expression of dazed horror on her face.

'Not Ralph?' she was saying shakily. 'No ... no, he can't have been murdered, too!'

The Saint's eyes went to her with an instant's brief compassion.

'I'm afraid so,' he said. 'Even our coroner here couldn't make out it was an accident. He was shot right between the eyebrows, and his brains were all over the carpet.'

'The use of the word 'too' is interesting.' Luker's impassive voice came levelly through the stillness. 'If Kennet was murdered, somebody killed him and then set fire to the house. Within a few minutes Mr Templar arrives on the scene. It is he who suggests foul play. Then Kennet's friend Windlay is murdered, and again Mr Templar is first on the scene; again it is he who discovers that there has been foul play. It certainly appears to be a coincidence to which the attention of the police should be called.'