Prelude For War

Simon's bleak gaze took him up.

'Or you might mention it to the Sons of France,' he said.

It was a shot in the dark, but it hit a target somewhere. For the first time since he had known him, Simon saw Luker's graven mask slip for a fraction of a second. For that fleeting micron of time the Saint saw the stark soul of a man to whom murder meant nothing.

 

 

IV

How Kane Luker Spoke His Mind, and

Hoppy Uniatz Did the Best He Could

with His

 

'I LIKE THIS PLACE,' said Lady Valerie Woodchester, looking smugly around her. 'It's one of the few places in London where civilized people can eat civilized food.'

The Saint nodded. They had worked their way through three quarters of a menu selected with Simon Templar's own impeccable gastronomic artistry and served with the deference which waiters always instinctively gave him; and he had watched her personality expand and ripen like an exotic flower coming into bloom. Undoubtedly she did the setting no less justice than it did her. Her flawless shoul­ders and deliciously modelled head rose out of a plain but daringly cut evening gown like an orchid rising from a dark stem, with a startling loveliness that turned many envi­ous eyes towards her; she knew it, and she was delighted, like a child who has been taken out on a special treat. A brighter sparkle had crept gradually into her eyes and a faint flush into her cheeks. It was fun, you felt, to be eating a good dinner, and to be in one of the best places among the best people, and to be with a man who was tall and dark and handsome and who could make waiters fuss about obsequiously. Her dazzling flow of gay, senseless prattle had given the Saint no need to make trivial conver­sation while they ate; but now he hardened his heart.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'The food is good and the atmosphere is right. Also a stitch in time saves embarrassing exposure, and the horse is the noblest of animals. Now you've earned your bread and butter, and you can stop entertaining me. Let's be serious for a minute. Have you seen any of our friends today?'

She didn't answer at once. She was looking down at her plate, drawing idle patterns with her fork. Her expression had become abstracted; her thoughts seemed to be very far away.

'Yes, I've seen them,' she said vaguely.

'And how are they making out?'

She looked him suddenly straight in the eyes.

'You remember what Luker said at the Golden Fleece? Well, I suppose if I'd got any sense I'd think the same, seeing what a reputation you've got. I suppose you could have got into the house somehow and killed Johnny, and locked his bedroom door, and started the fire, and got out again, and then come back and pretended to try and rescue him. And then of course you could easily have gone to London and shot Ralph Windlay.'

'Easily,' said the Saint. 'But you don't believe I did, do you? Or do you?'

'I suppose not,' she said. 'In a way, I wish you had.'

She pushed away her plate, and he offered his cigarette case.

'Why do you wish I'd killed them? I didn't have any reason to.'

'Well, it would have