Follow the Saint

proportion of Mr Teal, his sufferings were considerable. They made him pessimistic and depressed, and more than usually morose. His working days had become long hours of discomfort and misery, and it seemed an eternity since he had spent a really restful and dreamless night. Even now, after having forgone his Sunday dinner in penitence for the price he had had to pay for bacon and eggs at breakfast, the cream bun to whose succulent temptation he had not long ago succumbed was already beginning to give him the un­happily familiar sensation of having swallowed a live and singularly vicious crab. And this was the mortal dolour in addition to which he had had to receive a superfluous re­minder of the Saint.

The waitress at last succeeded in gaining audience.

'Yes,' boomed Kennedy. 'Tea. Strong tea. And about half a ton of hot buttered crumpets.'

Mr Teal closed his eyes again as another excruciating cramp curled through him.

In his darkened loneliness he became aware that the music had been interrupted and the radio was talking.

'... and this amazing tea is not only guaranteed to relieve indigestion immediately, but to effect a complete and permanent cure,' said a clear young voice with a beautiful Oxford accent. 'Every day we are receiving fresh testimonials——'

'My God,' said Teal with a shudder, 'where is that Eric-or-Little-by-Little drivelling from?'

'Radio Calvados,' answered Kennedy. 'One of the new continental stations. They go to work every Sunday. I sup­pose we shall have to put up with it as long as the BBC refuses to produce anything but string quartets and instructive talks on Sundays.'

'Miracle Tea' said Eric, continuing little by little. 'Remember that name. Miracle Tea. Obtainable from all high-class chemists, or direct by post from the Miracle Tea Company, 909 Victoria Street, London. Buy some Miracle Tea tonight !. . . And now we shall conclude this programme with our signature song— Tea for You.'

Mr Teal held on to his stomach as the anguishing parody proceeded to rend the air.

'Miracle Tea!' he rasped savagely. 'What'll they think of next? As if tea could cure indigestion! Pah!'

The way he said 'Pah!' almost blew his front teeth out; and Kennedy glanced at him discerningly.

'Oh, so that's the trouble, is it ? The mystery is solved.'

'I didn't say——'

Kennedy grinned at him.

The door of the tea shoppe opened again, to admit Inspector Peters, Kennedy's chief assistant.

'Sorry I was so long, sir,' he apologized, taking the vacant chair at their table. 'The man was out——'

'Never mind that,' said Kennedy. 'Teal's got indiges­tion.'

'You can fix that with a bit of bicarb,' said Peters helpfully.

'So long as it isn't something more serious,' said Kennedy, reaching for the freshly-arrived plate of hot buttered crumpets with a hand like a leg of mutton and the air of massive confidence which can only be achieved by a man of herculean physique who knows that his interior would never dare to give him any backchat. 'I've been noticing his face lately. I must say I've been worried about it, but I didn't like to mention it before he brought it up.'

'You mean the twitching ?' asked Peters.