The Saint and Mr Teal (Once More the Saint)

round. There's a dark corridor between Sam's private room and the side door, and as I came down there I was caught from behind. There was two of 'em- whoever they were-and they had a handkerchief with chloroform on it. I sort of passed out. When I woke up I was lying on a heap of bricks in a building lot just next to Sam's.'

'What did Harp say about it?'

'He didn't know anything. Said he locked the door after he let us in, and couldn't see that anyone had forced it.'

'Have you any idea who the other guy was-besides the Saint?'

'I don't know, Mr. Goldman. I didn't hear neither of them speak --'

Corrigan's voice died away. The cold black eyes of Tex Goldman, screwed down to vicious pinpoints, were boring into his face with an inclement ferocity that appalled him. Ted Orping started up-one abrupt menacing movement. Clem Enright moved his feet restlessly, his mouth opening in stupid perplexity.

Tex Goldman's cigar waved a slight gesture of re­straint.

'You didn't seem surprised when I mentioned the Saint, Corrigan,' said the gunman silkily. 'Who told you that was who it was ?'

'I don't . . . Nobody told me, Mr. Goldman. I-I s'pose --'

'You skunk!'

Goldman moved with startling suddenness, swiftly and savagely. He pulled himself out of his chair and stepped up to within a foot of the Irishman. His eyes never left the other's face. One of his hands grasped the man's coat collar; the other dived into Corrigan's pockets, one after another, like a striking snake. It came out of one trouser pocket with a roll of new one-pound notes.

He flung Corrigan back. Ted Orping seized Corrigan from behind as the Irishman's fists clenched.

'You dirty double-crossing rat! So you sold us to the Saint!'

Goldman tore the notes across and across, and scat­tered them over the floor.

'Get out of here!'

'Listen, Goldman-I didn't --'

'Get out!'

Ted Orping twisted the man round and pushed him towards the door. Corrigan's eyes flamed, and he took a pace back into the room. Orping's hand touched his hip.

Then Joe Corrigan turned on his heel and left the apartment.

Tex Goldman looked at Orping steadily. There was a question in Ted Orping's gaze, another question in Tex Goldman's. Temporarily forgotten in his corner, Clem Enright shuffled his feet again, open-mouthed.

'There's only one way to deal with traitors,' Goldman said.

Ted Orping nodded. He shrugged, with the callous understanding that he had been taught, and pulled down the brim of his hat. He went out without a word.

He caught Joe Corrigan in the street.

'Walk a little way with me, Joe?'

'You get away from me,' grated Corrigan surlily. 'I don't want your company.'

Ted Orping took his arm.

'Aw, come on, Joe. You don't understand the boss. He's a great guy, but naturally he has to be suspicious. You must admit what you said didn't sound right. I just took his part so's I could try an' make things right for you when he cools off.'

'I never double-crossed anyone,' said Corrigan. 'I dipped a toff's wallet on a bus this morning, and got those notes.'

'O' course, Joe. That's what he ought to have thought of. I understand.'

They walked up Baker Street from the Marylebone Road crossing. Near the top, a few yards from Regent's Park, Orping steered the other off to the right into a dimly lighted mews. They went a little way down it, and Corrigan stopped.

'What's the idea?' he demanded sullenly. 'We don't want to go this way.'

Ted Orping looked left and right.

'This'll do,' he said.

'What for?'

'Just to give you what's coming to you, rat.'

He fired three times before Joe Corrigan could speak

CHAPTER III SIMON TEMPLAR came back from Amsterdam a few days later. The items of jewellery which sometimes came his way were never fenced in England-the Saint was far too notorious for that, and caution in the right place was still his longest suit. He travelled by roundabout routes, for his movements were always a subject of absorbing interest to the watchful powers of Scotland Yard. That particular trip took him the best part of a week, but it was worth three thousand pounds to him. He felt no remorse on account of Mr. Peabody. The insurance companies would cover most if not all of the loss, and Mr. Peabody had definitely asked for it. As for those insurance companies, Simon felt that the blow would not be likely to shake their stock to its foundations. In a misguided moment of altruistic zeal he had once attempted to insure his own life, and had discovered that so long as he undertook not to fly aeroplanes, travel in tropical parts, enter into naval or military service, become a lion-tamer or a steeple­jack, or