The Saint and Mr Teal (Once More the Saint)

where do they take me? Answer: the Luxor, of course-Abdul was watching me through field glasses all the time I was on Stride's deck. That's all right till --'

'But there are holes everywhere!' she protested. 'Suppose anyone saw him carrying you away?'

The Saint's keen blue eyes flicked round the scene.

'Abdul's a clever man-he doesn't forget much. There's a donkey and jingle two yards away, isn't there? And probably Trape hired it for the occasion. He could also have a sack-and I become cold potatoes. Down to the harbour-into a boat-there'd be no hurry. Once he had me in the cart he could leave me there for hours if it was good dope. And even when I was missing for good, his alibi would hold water. I don't say there was no risk, but it could have been done. And Abdul would be the man to do it. What I want to know is what the scheme is now that I haven't drunk the beer. Those two birds have been here a fort­night, so they were put here for some other job. Have they finished that job, and are they free to get away? I expect they'd have to consult Abdul, and Abdul wouldn't approve of bungling. I haven't seen them come out of the hotel, though I expect they could work round the back of the town-'

He was still trying to frame his thoughts aloud, but actually the thread of them was racing away ahead of his voice. And a new light dawned on him at the same moment. His fingers clamped on Patricia's wrist.

'Organization-that's what it is! Gee, I'm as slow as a village concert today!'

In another second he was on his feet and sprinting back to the bar. He entered it from the path as Mr. Smithson Smith came in at the other end.

'What have you decided to do about all this un­pleasantness?' asked the Saint; and the manager put his hands on his hips.

'Well, I've just seen the young fellow with the sprained ankle --'

The Saint's smile was fast and thin.

'I thought you would. And if you hadn't gone to see him, he'd have sent for you. Meanwhile the most extraordinary things go on happening to my beer. First a sleeping draught-then it grows legs!'

Mr. Smithson Smith looked down at the table rather blankly. The fly still reclined in the ashtray, oblivious of all excitement in its rigid stupor; but the glass of beer from which oblivion had overtaken it was gone.

'Someone may have been in here and moved it,' began Mr. Smithson Smith hazily, and Simon showed his teeth.

'Someone has been in here and moved it-you can write that down in the family Bible. That sprained ankle was good enough for another stall. Did you go up and see the bloke off your own bat ?'

'As a matter of fact, he asked me to go up --'

'And naturally you had to go. Organization, that's what it is. What did he say?'

'He said that his friend had told him what happened, and he couldn't understand it. He wanted to know if I should be asking them to leave.'

'Did you say anything about doped beer?'

'No.'

'Or flies?'

'No.'

'Then that lets you out,' said the Saint, with some relief. 'If they think you don't know anything they won't worry about you. What did you say?'

'I said I should have to consider the matter.'

'That,' said the Saint grimly, 'will be all right so long as you don't consider it too deeply.'

Mr. Smithson Smith looked at him. The events he had witnessed, and that rattle of cross-examination, had left that gentle-voiced man utterly bewildered without shifting the foundations of his practical stand­point.

'Look here, Templar,' he said directly. 'I don't know what you or these two young men are playing at, but I'm in a responsible position. I can't take any risks with this hotel. Unless one of you can give me a satisfactory explanation, I think I shall have to tell the sergeant as much as I know, and leave him to deal with it.'

Simon pondered for a moment; and then he nodded.

'That's obviously your duty, and I think it would be better from every point of view if you did it. May I go up to Trape's room and see if he'll speak to me ? I don't know if he'll accept an apology, but if he did it might save a little scandal.'

He knew that he was taking rather an unfair ad­vantage, but the idea was one that he had to follow. The bait was tempting; and Mr. Smithson Smith, with the interests of his employers at heart and no conception of the depths of duplicity to which Simon Templar could sink when it was necessary, could scarcely refuse it. Simon obtained permission, and the number of the room which the two respectable-looking young men were sharing, and went upstairs with as much consolation as he could derive from the knowledge that if his plan went through successfully the victims would be most unlikely to complain to the management. If he were caught in the act, of course, he would find himself ten times more unpopular with the controlling powers of that respectable hotel than he was already; but the Saint had an unshakable faith in his guardian angels.

He knocked on the door and went in with the fore­finger of his right hand prodding out the shape of his trouser pocket in an ostentatious untruth. Both the respectable-looking young men were there.

'Put your hands up, and don't even think of shout­ing,' he said genially. 'You'd only give the chambermaids hysterics.'

For a moment the two young men were speechless.

'Sorry to arrive so late, boys,' Simon went on in the same friendly tone. 'I should have been here long ago, but your organization was so slick it took me a little while to catch up with you. I congratulate you on getting rid of the evidence of that doped beer so smartly. We gather that you haven't yet told Abdul about our mutual