'Yes-what are you doing?' he said.
Pryke's head jerked round again, and his face went another shade greyer. For a further interval of thrumming seconds he seemed to be struggling to find his voice; and the Saint smiled.
'I told you the High Fence would be here to collect his boodle, Claud,' he said; and looked at Pryke again. 'Qnincey told me,' he said.
'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pryke had got some kind of control over his throat, but there was a quiver in his breathing which made odd little breaks in the sentence. 'I heard that there were some stolen jewels here-----'
'Who from?' Teal asked quietly.
'From a man I found on the theory I was working on. You told me I could------'
'What was his name?'
'That's a long story,' said Pryke hoarsely. 'I met him . . .'
Probably he knew that the game was over-that the bluff was hopeless except as a play for time. The attack was too overwhelming. Watching him with smiling lips and bleak blue eyes, the Saint knew that there wasn't a man living who could have warded it off-whose brain, under the shock, could yet have moved fast enough to concoct a story, instantaneously and without reflection, that would have stood the light of remorseless investigation which must have been directed into it.
'I met him last night,' said Pryke. 'I suppose you have some reason-'
Simon nodded.
'We have,' he said gently. 'We came here to play the grand old parliamentary game of Sitting on the Fence; and it looks as if you are what might be called the sittee.'
'You're crazy,' said Pryke harshly.
His hand was sliding towards his hip, in a casual movement that should have been merely the conventional search for a cigarette-case; and Simon saw it a fraction of a second late.
He saw the flash of the nickel-plated gun, and the shot blasted his eardrums as he flung himself aside. Pryke swerved frantically, hesitated an instant, and turned his automatic on the broad target of Chief Inspector Teal; but before he could touch the trigger again the Saint's legs had swung round in a flailing scissor-sweep that found its marks faultlessly on knee-joint and ankle-bone. Pryke cursed and went down, clean and flat as a dead fish, with a smack that squeezed half the breath out of his body; and the Saint rolled over and held him in an ankle lock while the local men who had been posted outside poured in through the doors.
And that was approximately that.
The Saint continued to lie prostrate on the floor after Pryke had been handcuffed and taken away, letting the profound contentment of the day sink into his soul and make itself gorgeously at home. Misunderstanding his stillness, Mr. Teal bent over him with a shadow of alarm on his pink face.
'Are you hurt?' he asked gruffly; and the Saint chuckled.
'Only in my pride.' He reached out and retrieved his cigarette, which had parted company with him during the scuffle, and blew the dust off it before replacing it in his mouth. 'I'm getting a worm's-eye view of life-you might call it an act of penance. If I'd had to make a list of all the people whom I didn't think would ever turn out to be the High Fence, your Queen of the May would have been first on the roll. Well, I suppose Life has these surprises. . . . But it all fits in. Being on duty at Market Street, he wouldn't have had any trouble in poisoning Johnny Anworth's horse- radish; but I'm not quite sure how he got Sunny Jim'
'I am,' said Teal grimly. 'He was standing a little behind me when I was talking to Fasson-between me and the door. He could have shot Fasson from his pocket and slammed the door before I could look round, without taking a tremendous risk. After all, there was no reason for anyone to suspect him. He put it over on all of us.' Teal fingered a slip of chewing gum out of his pocket and unwrapped it sourly, for he also had his pride. 'I suppose it was you who took Sunny Jim away,' he said suddenly.
Simon grinned.
'Teal! Will you always think these unkind thoughts about me?'
The detective sighed. He picked up the evidential package from the counter, opened it, glanced at the gleaming layers of gems, and stuffed it firmly into his pocket. No one knew better than himself what unkind thoughts he would always have to think. But in this case at least the Saint had done him a service, and the accounts seemed to be all square-which was an almost epoch-making denouement. 'What are you getting out of this?' he inquired suspiciously.
The Saint rose to his feet with a smile, and brushed his clothes.
'Virtue,' he said piously, 'is its own reward. Shall we go and look for some breakfast, or must you get on with your job?'
Mr. Teal shook his head.
'I must get back to London-there are one or two things to clear up. Pryke's flat will have to be searched. There's still a lot of stolen property to be recovered, and I shouldn't be surprised to find it there-he must have felt so confident of never being suspected that he wouldn't bother about a secret headquarters. Then we shall have to pull in Quincey and Enderby, but I don't expect they'll give us much trouble now.' The detective buttoned his coat, and his drowsy eyes went over the Saint's smiling face with the perpetual haze of unassuageable doubt still lingering in them. 'I suppose I shall be seeing you again,' he said.
'I suppose you will,' said the Saint, and watched Teal's stolid portly figure lumbering out into the street before he turned into the nearest telephone booth. He agreed with Mr. Teal that Pryke had probably been confident enough to use his own apartment as his headquarters. But Patricia Holm and Hoppy Uniatz were already in London, whereas Mr. Teal had to get there; and Simon Templar had his own unorthodox interpretation of the rewards of Virtue.
Part I I THE ELUSIVE ELLSHAW
