Ellshaw himself had vanished from the front room when he reached it; and the Saint leaned against the wreckage of the communicating door and lighted a fresh cigarette with a slow philosophical grin for his own ridiculous easiness.
As soon as they learned that the bomb had failed to take effect, of course, they were expecting him to follow up the clue which Mrs. Ellshaw must have given him. Probably she had been followed from Duchess Place the previous morning, and it would not have been difficult for them to find out whom she went to see. The rest was inevitable; and the only puzzle in his mind was why the attempt had not been made to do something more conclusive than stunning him with a rubber truncheon while he sat in that chair with his back to the door.
But who were 'they'? He searched the house from attic to basement in the hope of finding an answer, but he went through nothing more enlightening than a succession of empty rooms. Inquiries about the property at neighbouring estate agents might lead on to a clue, but there was none on the premises. The two ground-floor rooms were the only ones furnished-apparently Ellshaw had been living there for some time, but there was no evidence to show whether this was with or without the consent and knowledge of the landlord.
Simon went out into the street rather circumspectly, but no second attack was made on him. He walked back to Cornwall House to let Patricia Holm know what was happening, and found a message waiting for him.
'Claud Eustace Teal rang up-he wants you to get in touch with him at once,' she said, and gazed at him accusingly. 'Are you in trouble again, old idiot?'
He ruffled her fair hair.
'After a fashion I am, darling,' he confessed. 'But it isn't with Claud-not yet. What the racket is I don't know, but they've tried to get me twice in the last twelve hours, which is good going.'
'Who are 'they'?'
'That's the question I've been asking myself all day. They're just 'person or persons unknown' at present; but I feel that we shall get to know each other better before long. And that ought to be amusing. Let's see what Claud Eustace is worrying about.'
He picked up the telephone and dialled Scotland House. Instructions must have been left with the switchboard operator, for he had scarcely given his name when he heard Teal's sleepy voice.
'Were you serious about getting a bomb last night, Templar?'
'Mr. Templar to you, Claud,' said the Saint genially. 'All the same, I was serious.'
'Can you describe the bomb again?'
'It was built into a small fibre attache-case-I didn't take it apart to inspect the works, but it was built to fire electrically when the door was opened.'
'You haven't got it there, I suppose?'
Simon smiled.
'Sure-I wouldn't feel comfortable without it. I keep it on the stove and practise tap-dancing on it. Where's your imagination?'
Teal did not answer at once.
'A bomb that sounds like exactly the same thing was found in Lord Ripwell's house at Shepperton today,' he said at last. 'I'd like to come round and see you, if you can wait a few minutes for me.'
III THE detective arrived in less than a quarter of an hour, but not before Simon had sent out for a packet of spearmint for him. Teal glanced at the pink oblong of waxed paper sitting up sedately in the middle of the table, and reached out for it with a perfectly straight face.
'Ripwell-isn't he the shipping millionaire?' said the Saint.
Teal nodded.
'It's very nearly a miracle that he isn't 'the late' shipping millionaire,' he said.
Simon lighted a cigarette.
'Did you come here to tell me about it or to ask me questions?'
'You might as well know what happened,' said the detective, unwrapping a wafer of his only vice with slothful care. 'Ripwell intended to go down to his river house this evening for a long week-end, but during the morning he found that he wanted a reference book which he had left down there on his last visit. He sent his chauffeur down for it, but when the man got there he found that he'd forgotten to take the key. Rather than go back, he managed to get in through a window, and when he came to let himself out again he found the bomb. It was fixed just inside the front door, and would have been bound to get the first person who opened it, which would probably have been Ripwell himself-apparently he doesn't care much about servants when he uses the cottage. That's about all there is to tell you, except that the description I have of the bomb from the local constabulary sounded very much like the one you spoke of to me, and there may be some reason to think that they were both planted by the same person.'
'And even on the same day,' said the Saint.
'That's quite possible. Ripwell's secretary went down to the house the day before for some papers, and everything was quite in order then.'
The Saint blew three perfect smoke-rings and let them drift up to the ceiling.
'It all sounds very exciting,' he murmured.
'It sounds as if you may have been right about Mrs. Ellshaw, if all you told me was true,' said Teal grimly. 'By the way, where was it she saw her husband?'
Simon laughed softly.
'Claud, that 'by the way' of yours is almost a classic. But I wouldn't dream of keeping a secret from you. She
