Leslie Charteris: Follow the Saint

The Saint's eyes were kindling with an impish excitement that had no direct connection with the windfall that had just dropped into his lap. Patricia did not need him to say any more to tell her what was going on in his mind. To the Saint, any puzzle was a potential adventure; and the Saint on the trail of adventure was a man transformed, a dynamic focus of ageless and superhuman forces against which no ordinary mortal could argue. She had known him so well for so many years, had known so long that he was beyond her power to change, even if she had wished to change him.

She said slowly: "But what is the racket?"

"That would be worth knowing," he said; and he had no need to say that he intended to know. He leaned back ecstatically. "But just think of it, darling I If we could only see the uproar and agitation that must be going on at this minute in the place where this tea came from…"

As a matter of record, the quality of the uproar and the agitation in the shop where Mr Teal had made his purchase would not have disappointed him at all; although in fact it had preceded this conversation by some time.

Mr Henry Osbett, registered proprietor of the drug store at 909 Victoria Street which was also the registered premises of the Miracle Tea Company, was normally a man of quite distinguished and even haughty aspect, being not only tall and erect, but also equipped with a pair of long and gracefully curved moustaches which stuck out on either side of his face like the wings of a soaring gull, which gave him a rather old-fashioned military air in spite of his horn-rimmed glasses. Under the stress of emotion, however, his dignity was visibly frayed. He listened to his shifty-eyed assistant's explanations with fuming impatience.

"How was I to know?" the young man was protesting. "He came at exactly the right time, and I've never seen Nancock before. I didn't mean to give him the packet without the password, but he snatched it right out of my hand and rushed off."

"Excuses!" snarled the chemist, absent-mindedly grabbing handfuls of his whiskers and tying them in knots."Why if you'd even known who he was—"

"I didn't know — not until Nancock told me. How could I know?"

"At least you could have got the package back."

The other swallowed.

"I'd only have got myself caught," he said sullenly. "That chap who jumped out of the car was twice my size. He'd've killed me!"

Mr Osbett stopped maltreating his moustache and looked at him for a long moment in curiously contrasting immobility.

"That might have saved someone else the trouble," he said; and the tone in which he said it made the young man's face turn grey.

Osbett's cold stare lasted for a moment longer: and then he took a fresh grip on his whiskers and turned and scuttled through to the back of the shop. One might almost have thought that he had gone off in the full flush of enthusiasm to fetch an axe.

Beyond the dispensing room there was a dark staircase. As he mounted the stairs his gait and carriage changed in subtle ways until it was as if a different man had entered his entered his clothes. On the upper landing his movements were measured and deliberate. He opened a door and went into a rather shabby and nondescript room which served as his private office. There were two or three old-fashioned filing cabinets, a littered desk with the polish worn off at the edges, a dingy carpet, and a couple of junk-store chairs. Mr Osbett sat down at the desk and opened a packet of cheap cigarettes.

He was a very worried man, and with good reason: but he no longer looked flustered. He had, at that moment, a very cold-blooded idea of his position. He was convinced that Teal's getaway with the packet of Miracle Tea had been neither premeditated nor intentional — otherwise there would have been further developments before this. It had simply been one of those fantastic accidents which lie in wait for the most careful conspiracies. That was a certain consolation; but not much. As soon as the contents of the packet were opened there would be questions to answer; and while it was quite certain that nothing criminal could be proved from any answers he cared to give, it would still make him the object of an amount of suspicious attention which might easily lead to disaster later. There remained the chance that Teal might not decide to actually take a dose of Miracle Tea for some hours yet, and it was a chance that had to be seized quickly. After another moment's intensive consideration, Mr Osbett picked up the telephone.

Simon Templar had been out and come in again after a visit to the nearest chemist. Now he was industriously stirring an interesting mixture in a large basin borrowed from the kitchen. Patricia Holm sat in an armchair and watched him despairingly.

"Did you ever hear a proverb about little things pleasing little minds?" she said.

Unabashed, the Saint put down his spoon and admired his handiwork. To any but the most minute examination, it looked exactly like a high-grade small-leaf tea. And some of it was. The other ingredients were hardly less ordinary, except in that particular combination.

"Did you ever hear another proverb about a prophet in his own country?" he answered. "If you had a little more reverence for my mind, you'd see that it was nearly double its normal size. Don't you get the idea?"

"Not yet."

"This is what I originally meant to do. Maybe it wasn't such a huge idea then; although if I could get enough little ideas that handed me fifteen hundred quid a time I wouldn't worry so much about passing up the big stuff. But still that was just good clean fun. Now it's more than that. If I'm right, and Teal still doesn't know what he had in his pocket this afternoon, we don't want him to even start thinking about it. Therefore I just want to return him his Miracle Tea, and I'll be sure he won't give it another thought. But I never had any Miracle Tea. Therefore I've got to concoct a passable substitute. I don't know the original formula; but if this recipe doesn't live up to the name I'll drink a gallon of it."

"Of course," she said, "you couldn't just go out and buy another packet to give him."

Simon gazed at her in stunned admiration.

"Could you believe that I never thought of that?"

"No," said Patricia.

"Maybe your right," said the Saint ruefully.

He gave the basin another stir, and shrugged.

"Anyway," he said, "it'd be a pity to waste all this work, and the chance of a lifetime as well."

He sat down at the table and cheerfully proceeded to pack his own remarkable version of Miracle Tea into the original carton. Having stuffed it full, he replaced the seals and wrappings with as much care as he had removed them; and when he had finished there was not a trace to show that the package had ever been tampered with.

"What will you do if he dies?" asked the girl.

"Send a wreath of tea roses to his funeral," said the Saint. He put down the completed packet after he had inspected it closely from every angle, and moved himself over to a more comfortable lounging site on the settee. His eyes were alert and hot with a gathering zest of devilment. "Now we go into the second half of this brilliant conspiracy."

"What does that mean?"

"Finding out where Claud Eustace buys fifteen hundred quid for half a dollar. Just think, sweetheart — we can go shopping once a week and keep ourselves in caviar without ever doing another stroke of work!"

He reached for the telephone and set it on his lap while he dialled Teal's private number with a swift and dancing forefinger. The telephone, he knew, was beside Teal's bed; and the promptness with which his ring was answered established the detective's location with quite miraculous certainty.

"I hope," said the Saint, with instantaneous politeness, "that I haven't interrupted you in the middle of any important business, Claud."