Leslie Charteris - The Saint vs Scotland Yard

Aching, he went back to bed and slept again. And this time he dreamed a dream.

He was running up the wrong side of a narrow moving stairway. Patricia was in front of him, and he couldn't go fast enough; he had to keep pushing her. He wanted to get past her and catch Perrigo, who was dancing about just out of his grasp. Perrigo was dressed something like an organ-grinder's monkey, in a ridiculous straw hat, a tail coat, and a pair of white flannel trousers. There was an enormous diamond necklace over his collar; and he jeered and grimaced, and bawled: "Not in these trousers." Then the scene changed, and Teal came riding by on a giraffe, wearing a pair of plus fours; and he also said: "Not in these trousers."

Then the Saint woke up, and saw that it was half-past eight. He jumped out of bed, lighted a cigarette, and made for the bathroom. He soaped his face and shaved, haunted by his dream for some reason that he could not nail down; and he was wallowing in bath salts when the interpretation of it flashed upon him with an aptness that made him erupt out of the water with an almighty splash.

Ten minutes later, gorgeously apparelled in his new spring suit, he tore down the stairs and found bacon and eggs on the table and Patricia reading a newspaper.

"Perrigo has left us," he said.

The girl looked up with startled eyes, but Simon was laughing.

"He's left us, but I know where he's gone," said the Saint. "He collected his papers before he went. I forgot that he carried a knife, and locked him up without fanning him — he spent the night digging his way through the door, and came through here for his passport in the early morning. I was just too slow to catch him. We'll meet him again on the boat train — it leaves at ten o'clock."

"How do you know he'll be on it?"

"If he didn't mean to do that, why did he come back for his ticket? No — I know exactly what's in his head. He knows that he's only got one way out, now that he's bereaved of Isadore, and he's going to try to make the grade. He's made up his mind that I'm not helping the police, and he's going to take his chance on a straight duck with me — and I'll bet he'll park himself in the most crowded compartment he can find, just to give himself the turn of the odds. And I'll say some more; I know where those diamonds are now!"

"Have you got them?"

"Not yet. But up at Isadore's I spotted that Perrigo's costume was assorted. I thought he'd changed coats with Frankie Hormer, and I went over his jacket twice before Teal buzzed in. Naturally, I didn't find anything. I must have been halfwitted. It wasn't coats he'd swapped — it was trousers. Those diamonds are sewn up somewhere in Bertie's leg draperies!"

Patricia come over to the table.

"Have you thought any more about Teal?" she asked.

Simon strode across to a book-case and took down a small leather-bound volume. There were months of painstaking work in its unassuming compass — names, addresses, personal data, means of approach, sources of evidence, all the laboriously perfected groundwork that enabled the Saint's raids upon the underworld to be carried through so smoothly and made their meteoric audacity possible.

"Pat," said the Saint, "I'm going to make Teal a great man. It may be extravagant, but what the hell? Can you have the whole earth for ten cents? This party has already cost us our home, our prize alibi, and one of our shrewdest counter-attacks — but who cares? Let's finish the thing in style. I'm the cleverest man in the world. Can't I find six more homes, work out fourteen bigger and better alibis, and invent seventy-nine more stratagems and spoils? Can't I fill two more books like this if I want to?"

Patricia put her arms round his neck.

"Are you going to give Teal that book?"

The Saint nodded. He was radiant.

"I'm going to steal Perrigo's pants, Claud Eustace is going to smile again, and you and I are going away together."

The Saint was in a thaumaturgical mood. He performed a minor sorcery on a Pullman attendant that materialised seats where none had been before, and ensconced himself with the air of a wizard taking his ease. After a couple of meditative cigarettes, he produced a pencil and commenced a metrical composition in the margins of the wine list.

He was still scribbling with unalloyed enthusiasm when Patricia got up and went for a walk down the train. She was away for several minutes; and when she returned, the Saint looked up and deliberately disregarded the confusion in her eyes.

"Give ear," he said. "This is the Ballad of the Bold Bad Man, another Precautionary Tale:

"Simon," said the girl, "Perrigo isn't on the train." The Saint put down his pencil.

"He is, old darling. I saw him when we boarded it at Waterloo, and I think he saw me."

"But I've looked in every carriage—"

"Did you take everyone's finger-prints?"

"A man like Perrigo wouldn't find it easy to disguise himself."

Simon smiled.

"Disguises are tricky things," he said. "It isn't the false whiskers and the putty nose that get you down — it's the little details. Did I ever tell you about a friend of mine who thought he'd get the inside dope about Chelsea? He bought a pink shirt and a velvet coat, grew a large semicircular beard, rented a studio, and changed his name to Prmnlovcwz; and he had a great time until one day they caught him in an artist's colourman's trying to buy a tube of Golder's Green… Now you must hear some more about Daniel:

Patricia reached across the table and captured the Saint's hands.

"Simon, I won't be out of it! Where is Perrigo?"

"If you talk much louder, he'll hear you."

"He isn't in this coach!"

"He's in the next one."

The girl stared.

"What does he look like?"

Simon smiled, lighting a cigarette.

"He's chosen the simplest and nearly the most effective disguise there is. He's got himself up as a very fair imitation of our old pal the Negro Spiritual." The Saint looked at her with merry eyes. "He's done it well, too; but I spotted him at once. Hence my parable. Did you ever see a nigger with light yellow eyes? They may exist, but I've never met one. There used to be a blue-eyed Sikh in Hong Kong who became quite famous, but that's the only similar freak I've met. So when I got a glimpse of those eyes I took another peek at the face — and Perrigo it was. Remember him now?"

Patricia nodded breathlessly.

"Why couldn't I see it?" she exclaimed.

"You've got to have a brain for that sort of thing," said the Saint modestly.

"But — yes, I remember now — the carriage he's in is full—"

"And you're wondering how I'm going to get his trousers off him? Well, the problem certainly has its interesting angles. How does one steal a man's trousers on a crowded train? You mayn't believe it, but I see difficulties about that myself."