Leslie Charteris - The Saint vs Scotland Yard

"I thought I should find you here," he said.

The last of the Lovedews whirled round.

"Do you know this man?"

"Yes," said Teal rigidly. "I know him."

The Saint crossed his legs and took out a cigarette-case. He indicated the detective with a wave of his hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he murmured, "allow me to introduce the deus ex machina, or whizzbang out of the works. This is Mr. Claud Eustace Teal, who is going to tell us about his wanderings in Northern Euthanasia. Mr. Teal, Miss Lovedew. Miss Lovedew —"

"Teal?" The infuriated lady leapt back as though she had been stung. "Are you Teal?"

"That is my name," said the slightly startled detective.

"You stand there and admit that to me?"

"Yes — of course."

The woman reeled back into the arms of one of the bystanders.

"Has everyone gone mad?" she wailed. "I'm being robbed in broad daylight! That is this man's accomplice — he hasn't denied it! Can nobody do anything to stop them?"

Teal blinked.

"I'm a police officer," he said.

"You're a liar!" screamed the woman.

"My good lady —"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that! You're a low, mean, impertinent thief—"

"But—"

"I want my trunk. I'm going to have my trunk! How can I go to New York without my trunk? That is my own trunk—"

"But, Claud," said the Saint earnestly, "have you seen the trunk of the butler of her uncle? That is a trunk of the most colossal."

Miss Lovedew gazed wildly about her.

"Will no one help me?" she moaned.

Simon removed the cigarette from his mouth and stood up. He placed one foot on the trunk, rested his right forearm on his knee, and raised a hand for silence.

"May I be allowed to explain?" he said.

The woman clutched her forehead.

"Is anyone going to listen to this — this — this—"

"Gentleman?" suggested the Saint, tentatively.

Teal stepped forward and took a grip of his belt.

"I am a police officer," he repeated trenchantly, "and I should certainly like to hear his explanation."

This time he made the statement of his identity with such a bald authoritativeness that the buzz of surrounding comment died down to a tense hush. Even the pimply protagonist gaped at him in silence, with her assurance momentarily shaken. The stillness piled up with almost theatrical effect.

"Well?" said Teal.

The Saint gestured airily with his cigarette.

"You arrive," he said, "in time to arbitrate over a serious misunderstanding. Let me give you the facts. I travelled down by the boat train from Waterloo this morning in order to keep an eye on a friend of ours whom we'll call Bertie. During the journey I lost sight of him. I tootled around to find out what was happening to him, and eventually located him in the luggage van and in the very act of throwing the last of Miss Lovedew's what's-its out of the window."

"It's a lie!" bleated the lady, faint but pursuing. "He stole my clothes, insulted me in my carriage—"

"We come to that in a minute," said the Saint imperturbably. "As I was saying, I found Bertie just crawling into the trunk he had so unceremoniously emptied. At great personal peril and inconvenience, Claud, I helped him towards his objective and locked him up for delivery to yourself. In order to do this, I was compelled to make a temporary alteration to the labels on the trunk, which I admit I borrowed for the good cause without Miss Lovedew's permission. I made one attempt to explain the circumstances to her, but was rejected with contumely. Then, while I was waiting for you to arrive, this argument about the rightful ownership of the property began. The trunk, as I've never denied, belongs to Miss Lovedew. The dispute seems to be about Bertie."

Miss Lovedew goggled at him.

"Do you mean to say that there's a man in that trunk?" she demanded hideously.

"Madam," said the Saint, "there is. Would you like him? Mr. Teal has the first claim, but I'm open to competitive offers. The specimen is in full running order, suffering at the moment from a black eye and an aching jaw, but otherwise complete and ready for the road. He is highly-strung and sensitive, but extremely virile. Fed on a diet of rye whisky and caviare—"

Teal bent over the trunk and examined the labels. The name on them was his own. He straightened up and levelled his gaze inflexibly upon the Saint.

"I'll talk to you alone for a moment," he said.

"Pleasure," said the Saint briefly.

The detective looked round.

"That trunk is not to be touched without my permission," he said.

He walked over to the rail, and Simon Templar strolled along by his side. They passed out of earshot of the crowd, and stopped. For a few seconds they eyed each other steadily.

"Is that Perrigo you've got in that trunk?" Teal asked presently.

"None other."

"We've had a full confession from Elberman. Do you know what the penalty is for being in possession of illicit diamonds?"

"I know what the penalty is for being caught in possession of illicit diamonds," said the Saint circumspectly.

"Do you know where those diamonds are now?"

Simon nodded.

"They are sewn into the seat of Perrigo's pants," he said.

"Is that what you wanted Perrigo for?"

The Saint leaned on the rail.

"You know, Claud," he remarked, "you're the damnedest fool."

Teal's eyes hardened.

"Why?"

"Because you're playing the damnedest fool game with me. Have you ever known me be an accessory to wanton murder?"

"I've known you to be mixed up in some darned funny things."

"You've never known me to be mixed up in anything as darned funny as that. But you work yourself up to the point where you're ready to believe anything you want to believe. It's the racket. It's dog eating dog. I beat you to something, and you get mad. When you get mad, I have to bait you. The more I bait you, the madder you get. And the madder you get, the more I have to bait you. We get so's nothing's too bad for us to do to each other." The Saint smiled. "Well, Claud, I'm taking a little holiday, and before I go I'm giving you a break."

Teal shrugged mountainously, but for a moment he said nothing. And the Saint balanced his cigarette on his thumbnail and flipped it far and wide.

"Let me do some thinking for you," he said. "I'm great on doing other people's thinking for them these days… Overnight you thought over what I said to you last evening. This morning you verified that I hadn't been bluffing. And you knew there was only one thing for you to do. Your conscience wouldn't let you lie down under what I'd done. You'd got to take what was coming to you — arrest me, and face the music. You'd got to play square with yourself, even if it broke you. I know just how you felt. I admire you for it. But I'm not going to let you do it."

"No?"

"Not in these trousers," said the Saint. "Why should you? You've got Perrigo, and I'm ready for a short rest. And here's your surprise packet. Get busy on what it tells you, and you may be a superintendent before the end of the season."

Teal glanced at the book which the Saint had thrust into his hands, and turned it over thoughtfully.

Then he looked again at the Saint. His face was still as impassive as the face of a graven image, but a little of the chilled steel had gone out of his eyes. And, as he looked, he saw that the Saint was laughing again — the old, unchangeable, soundless, impudent Saintly laughter. And the blue imps in the Saint's eyes danced.

"I play the game by my own rules, Claud," said the Saint. "Don't you forget it. That profound philosophy covers the craziest things I do. It also makes me the only man in this bleary age who enjoys every minute of his life. And" — for the last time in that story, the Saintly forefinger drove gaily and debonairly to its mark—"if you take a leaf out of my book, Claud, one day, Claud, you will have fun and games for ever." And then the Saint was gone.