The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

by Leslie Charteris

  He picked up a small leather valise. It was empty. Further investigation showed that it was the one and only item of their property that Mr. and Mrs. Halliday had left in the suite.

  "Did they take any rugs with them?" asked Teal.

  "They borrowed two from the hotel, sir, for the drive."

  "It's amazing what a lot of stuff you can carry under a rug," said Teal, "if you know the trick of packing it."

  Returning downstairs to the manager's office, he learnt, as he expected, that the car had been ordered by the hotel on behalf of Mr. Halliday.

  "We arrange these things," said the manager.

  "And sometimes," said Teal, with a certain morose en­thusiasm, "you pay for them, too."

  The manager was not entirely green.

  "I suppose,' he said, "we needn't expect them back?"

  "You needn't," said Teal. "That's another eccentricity of these very wealthy Americans."

  He hurried back to Scotland Yard, and by the time he arrived there he had decided that there was only one place in England where Jill Trelawney and Simon Tem­plar could plausibly be going that night.

  He tried to telephone to Essenden, and was informed that the line was out of order. Then he tried to get in touch with the assistant commissioner, but Cullis had left the Yard at six o'clock, and was not to be found either at his private address or at his club.

  Teal was left with only one thing to do; for he had a profound contempt for all police officials outside the Metropolitan area.

  At ten minutes to ten he was speeding through the west of London in a police car; and he realized, grimly, that he was unlikely to arrive at Essenden's anything less than two hours too late.

  Chapter VII

  HOW JILL TRELAWNEY KEPT AN APPOINTMENT,

  AND SIMON TEMPLAR WENT PADDLING

  ESSENDEN poured himself out another drink, and pushed the decanter towards the centre of the table.

  It was quiet in Essenden Towers that night. Lord Es­senden had seen to that. With some ingenuity, and a solic­itude which hitherto he had not been in the habit of manifesting, he had suggested to Lady Essenden that her appreciation of country life would be enhanced by an occasional visit to London, In fact, he said, he had taken a box at the Orpheum Theatre, for that very night.

  It was unfortunate that at the last moment, when they had been on the point of setting out for London, Lord Essenden had been overcome by a violent and agonizing attack of toothache. But he refused to allow his misfor­tune to interfere with his wife's amusement, and insisted that she should go to London alone. He had telephoned to friends and arranged for them to accompany his lady.

  That was one thing. The servants had been a second problem. But, in the matter of disposing of the servants, Fate had played kindly into his hand. That night there was a dance in the next village. His staff had previously applied to him for permission to attend, which he had refused. Now he repented, and, in an astonishing burst of generosity, he gave the evening off to every man and woman in Essenden Towers. The butler would have stayed, but Essenden packed him off with the others, say­ing he would much rather be left alone with his ache.

  Thus it had been easy for Lord Essenden to introduce into the house the four men who now bore him company.

  They had been carefully chosen. Lord Essenden had very few more criminal acquaintances than any other suc­cessful financier, but from the hoodlums of his acquaint­ance he had selected those four with care and forethought.

  They sat round the table, helping themselves from the whisky bottle which he had placed at their disposal-four carefully chosen men. There was "Flash" Arne, a ferrety-faced man with a taste in diamond rings and horsy tweeds, a prominent member of a race gang that many North of England bookmakers had known to their cost. There was "Snake" Ganning, recently released from Pen­tonville; tall and lean and supple, with the sleek black hair and long neck and beady eyes that had earned him his name. There was "Red" Harver, with the permanent scowl and the huge hasty fists. And there was Matthew Keld, who had once had his face slashed from temple to chin with a razor by a man who was never given the chance to slash another face in his life. Four very carefully chosen men.

  Essenden spoke:

  "Is everything quite clear?"

  He looked round the small circle of faces, and the own­ers of the faces gazed back at him complacently. Snake Ganning inclined his head on the end of his long neck and answered for them all, in his soft, sibilant voice.

  "Everything's quite clear."

  "I can't tell you how they'll come in," said Essenden. "I do know that there are only two of them. If I know any­thing about them, I should say they'd probably walk up to the front door and ring the bell. But they may not. I've worked out the posts I've given you in different parts of the house so that each one of you will easily be able to cover his share of the ground-floor rooms. There are alarms everywhere, and you will all be in touch with one another. The man you wilt deal with as you like. The girl you will bring to me."

  It was the fourth or fifth time that Lord Essenden had repeated similar instructions in his fussy and hesitant way, and the Snake's sunken black eyes regarded their employer with a certain contempt.

  "We heard you," he said.

  "All right."

  Essenden fidgeted with his tie, and looked at his watch for the twentieth time.

  "I think you'd better go to your posts," he said.

  Ganning rose, uncoiling his long length like a slowed-up jack-in-the-box.

  "C'mon," he said.

  Arne and Keld rose to follow him, but Red Harver sat where he was. Ganning tapped him on the shoulder.

  "C'mon, Beef."

  Harver rose slowly, without looking round. His eyes were fixed intently on something behind Essenden. Be­hind Essenden was a window, with the heavy curtains drawn.

  The others, looking curiously at Harver, grasped what he was staring at, and followed his gaze. But they saw nothing. Essenden himself turned, with an abrupt jumpy movement. Then he turned round again.

  "What's the matter, Harver?" he croaked.

  Harver's huge arm and fist shot out, pointing.

  "Did you shut that window?" he demanded.

  "Of course I did," said Essenden. "You saw me shut it."

  "You shut it properly?"

  "Of course I did," repeated Essenden.

  Harver pushed the table out of his path with a sweep of one arm.

  "Well, if it hasn't blown open," he said, "somebody's opened it. I've just seen those curtains move!"

  He stood in the centre of the group, a red-headed giant, and the others instinctively checked their breath.

  Essenden shifted away.

  Ganning's right hand sidled round to his hip pocket, and Flash Arne buttoned his coat deliberately.

  Harver stepped cautiously forward on tiptoe.

  The stealthy movement ended in a quick rush. Harver's huge, ape-like arms gathered up all the curtains in one wide sweep, and he held something in the enveloping folds of the curtains like a fish in a net.

  He carried his whole capture bodily back into the centre of the room, tearing the curtains down as if they had been held with thin cotton. There he threw the bundle down, and stood back while the intruder struggled into view.

  "Well, who are you?" barked Essenden feebly, from the outskirts of the group.

  The man on the floor pulled his cap off his eyes and blinked dazedly about him. He was not a beautiful sight. The suit he wore was stained and dusty. Portions of a pair of vividly striped socks were visible between the frayed ends of his trousers and the tops of a pair of muddy boots. Round his neck, presumably as a substitute for shirt and collar and tie, he wore a red choker. His cap was very purple. It appeared to be several days since he had last shaved, and a black shield obscuring one eye gave his face a sinister and unsavoury appearance. And when he spoke he whined.

  "I wasn't doin' no 'arm, guv'nor."

  Harver reached out one ham-like hand to the man's collar and yanke
d him to his feet.

  "What's your name?" he demanded.

  "George," said the burglar miserably.

  "George what?"

  "Albert George."

  Harver shook his prisoner like a rat.

  "And what were you doing there?"

  "Oh, lay off him, Red," said Ganning. "He's nothing to do with this."

  Essenden came closer.

  "We don't know that," he said. "This might be one of her tricks. Anyway, even if he isn't anything to do with it, he may have heard us talking."

  Harver shook the captive again.

  "How much did you hear?" he snarled.

  A look of fear came into the eyes of Albert George.

  "I didn't 'ear nuffin', s'welp me, I didn't."

  "Liar!" said Flash Arne delicately.

  "S'welp me," wailed the prisoner, "I didn't 'ear nuffin'."

  Harver chuckled throatily.

  "I'll s'welp you," he said, "if you don't remember some­thing. Who told you to come here?"

  "S'welp me—"

  Harver drove his fist into the man's chest, sending him reeling back against the wall.

  "I promised I'd s'welp you," he said, "and I have. Now, are you going to talk?"

  He followed up his victim with measured, ponderous strides, and the slighter man cowered back. Arne and Keld and Ganning stood watching dispassionately. The prisoner shrank away, his face contorted with terror. And as Harver came within striking distance again and his fist went back for another blow, Albert George voiced a sharp, shrill yelp of panic.

  "S'welp me!"

  He ducked frantically, and Harver's fist smashed shat­teringly into the wall. George scuttled into a corner and crouched there, but Harver turned like an enraged bull and came after him.

  "I'll talk," screamed the prisoner. "Don't hit me again——"

  Harver seemed about to refuse the offer, but Essenden put himself between the two men.

  "Wait a minute," he said. "There'll be time for that later. We'll hear what he's got to say."

  Albert George huddled against the wall.

  "It's a cop," he said, between breaths that came in labouring gasps. "But it wasn't my idea. It was a bloke I met this morning in Seven Dials. 'E told me there was a man 'e wanted beaten up, name of Essenden. Is one of you gents Mr. Essenden?"

  "Go on," growled Harver.

  "There was a lot of money for it, and 'e said there wasn't no risk. I'd just got to open a winder on the ground floor, an' get in. 'E told me where the alarms was, an' 'e drew me a plan of the 'ouse, an' 'e marked the bedroom, an' 'e says, 'You just go in that room and slosh 'im one, an' I'll be waitin' for yer at the Lodge gates wiv a car to tyke yer back to London.' "

  "He said he'd be waiting at the Lodge gates with a car?"

  Albert George swallowed.

  "Yus. What's the time? 'E said 'e'd be there at ten o'clock."

  "What was this man's name?"

  "I dunno. 'E was a toff. All dressed up, 'e was, like 'im." He pointed to Flash Arne.

  "Was there anyone with him?"

  "Yus. There was a woman with 'im. She was a toff, too. She'll be in the car, too—she said she would."

  Ganning took his hand away from his hip pocket.

  "Well, that ought to be easy," he said. He looked at Essenden. "Guess we'd better go down and fetch them in."

  Essenden nodded. He could hardly believe his good fortune.

  "You'd better all go," he said. "They may be armed. Here, tie this man up first."

  He took a length of cord out of a drawer and brought it over. Harver seized the prisoner's arms and twisted them roughly behind him. Keld performed the roping with a practised hand. The prisoner was then dropped in­to a corner like a sack of coals.

  "He won't get out of that in a hurry," said Matt Keld.

  Ganning hitched himself round the table.

  "C'mon," he said.

  The four men trailed out through the French windows.

  Lord Essenden, left alone, went and helped himself again from the decanter. This time it seemed that Fate had played right into his hand. Jill Trelawney was clever —he admitted that—but, for once, he had been cleverer. He gazed contemplatively at the unkempt figure which lay huddled in the corner, just where it had been dropped. It struck him that the Saint had showed an astounding lack of discrimination in sending such a man to "slosh him one."

  He was at a loss to divine completely what might be the object of these attacks. It was not so long ago that he had been severely beaten up at the instigation of Jill Trelawney by a member of the Donnell gang. Here, apparently, yet another tough had been hired for the same purpose. From her point of view he could see nothing that these attacks might achieve. But, from his point of view, he had to admit that the prospect of being beaten up and sent to hospital at regular intervals was, in a general way, discouraging. He still carried a fresh pink scar on his fore­head as a memento of the last occasion, and it burned with reminiscent hatred whenever he thought of Jill Trelawney.

  He put down the glass and wiped his lips on a silk handkerchief. Albert George lay huddled in the corner, his chin drooped upon his chest, and his whole pose one of lifeless resignation. Essenden went over and stirred him with the toe of a patent-leather shoe.

  "How much were you getting for this?" he barked, and the shaky staccato of his voice was an indication of the strain of anxiety that was racking his mind.

  The man looked up at him with one furtive eye.

  " 'Undred quid," he said, and lapsed again into his stupor.

  Essenden went back and poured another two fingers of whisky into his glass. A hundred pounds was a large sum of money to pay for a bashing. There were many men available, he knew, who would undertake such a task for much less, and if this seedy, down-at-heel specimen was being paid a hundred quid for the job, Harry Donnell must have picked up at least twice that amount. Of course, there were varying rates for these affairs. A man can be put in hospital for a week for a fairly reasonable charge. More is asked for breaking a limb, and corre­spondingly more for breaking two limbs. These facts are very well known in some circles of which Lord Essenden had more than once touched the fringe. Even so ...

  Even so, that night's incident was but another confir­mation of the fact that Jill Trelawney was at no loss for funds to carry on her campaign. So much the police had already observed, when her- previous exploits at the head of the Angels of Doom had set them by the ears and roused screams of condemnation for their inefficiency from a hysterical press. And if the Angels of Doom were dispersed, and Jill Trelawney was herself a hunted criminal with a price on her head and the shadow of the gallows on her path, it seemed that she was still able to keep control of the finances which had made her such a formidable outlaw in the past. Of course, the Saint was with her now, and the Saint's resources were popularly believed to be inexhaustible. And there was also the minor detail of the two hundred thousand odd francs that had disappeared in Paris.

  The memory of Paris produced an unpleasant feeling of emptiness in the pit of his stomach, and he sent a gulp of whisky down to anaesthetize the void. For the wallet and notebook which had been taken from him at the same time, and the contents of which either Jill Trelawney or the Saint had successfully decoded, contained scraps of information which, adroitly pieced together and studious­ly followed up, were not incapable of bringing his own name into dangerously close connection with a traffic upon which the law frowns in a most unfriendly way; and which it can, without difficulty, be moved to punish with five years' penal servitude and twenty-five strokes of a nine-thonged whip.

  He glanced at his watch again, wondering how much longer it would be before his men returned. And at that moment he heard a bell ring in the depths of the house.

  He was so keyed up that the sudden disturbance of the silence, faint as it was, made his hand jerk so that some of the liquor in his glass splashed onto the carpet at his feet. He put the glass down carefully, and touched the heavy metallic shape in his jac
ket pocket to reassure himself. Then, half hesitantly, and uncertain of the impulse which prompted him to go and investigate, he went out into the dark hall. As he switched on the lights, the summons was repeated.

  He opened the door.

  Jill Trelawney stood on the threshold, straight and slim in a plain tweed travelling costume, with her own soft hair, freed from the black wig that had so effectively baulked Chief Inspector Teal's celebrated memory, peeping from under the small brown hat that framed her exquisite face. At the sight of Essenden her eyes gave no more than the most cursory flicker of recognition.

  "Good-evening," she said quietly.

  He stepped back falteringly, perplexed, but without hesitation she swept past him into the hall; and, with the world reeling about his ears, he turned to close the door.

  It has been said that she swept past him into the hall. That, in fact, was Lord Essenden's own impression, but actually she was almost on his heels—close enough to press into the small of his back something round and hard which he knew could only be one thing—and when she spoke her voice Came from a point close behind his ear.

  "Put them up," she commanded, in the same quiet tone in which she had said "Good-evening."

  Lord Essenden put them up. His brain seemed to have gone dead—and must, he knew now, have gone dead at least two minutes ago.

  She saw the light beyond the door of a room farther down the hall and urged him towards it. He led on, helplessly, his hands held high above his head, back into the room he had just left.

  In the centre of the room she stopped him and flung a glance over her shoulder at the bound figure in the corner.

  "Hullo, Saint!" she said.

  2

  Simon Templar smiled with his lips and his one visible eye.

  "Hullo, Jill!" he murmured. "And how have you been keeping all these years?"

  The girl backed towards him, still covering Essenden with her little gun; and there was a knife in her left hand. The Saint turned over, and Jill stooped and hacked swiftly and accurately at the cords that held him. In a moment he was free, scrambling to his feet and stretching himself.

  "That's better," he remarked. "Brother Matthew has efficient but violent ideas on the subject of roping people. Pull the knots as tight as you can without breaking the rope—that's Matthew. Very sound, but uncomfortable for the victim. However, here we are. . . ."