Featuring the Saint (The Saint Series)

by Leslie Charteris

  “Do you mean he thought you were going to kill him?”

  “That’s not what I said. I certainly did say I was going to kill him, but whether he believed me or not is more than I can tell you at present.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  Simon raised his eyebrows mournfully, but he checked the protest that was almost becoming a habit. After all, Teal was only a detective. One had to make allowances.

  “Miles Hallin thought no one in the world knew the truth about him,” said the Saint. “And then he found that I knew. So he wanted me to die.”

  Teal compressed his lips.

  Then he said, “And what was this truth?”

  “Simply that Miles Hallin is a coward.”

  “Would he try to kill you for that?”

  The Saint gazed at the ceiling.

  “Did you take my tip about that Brooklands affair?” he asked.

  “I made some inquiries,” Teal shrugged. “I’m afraid it wasn’t much use. I’m told no one could prove anything.”

  “And yet you’ve come back to see me.”

  “After that business last night. On the level, Templar, I’d be glad of a tip. You know something that I don’t know, and just this once I want you to help me. If it had looked like one of your ordinary shows, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Where is the peculiar difference between this show and what you call my ‘ordinary shows’?”

  “You know as well as I do…”

  “I don’t!”

  The Saint uncurled from his chair like a steel spring released, and his eyes were of the same steel. The detective realised that those eyes had been levelled unwinkingly at him for a long while, but he had not realised it before. Now he saw his mistake.

  “I don’t know anything of the kind,” snapped the Saint, with those eyes of chilled steel, and the laziness had vanished altogether from his voice. “But I do know that I can’t swallow the joke of your coming to see me just because you want to take one of my feathers and put it in your own cap. I’ve got a darned good swallowing apparatus, Teal, I promise you, but it simply won’t sink that one!”

  Teal blinked.

  “I only wanted to ask you…”

  “Shucks!” said the Saint tersely. “You’ve told me what you wanted to ask me. My yell is that you haven’t told me the real reason. And that’s what I’m going to know before we take the palaver any further. You asked me not to stall, now I’m telling you not to stall. Shoot!”

  For a space of seconds they eyed one another in silence, and then the detective nodded fractionally, though his round, red face had not changed its expression.

  “All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll come clean—if you’ll do the same.”

  The Saint stood tensely. But he hesitated only for a moment. He thought, Something’s happened. Teal knows what it is. I’ve got to find out. It may or may not be important, but…

  The Saint said curtly, “That’s O.K. by me.”

  “Then you start,” answered Teal.

  Simon drew breath.

  “Mine’s easy. I suspect that the story of Hallin’s luck in Australia is a lie. I know that Hallin’s crazy about the same girl that Nigel Perry’s in love with. I know that Hallin tried to push Perry out of the running by persuading him to put the little money he’d got into a mine that Hallin thought was a dud. I know that Teddy Everest told Hallin the mine was a dud, and later told him it wasn’t a dud after all. I know Hallin faked that crash because Teddy might be dangerous. I know Hallin had planned some story to get those shares back from Perry, and I know Hallin tried to kill me because I told Perry the truth—even if Perry didn’t believe me. That’s all there is to it. Your turn.”

  Teal’s chair creaked as he moved, but his eyes were closed. He appeared to have fallen asleep. And then he spoke with a voice that was not at all sleepy.

  “Moyna Stanford was kidnapped this afternoon,” he said, and the Saint swore softly.

  “The hell!…”

  “That’s all I know.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “There’s very little to tell. She’d been down to lunch with some friends at Windsor—she walked alone to the station—and she hasn’t been seen since.”

  “But, burn it!—a grown girl can disappear for two or three hours without being kidnapped, can’t she?”

  “Ordinarily, she can,” said Teal. “I’m just telling you what’s happened. She was due to have tea with some friends of her mother’s. They rang up her mother to ask why she hadn’t come. Her mother rang up Windsor to ask the same question. And as soon as her mother grasped the facts she went flying to the police. Of course, Mrs. Stanford didn’t get much satisfaction—we haven’t got time to attend to hysterical parents who get the wind up as quickly as that—but I heard about it, and it seemed to link up. Anyway…”

  “She might have run away with Perry,” said the Saint, with a kind of frantic hope that he knew instinctively to be the hope of a fool.

  And the detective’s reply came so pat that even Simon Templar was startled.

  “She might have,” said Teal grimly, “because Perry’s also disappeared.”

  The Saint stood like a statue.

  Then when he spoke again his voice was strangely quiet.

  “Tell me about Perry,” he said.

  “Perry just went out to lunch in the ordinary way, but he never went back to the office.”

  The Saint removed his cigarette from his mouth. It had gone out. He gazed at it as if its extinction was the only thing in the world that mattered.

  Then he said, “At the police-court this morning, Hallin was remanded for a medical examination. Was that the Beak’s idea—or yours?”

  “Largely mine,” said Teal.

  “Would Hallin know?”

  “He might have guessed.”

  “And what happened after that?”

  “Probably, he lunched with Perry. The identification isn’t certain, but…”

  “Has Hallin been seen anywhere since?”

  “I’ve had men making inquiries. If you’ll let me use your telephone…”

  “Carry on.”

  The detective moved ponderously over to the instrument, and Simon, lighting another cigarette, began to stride up and down the room.

  He was still pacing the carpet when Teal hung up the receiver and turned to him again.

  “Hallin hasn’t been seen since lunch.”

  The Saint nodded without speaking, and set off on a fresh route, his hands deep in his pockets. Teal watched him with exasperation.

  “Haven’t you got anything to say?” he demanded.

  Simon raised his eyes from the floor.

  “I’ve made a big mistake,” he said, as though nothing else concerned him, and Teal seethed audibly.

  “For Heaven’s sake!”

  “Er—not exactly.”

  The Saint stopped abruptly on those words, and faced about, and Teal was suddenly amazed that he could ever have associated that dark, rakish profile with trivialities.

  “My mistake,” said the Saint, “was in underrating Hallin’s intelligence. I don’t know why I did it. He’d naturally be quick on the uptake. And he’d realise that when those shares went up he’d be damned. Perry would have to believe me. And the rest follows.”

  “What follows?”

  “He got Perry away with some yarn—probably about Moyna. Then he rushed down to Windsor, caught Moyna at the station, and offered to drive her to London. But I know where they went—Perry may be there too…”

  “Where?”

  “Wales.”

  “How d’you know that?”

  “Hallin’s got a place there. Damn it, Teal, d’you think you’re the only durned General Information Bureau in this gosh-blinded burg?” Teal brushed his hat on his sleeve.

  “I can get a police car round here in five minutes,” he stated.

  “Do it,” said the Saint, and Teal went again to the telephone—very quickly.
<
br />   When he had given his instructions, he put his hat down on the table, and came and stood in front of the Saint. And suddenly his hands shot out, and moved swiftly and firmly over the Saint’s pockets. And the Saint smiled.

  “Did you think I was carrying the missing couple around with me?” he murmured, in the mildest of expostulation, but Teal was not amused.

  “I’m remembering Lemuel,” he said briefly. “You may be coming with me, but you’re not carrying a gun.”

  The Saint smiled even more gently.

  “Miles Hallin is terribly afraid,” he said, addressing the ceiling. “Once upon a time, he was just afraid of dying, but now he has an even bigger fear. He’s afraid of dying before he’s finished with life…I think someone had better carry a gun.”

  Teal understood perfectly.

  6

  “So there you are!” Nigel Perry flung open the door of the cottage as Hallin’s car pulled up outside. “I was wondering what on earth to do. Moyna isn’t here…”

  “She isn’t far away,” Hallin said.

  He climbed stiffly out of his seat. Perry could not see his face clearly in the gloom, but something in Hallin’s tone puzzled him. And then Hallin took him by the arm with a laugh.

  “Come inside,” he said, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Inside, in the lighted room, Hallin’s heavy features seemed drawn and strained, but of course he had just driven nearly a hundred and sixty miles at his usual breakneck pace.

  “Heavens, I’m tired!”

  He sat down, and passed a hand across his forehead. His eyes strayed towards the decanter on a side-table, and the younger man hurried towards it.

  “Thanks,” Hallin said.

  “I’ve been bothered to death, Miles!” said Perry boyishly, splashing soda-water into the glass. “I didn’t dare leave the place, in case Moyna arrived and found nobody here, and I didn’t know how to get in touch with you…”

  “And now I expect you’re wondering why I’m here at all.”

  “I am.”

  Hallin took the tumbler and half-emptied it at a gulp.

  “That’s better!…Well, everything’s gone wrong that could go wrong.”

  “Don’t you know any more than you knew at lunch-time?”

  “I don’t know any more, but—well, I’ve told you it all. Moyna rang me up—she said she was in frightful trouble—your office number was engaged, and she couldn’t wait. She’d got to get out of London at once. I asked her where she was going, and she didn’t seem to have any idea, I said I’d leave the key of my place in Wales with my valet…”

  “But you gave it to me!”

  “I’ve got more than one key, you idiot! Anyway, she jumped at the chance, and I promised to send you on by the first train. It was much later when I started to think that I might be able to help you, whatever your trouble was—and I got out the car and came straight down.”

  “But I can’t understand it!” Perry couldn’t sit down; his nerves were jangled to bits with worry. “Why should Moyna have to run away out of London? She couldn’t be mixed up with any crime…”

  Hallin took another pull at his drink.

  “I wish I could be as sure of that as you are.”

  “Miles!”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Nigel. D’you think I’d believe she was in on the wrong side? There are other ways of being mixed up in crime.”

  “What did you mean when you said everything had gone wrong?”

  Hallin lighted a cigarette.

  “I discovered something else on my way here,” he said.

  “You said Moyna wasn’t far away…”

  “I don’t think she is. I’ll tell you why. As I came up the hill, I had to stop for a moment to switch over to the reserve petrol tank. While I was out of the car I heard someone speaking beside the road. He said, ‘Hallin’s just come by.’ Then he said, ‘I’ll leave him to you. I’ll be waiting for Templar…’”

  “Templar?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “But he must have known you were there.”

  “He must have thought I couldn’t hear. It was a pure fluke that I could. I moved a couple of steps, and I couldn’t hear a sound. Some trick of echoes, I expect. However, I followed the sound, keeping in the line it seemed to move in, and I almost fell over the man. He fired at me once, and missed, and then I got hold of him. He—went over the cliff. You remember…it’s very steep there…”

  “You killed him?”

  “Of course I did,” said Hallin shortly, “unless he can fall two hundred feet without hurting himself. It was him or me—and he was armed. I got back into the car and drove on. Farther up the road a man stepped out and tried to stop me, but I drove right at him. He fired after me twice, but he didn’t do any damage. And that’s all.”

  Perry’s fists clenched.

  “By God, if that man really was waiting for Templar…”

  “Why shouldn’t he have been? Remember all that’s happened. We don’t know what Templar’s game is, but we know his record…”

  “But he was pardoned a long time ago.”

  “That doesn’t make him straight. A man like that…”

  Perry swung round. He caught at Hallin’s arm.

  “For God’s sake, Miles—we’ve got to do something…”

  Hallin stood up.

  “That’s why I came to fetch you,” he said.

  “But what can we do?”

  “Get back to that telephone—find where the line leads.”

  “Could you find the place again?”

  “I marked it down.”

  “But those men who fired at you…”

  “We can go another way. I know all the roads around here backwards. Are you game?” Perry set his teeth.

  “You bet I am. But—if you’d got a gun or something…”

  Hallin looked at him for a moment. Then he went to the desk, unlocked a drawer, and took out two automatics. One he gave to Perry, the other he slipped into his own pocket.

  “That’s a good idea,” he said. “Now are you ready?”

  “Yes—come on!”

  It was Perry who led the way out of the cottage, and he had already started the car when

  Hallin climbed in behind the wheel.

  They moved off with a roar, and Perry leaned over and yelled in Hallin’s ear.

  “They’ll hear us coming!”

  Hallin nodded, and kicked the cut-out over. The roar was silenced.

  “You’re right,” he said.

  They tore down the hill for a quarter of a mile, and skidded deliriously round a right-angle turn; then they went bucketing down a steep and narrow lane, with the big car brushing the hedge on either side.

  “This is the only way to get round them,” Hallin said.

  The huge headlights made the lane as light as it would have been at noon; even so, it was a nightmare path to follow at that pace. But Hallin was a perfect driver. Presently the lane seemed to come to a dead end; Hallin braked, and put the wheel over, and they broadsided into a clear road.

  “It’s close here,” Hallin said.

  The car slackened speed; after a few moments they almost crawled, while Hallin searched the side of the road. And then he jammed on the brakes, switching off the engine and the lights as he did so.

  “This is the place.”

  He met Perry in the road, and led off at once. For a few yards they went over grass; then they threaded a way between rocks and low stunted bushes. On his right, Perry heard a distant murmur of water. Then Hallin stopped him.

  “It was just here.”

  Perry heard the scrape of a match, and then he saw.

  They stood beside a slight bump of ground, and there was a shallow cavity in the side of it, which seemed to have been worn away under a flat ledge of stone. And in the cavity was a telephone.

  The light went out.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Hallin said.

  “What is it?”

/>   “Suppose you took that man’s place at the telephone—spoke to the men at the other end—told them some story? I’ll follow the wire. I don’t think the other end is far away. Give me ten minutes, and then start. You could distract their attention—it’d give me a chance to take them by surprise.”

  “But I want to get near the swine myself!”

  “You shall. But to start with—look here, you know you aren’t used to stalking. I could get up to them twice as quietly as you could.”

  Perry hesitated, and then Hallin heard him groping down into the hollow.

  “All right.” The youngster’s voice came up from the darkness. “Hurry along, Miles, and shout as soon as you can.”

  “I will. Just ten minutes, Nigel.”

  “Right-ho!”

  Hallin moved away.

  He did not follow any wire. He knew just where he was going.

  In ten minutes he was squatting beside a heavily insulated switch. Beside him a trellised metal tower reached up towards the stars. It was one of many that had not long since sprung up all over England, carrying long electric cables across the country and bringing light and power to every corner of the land.

  That Miles Hallin had left London late was only one of his inventions. He had, as a matter of fact, been in that spot for several hours. He was an expert electrician—though the job he had had to do was fairly simple. It had been the digging that had taken the time…

  He had an ingenious mind. The Saint would have been sheerly delighted to hear the story that Nigel Perry had heard. “If you must have melodrama, lay it on with a spade,” was one of the Saint’s own maxims, and certainly Miles Hallin had not tyrannised his imagination.

  There was also a thoroughness about Hallin which it gave the Saint great pleasure to recall in after years. Even in murder he was as thorough as he had been in fostering the legend of his charmed life. A lesser man would simply have pushed Perry over the very convenient precipice.

  “But even at that time,” the Saint would say, “Hallin clung to the idea that after all he might get away with something. If he’d simply shoved Nigel off the cliff he’d have had trouble with the body. So he dug a neat grave, and put Nigel in it to die, so all our sweet Miles had to do afterwards was to come back and remove the telephone and fill up the hole. You can’t say that wasn’t thorough.”