Enter the Saint by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online

yet no one had arrived to take their places; but the clatter of his chair upsetting had roused three startled waiters, who were staring uncertainly in his direction. But a review of these odds did not seem to disturb the Saint, who was lounging languidly back in his seat with his hands in his pockets and a benign expression on his face. “I suppose you know that the police are after you,” grated Hayn.
    “I didn’t,” said the Saint. “That’s interesting. Why?”
    “You met some men in the Brighton train and played poker with them. You swindled them right and left, and when they accused you you attacked them and pinched the money. I think that’s good enough to put you away for some time.”
    “And who’s going to identify me?”
    “The four men.”
    “You surprise me,” drawled Simon. “I seem to remember that on that very day, just outside Brighton racecourse, those same four bums were concerned in beating up a poor little coot of a lame bookie named Tommy Mitre and pinching his money. There didn’t happen to be any policeman about-they arranged it quite cleverly-and the crowd that saw it would likely be all too scared of the Snake to give evidence. But yours truly and a couple of souls also saw the fun. We were a long way off, and the Snake and his Boys were over the horizon by the time we got to the scene, but we could identify them all, and a few more who were not there-and we shouldn’t be afraid to step into the witness-box and say our piece. No, sonnikins-I don’t think the police will be brought into that. That must go down to history as a little private wrangle between Snake and me. Send one of your beauty chorus out for a Robert and give me in charge, if you like, but don’t blame me if Ganning and the Boys come back at you for it. Knowing their reputations, I should say they’d get the ‘cat’ as well as their six months’ hard, and that won’t make them love you a lot. Have it your own way, though.”
    The argument was watertight, and Hayn realized it. He was beginning to cool down. He hadn’t a kick-for the moment, the Saint had got him right down in the mud with a foot on his face. But he didn’t see what good that was doing the Saint. It was a big bluff, Hayn was starting to think, and he had sense enough to realize that it wasn’t helping him one bit to get all hot under the collar about it. In fact-such was the exhilarating effect of having at last found an enemy that he could see and hit back at-Hayn was rapidly reckoning that the Saint might lose a lot by that display of bravado.
    Clearly the Saint didn’t want the police horning in at all. It didn’t even matter that the Saint knew things about Hayn and his activities that would have interested the police. The Saint was on some lay of his own, and the police weren’t being invited to interfere. Very well. So be it. The cue for Hayn was to bide his time and refuse to be rattled. But he wished the Saint hadn’t got that mocking, self-possessed air of having a lot more high cards up his sleeve, just waiting to be produced. It spoilt Hayn’s happiness altogether. The Saint was behaving like a fool; and yet, in some disconcertingly subtle way, he managed to do it with the condescending air of putting off a naturally tremendous gravity in order to amuse the children.
    Hayn righted his chair and sat down again slowly; the alert waiters relaxed-they were a tough crowd, and selected more for their qualities of toughness than for their clean finger-nails and skill at juggling with plates and dishes. But as Hayn sat down his right hand went behind his chair-his back was towards the group of waiters-and with his fingers he made certain signs. One of the waiters faded away inconspicuously. “So what do you propose to do?” Hayn said.
    “Leave you,” answered the Saint benevolently. “I know your ugly dial isn’t your fault, but I’ve seen about as much of it as I can stand for one evening. I’ve done what I came to do, and now I