The Saint Meets His Match by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online

way he had an idea.
    “The machine
gun,” he reflected, “was Pinky’s vol untary. Weald would
have thought of the prussic acid in the milk.
We’re still waiting for Jill’s contribution—and it might be very cunning to meet it halfway.”
    The inspiration, duly considered, appealed to
him; and he gave fresh instructions to the
driver.
    The door of the house in
Belgrave Street was a long time opening in response to his peal on the
bell. Perhaps to make up for this, it was very quick in starting to shut again as soon as Frederick Wells had recognized
the call er. But Simon Templar was
more than ordinarily skilful at thrusting himself in where he was not
wanted.
    “Not good enough,
Freddie,” he drawled regretfully, and
closed the door himself—from the inside.
    The butler glowered.
    “Miss Trelawney is
out,”   he said.
    “You lie,
Ferdinand,” said the Saint pleasantly, and went
on up the stairs.
    He really had no idea whether the butler was
lying or not, but he gave him the benefit
of the doubt. As it hap pened, this
generous impulse was justified, for Jill Tre lawney opened the door of the sitting room just as Simon put his hand on the knob.
    “Hullo,” said the
Saint amiably.
    His eyes flickered with an
offensively secret mirth, and he caught the answering
blaze from hers before she veiled them in a frozen
inscrutability.
    “Lovely day,
Jill,” remarked the Saint, very amiably.
    She relaxed wearily
against the jamb.
    “My—sainted—aunt!
Have you got away from your keeper again?”
    “Looks like it,”
said the Saint apologetically. “Yes, I will
stay to tea, thanks. Ring down to the kitchen and tell them not to mix arsenic
with the sugar, because I don’t take sugar. And it’s no use putting strychnine
in the milk, because I don’t take milk. Just
tell ‘em to shovel the whole bag of
tricks in the teapot.”
    He walked calmly past her
into the room, and sat down in the best chair. As an afterthought, he
removed his hat.
    The girl followed him in.
    “Is your posse outside again?”
    “I wonder?”
said the Saint. “Why don’t you go out and ask?
You don’t know where you are just now, do you? One
time I tell you I haven’t a posse, and I haven’t. Another
time I tell you I have a posse and I haven’t. Now suppose I tell you I
haven’t a posse you’ll know I have, won’t
you?”
    She shrugged and took a cigarette from a silver
box. Then she offered the box to him.
    “Have one?”
    “Not with you,
darling.”
    “Did I hear you say ‘No, thanks’?”
    “Er—no, I don’t think
so,” said the Saint seriously. “Did
you?”
    With the smoke trickling
through her lips the girl looked at him.
    “Have you come on
business this time?” she inquired. “Or
is this just another part of the official persecution?”
    “Partly on business,
partly on pleasure,” said Simon, unabashed.
“Which will you have first?”
    “The business,
please.”
    “It’s a
pleasure,” said the Saint accommodatingly. “I’ve come to do you a good turn, Jill.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Yes, that is so.
Oh, yeah? Yeah. Ses you? Ses me. In fact, yes … I want to warn you. A
dark man is going to cross your path. Beware of him. His name is Slinky Dy son.”
    The name roused no more
response than a flicker of her eyelids.
    “What about
him?”
    “He is a police spy,” said the Saint
solemnly. “I have been able to buy him
over. In return for a cash reward he is going to try to join your gang
and give me all the information about you that he can get hold of. So, what ever happens, don’t be taken in by him.”
    She read with glittering
eyes the dancing devil of amusement behind his
expressionlessness.
    “Is this another of
your funny stories?”
    “It is.” The
Saint sighed. “In fact, it’s one of my best. Do
you know, Jill, I’m afraid you’re going to get in a devil of a muddle about me, aren’t you? First the business of the posse, then this. Now, do you think I’m telling you the truth in