The Saint vs Scotland Yard by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online Page B

really don’t know—— ”
    “Why we should consider you an authority on scorpions. Precisely.
The Editor told me you’d say that.”
    “If you’d—— ”
    “Tell you the reason for this rather extraordinary proce dure—— ”
    “I should certainly see if I could help you in any way, but at the same time——”
    “You don’t see what use you could be. Absolutely. Now, shall we
go on like this or shall we sing the rest in chorus?”
    Mr. Garniman blinked.
    “Do
you want to ask me some questions?”
    “I should love to,” said the Saint heartily. “You don’t
think Mrs. Garniman will object?”
    “Mrs. Garniman?”
    “Mrs. Garniman.”
    Mr. Garniman blinked again.
    “Are you—— ”
    “Certain—— ”
    “Are you certain you haven’t made a mistake? There is no Mrs.
Garniman.”
    “Don’t mention it,” said the Saint affably.
    He turned the pages of an enormous notebook.
    ” ‘Interviewed Luis Cartaro. Diamond rings and Marcel wave.
Query—Do Pimples Make Good Mothers? Said—— ’
    Sorry, wrong page… . Here we are: ‘Memo. See Wilfred Garniman
and ask the big—ask him about scorpions. 28 Mallaby Road,
Harrow’. That’s right, isn’t it?”
    “That’s my name and address,” said .Garniman shortly.
“But I have still to learn the reason for this—er— ”
    “Visit,” supplied the Saint. He was certainly feeling helpful this
morning.
    He closed his book and returned it to his pocket.
    “As a matter of fact,” he said, “we heard that the Saint
was interested in you.”
    He was not even looking at Garniman as he spoke. But the mirror over the
mantelpiece was in the tail of his eyes, and thus he saw the other’s hands,
which were clasped behind his back, close and unclose—once.
    “The Saint?” said Garniman. “Really— ”
    “Are you sure I’m not detaining you?” asked the Saint, suddenly
very brisk and solicitous. “If your staff will be anx ious…”
    “My
staff can wait a few minutes.”
    “That’s very good of you. But if we telephoned them—— ”
    “I assure you—that is quite unnecessary.”
    “I shouldn’t like to think of your office being disorgan ised—— ”
    “You need not trouble,” said Garniman. He moved across the room. “Will you
smoke?”
    “Thanks,” said the Saint.
    He had just taken the first puff from a cigarette when Garniman
turned round with a carved ebony box in his hand.
    “Oh,” said Mr. Garniman, a trifle blankly.
    “Not at all,” said the Saint, who was never embarrassed. “Have
one of mine?”
    He extended his case, but Garniman shook his head.
    “I never smoke during the day. Would it be too early to offer you
a drink?”       
    “I’m afraid so—much too late,” agreed Simon blandly.
    Garniman returned the ebony box to the side table from which he
had taken it. Then he swung round abruptly.
    “Well?” he demanded. “What’s the idea?”
    The Saint appeared perplexed.
    “What’s what idea?” he inquired innocently.
    Garniman’s eyebrows came down a little.
    “What’s all this about scorpions—— and the Saint?”
    “According to the Saint —— ”
    “I don’t understand you. I thought the Saint had disap peared
long ago.”
    “Then you were grievously in error, dear heart,” murmured Simon Templar
coolly. “Because I am myself the Saint.”
    He lounged against a book-case, smiling and debonair, and his lazy
blue eyes rested mockingly on the other’s pale plump face.
    “And I’m afraid you’re the Scorpion, Wilfred,” he said.
    For a moment Mr. Garniman stood quite still. And then he shrugged.
    “I believe I read in the newspapers that you had been pardoned
and had retired from business,” he said, “so I sup pose it
would be useless for me to communicate your confes sion to the police.
As for this scorpion that you have referred to several times—— ”
    “Yourself,” the Saint corrected him gently, and Garniman shrugged again.
    “Whatever
delusion you are suffering