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his tantrum. You ought to have another talk with him, Claud it might help him
to see the path of duty."
"Never you mind what I ought to do," Teal said hotly. His baby-blue eyes,
with all the sleepiness knocked out of them, were goggling like young balloons
at the check which Simon was dangling under his nose, as if his brain had
flatly refused to believe their message and they had swollen to twice their
normal size with proper indignation at the insult. With a genuine physical
effort he .averted them from the astounding figures. "Sir Barclay Edingham
gave you that?" he repeated incredulously.
Simon inclined his head.
"And he was glad to. Sir Barclay Edingham has a very keen appreciation of
literature. The pages I sold him are now his most treasured possession, and
you couldn't buy them off him for twice as much as he gave me."
He folded the check carefully and put it away in his wallet; and the
detective straightened up. "Where is this book?" he demanded. The Saint's
eyebrows shifted again fractionally.
It was a gesture that Teal knew better than any other of the Saint's bar one,
and that almost imperceptible change of alignment carried more meaning than a
thousand words of description could convey.
"It's inEngland," he answered.
"That's good," said Teal grimly, "because I want to see it."
The Saint picked up a cigarette, spun it into the air, and caught it in his
mouth without moving his head. He snapped a flame from his lighter and blew
out a long feather of smoke.
"Do you?" he murmured interestedly. "Yes, I do!" barked the detective. "And I
mean to see it before I go. I mayn't be much of a critic, but I'll soon find
out whether this literary work is worth two hundred thousand pounds a chapter.
I'll get my own ideas about whether it's libellous. Now are you going to show
me that book or am I going to look for it?"
"Where's your search warrant?" inquired Simon imperturbably.
Teal gritted his teeth.
"I don't need a search warrant. You're a sue pected person------"
"Only in your wicked suspicious mind, Claud. And I'm telling you that you do
need a search war-rant. Or, if you're going to take my home apart without one,
you need three or four strong men with you. Because if you try to do it
yourself, I shall pick you up by the scruff of your neck and the seat of your
pants and throw you over the Ritz, and there's no magistrate inEnglandwho
could give you a comeback!"
The Saint was smiling; but Mr. Teal had no illusions about that smile. It was
not a smile of simple-hearted bonhomie and good will towards policemen. It was
a smile that could have been worn by no one but that lean dangerous privateer
who was never more dangerous than when he smiled.
And Mr. Teal knew that he hadn't a leg to stand on. The Saint had tied him in
a knot again. There were no menaces, no threats of any kind, in the letter
with which the Honourable Leo Farwill had gone to Scotland Yard it was a
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pleasant polite epistle with no unlawful insinuations whatsoever, and any
fairly clever advocate could have convinced a normally half-witted jury that
the suspicions attached to it arose from nothing but the notorious Simon
Templar's signature at the end. And without a definite charge of blackmail,
there were no grounds at all for demanding an inspection of the literary work
on which the whole case lunged.
Mr. Teal knew all these things as well as anyone and knew also that in spite
of the strictly legal appearances no man had ever given the Saint two hundred
thousand pounds except as the reward of some devilish and unlawful cunning
that had been born in that gay unscrupulous brain. He knew all these things as
well as he knew his own birthday; but they did not cheer him. And Simon
Templar's forefinger went out and tapped him on the stomach in the Saintly
gesture that Mr. Teal knew and hated best of all.
"You're too full of naughty ideas and uncharitable thoughts these days," said
the Saint. "I was hoping that after I'd been away for a bit you might have got
over them; but it seems as if you haven't. You're having one of your relapses
into detectivo-sis, Claud; and it offends me. You stand there with your great
stomach wobbling------"
"It doesn't wobble!" yapped the detective furi-ously.
"It wobbles when I poke it with my finger," said the Saint coldly and
proceeded to demonstrate.
Teal struck his hand aside.
"Now listen," he brayed. "You may be able to twist the law around to suit
yourself for a while------"
"I can twist the law around to suit myself as long as I like," said the Saint
cheerfully; "and when I fall down on it will be soon enough for you to come
and see me again. Now you've completely spoiled my breakfast; and I've got an
important appointment in ten minutes, so I can't stop to play with you any
more. Drop in again next time you wake up, and I'll have some more to say to
you."
Chief Inspector Teal settled his bowler hat. The wrath and righteous
indignation were steaming together under his waistcoat; but with a terrific
effort he recovered his pose of torpid weariness.
"I'll have some more to say to you," he replied curtly, "and it'll keep you
out of trouble for several years."
"Let me know when you're ready," murmured the Saint and opened the door for
him withOld Worldcourtesy.
A couple of minutes later, with his wide-brimmed felt hat tipped
challengingly over his right eye, he was knocking at the door of the adjoining
apartment.
"Come along, Hoppy," he said. "We've left it late enough already and I can't
afford to miss this date."
Mr. Uniatz put down a bottle of whisky regretfully and took up his hat. They
left the building by the entrance inStratton Street; and as they came out onto
the pavement a shabby and ancient touring car pulled away from the curb and
went past. Simon felt as if a gust of wind plucked at his swashbuckling
headgear and carried it spinning: the crack that went with the gust of wind
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might have been only one of the many backfires that a big city hears every
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