visualized having to say anything about her in her presence.
Mr. Teal, however, did not seem to notice the aposiopesis. He was staring over Mr. Clarron’s shoulder, and upwards, with his baby-blue eyes dilating in a most peculiar manner.
“Bejabers,” trumpeted a voice of distilled shamrock, “and if it isn’t me ould friend the fat boy of Scotland Yard, himself, arrivin’ late for the wake as usual.”
Mr. Clarron turned, drawn by an awful but irresistible magnetism.
Billowing down the stairs came an exuberant female figure crowned with a bird’s-nest of hideous ginger hair.
“She must have done it,” Clarron chattered hysterically. “I should never have taken her without references. She was hiding up there–-“
“Sure, and is that any way for a gentleman to be talkin’, tryin’ to put the blame on an honest workin’ woman? And himself all the time schemin’ to murdher his own wife, the poor soul, an’ run off with his fancy lady next door, who I see sneakin’ in here already to be with him before the body is cold!”
Teal glanced back for a moment, at Adrienne Halberd who was sidling in behind the two constables; and turned back to the staircase with a tinge of purple creeping into his rubicund complexion.
“Take off that ridiculous get-up, Saint,” he roared, “and let’s hear what you think you’re up to!”
“Well, if you insist,” said the Saint meekly. “But I was just starting to get the feel of the part.”
He unbuttoned the oldfashioned black dress, peeled it off, and draped it over the stair rail. Underneath it he wore a kind of upholstered combination garment extending down to his knees and padded in all the necessary places to produce Mrs. Jafferty’s voluptuous contours. He took that off and hung it similarly over the rail, where it slid down to join the dress., Completing his descent of the stairs, he removed the orange-colored wig and set it carefully on the banister knob at the bottom.
“It’s Templar!” croaked Mr. Clarron. And for one delirious instant he felt inspired, invulnerable. “He did it in that disguise! He was with Mrs. Halberd this afternoon when I said I was going to London. She’s probably his accomplice––”
“Miss Halberd,” Teal said precisely, “is a police officer, acting under my orders.”
“As it eventually dawned on me,” said the Saint. “And there never was a Mrs. Jafferty, except when Reginald dressed up in that outfit. Instead of trying to dream up the perfect alibi, which has tripped up a lot of bright lads, he dreamed up the perfect scapegoat. And before he has any more attacks of genius, and before I budge from here, I wish someone would go through his pockets, where they’ll find Mrs. Clarron’s jewels. And if he has anything to say after that, ask him why he’s wearing those white cotton gloves.”
viii
“What do you mean, it eventually dawned on you that I was with the police?” Adrienne Halberd demanded sulkily.
Simon lighted a cigarette.
“The way you picked me up at Skindle’s was rather determined,” he said. “But I could swallow that temporarily. When you told me you were investigating for an insurance company, I could take that for a while too. There are such things as female private eyes, even if they aren’t very often eyefulls. And when you said you’d been a distant adorer of mine since you were in pigtails, it was piling it up a bit tall, but I could still open my mouth that wide. Weird as it may seem, I have met such crazy gals. But with all that build-up, you’d set yourself a lot to live up to. And soon after you found out that I hadn’t any information to add to what you’d told me, or any definite plan to let you in on, you changed quite startlingly. Gone was the worshiping bug-eyed fan. You became impatient, critical—even caustic. You couldn’t see any merit at all in the idea that I adlibbed on two seconds’ notice when Reggie started to amble over. And it wasn’t such a bad ene,
Mr. Teal, however, did not seem to notice the aposiopesis. He was staring over Mr. Clarron’s shoulder, and upwards, with his baby-blue eyes dilating in a most peculiar manner.
“Bejabers,” trumpeted a voice of distilled shamrock, “and if it isn’t me ould friend the fat boy of Scotland Yard, himself, arrivin’ late for the wake as usual.”
Mr. Clarron turned, drawn by an awful but irresistible magnetism.
Billowing down the stairs came an exuberant female figure crowned with a bird’s-nest of hideous ginger hair.
“She must have done it,” Clarron chattered hysterically. “I should never have taken her without references. She was hiding up there–-“
“Sure, and is that any way for a gentleman to be talkin’, tryin’ to put the blame on an honest workin’ woman? And himself all the time schemin’ to murdher his own wife, the poor soul, an’ run off with his fancy lady next door, who I see sneakin’ in here already to be with him before the body is cold!”
Teal glanced back for a moment, at Adrienne Halberd who was sidling in behind the two constables; and turned back to the staircase with a tinge of purple creeping into his rubicund complexion.
“Take off that ridiculous get-up, Saint,” he roared, “and let’s hear what you think you’re up to!”
“Well, if you insist,” said the Saint meekly. “But I was just starting to get the feel of the part.”
He unbuttoned the oldfashioned black dress, peeled it off, and draped it over the stair rail. Underneath it he wore a kind of upholstered combination garment extending down to his knees and padded in all the necessary places to produce Mrs. Jafferty’s voluptuous contours. He took that off and hung it similarly over the rail, where it slid down to join the dress., Completing his descent of the stairs, he removed the orange-colored wig and set it carefully on the banister knob at the bottom.
“It’s Templar!” croaked Mr. Clarron. And for one delirious instant he felt inspired, invulnerable. “He did it in that disguise! He was with Mrs. Halberd this afternoon when I said I was going to London. She’s probably his accomplice––”
“Miss Halberd,” Teal said precisely, “is a police officer, acting under my orders.”
“As it eventually dawned on me,” said the Saint. “And there never was a Mrs. Jafferty, except when Reginald dressed up in that outfit. Instead of trying to dream up the perfect alibi, which has tripped up a lot of bright lads, he dreamed up the perfect scapegoat. And before he has any more attacks of genius, and before I budge from here, I wish someone would go through his pockets, where they’ll find Mrs. Clarron’s jewels. And if he has anything to say after that, ask him why he’s wearing those white cotton gloves.”
viii
“What do you mean, it eventually dawned on you that I was with the police?” Adrienne Halberd demanded sulkily.
Simon lighted a cigarette.
“The way you picked me up at Skindle’s was rather determined,” he said. “But I could swallow that temporarily. When you told me you were investigating for an insurance company, I could take that for a while too. There are such things as female private eyes, even if they aren’t very often eyefulls. And when you said you’d been a distant adorer of mine since you were in pigtails, it was piling it up a bit tall, but I could still open my mouth that wide. Weird as it may seem, I have met such crazy gals. But with all that build-up, you’d set yourself a lot to live up to. And soon after you found out that I hadn’t any information to add to what you’d told me, or any definite plan to let you in on, you changed quite startlingly. Gone was the worshiping bug-eyed fan. You became impatient, critical—even caustic. You couldn’t see any merit at all in the idea that I adlibbed on two seconds’ notice when Reggie started to amble over. And it wasn’t such a bad ene,
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