either. But it made you almost rude.”
“If I remember,” she said, “you weren’t such a para-gon–-“
“But I wasn’t trying to sell anything, darling. You had been. And the transformation was just too sudden. A real fan would have thought anything I suggested was marvelous, no matter how screwy or dangerous it sounded. And then I realized something else. This was Claud Eustace’s last big case, and he’d warned me to keep out of it, but I told him I intended to stick my nose in anyway. Yet I came straight to Maidenhead, and none of the local constabulary was around to meet me and back up Teal’s orders. More surprising still, there wasn’t even a vestige of a cop anywhere around here, keeping tabs on Reggie or trying to save Mrs. Clarron from being bumped off. So at last I connected. The cop had to be you. Teal had plenty of time to phone you while I was driving down from Heath Row, tell you I was headed for Skindle’s, tell you to pick me up there, rope me, keep me handy. The explanation you had to hatch up between you wasn’t so hard to invent; but I could almost hear the wheels whirring in Teal’s fat head, and see his buttons popping with pride at his own brilliance.”
Chief Inspector Teal thumbed open a tiny envelope of spearmint and mailed the contents in his mouth.
“All right,” he said trenchantly. “But what happened after Miss Halberd left you in her cottage?”
“After she left me to phone you for more advice,” said the Saint smoothly, “I went over those random hunches again and convinced myself. Then I knew I wouldn’t have much more time to work on my own, and I really was seriously worried about what my appearance and my story might rush Reggie into doing. And I decided I just had to see if I couldn’t find a clue in his house—which you couldn’t have tried without a search warrant. You know my methods, Claud. Impulsive. So I picked up the phone and called Mrs. Clarron, and said I was the local police.”
“Falsely representing yourself to be a police officer,” barked Teal.
“For which I might easily get fined a few pounds,” said the Saint sadly. “I said that Mr. Clarron had asked us to keep an eye on her on account of a suspicious character in the neighborhood; and it was really a break when she wasn’t a bit surprised. Reggie had warned her about the Saint. So I asked if we might send a man over to make sure that everything was all right. She said yes, but she couldn’t let him in. I said that was all right, Mr. Clarron had left us a key. I moved my car up the road, walked back, and jiggered the lock, which is a very easy one.”
“He broke in,” jabbered Mr. Clarron forlornly. “He admits it!”
It was not a very effective effort, considering the heap of jewels from his pockets which one of the constables was laboriously inventorying while the other counted them on to an outspread handkerchief; and Teal glanced at him almost pityingly,
“I told her I wanted to check all the windows,” Simon went on, “which gave me an excuse to roam through the house. I didn’t have to roam far. In Reggie’s bedroom, the first thing that caught my eye was a typical old theatrical trunk. I opened the lid; and right on top was this wig, and underneath it those dowager-size falsies.”
He paused for a dramatic moment which he could not deny himself, releasing a leisured streamer of smoke.
“It was all clear in a bolt of lightning. There was no mistaking that hair—I’d seen Mrs. Jafferty at the pub, as Adrienne can tell you. And she’d told me that he was an actor, and once played with a sort of minstrel troupe. And I could see Reggie’s face as I’d met him this afternoon, and of course it was Mrs. Jafferty’s, with the powder and rouge and lipstick off and those horn-rimmed glasses added. And I remembered that in those old music-hall skits with a comic charwoman, which Mrs. Jafferty had reminded me of nothing else but, the part was nearly always played by a
“If I remember,” she said, “you weren’t such a para-gon–-“
“But I wasn’t trying to sell anything, darling. You had been. And the transformation was just too sudden. A real fan would have thought anything I suggested was marvelous, no matter how screwy or dangerous it sounded. And then I realized something else. This was Claud Eustace’s last big case, and he’d warned me to keep out of it, but I told him I intended to stick my nose in anyway. Yet I came straight to Maidenhead, and none of the local constabulary was around to meet me and back up Teal’s orders. More surprising still, there wasn’t even a vestige of a cop anywhere around here, keeping tabs on Reggie or trying to save Mrs. Clarron from being bumped off. So at last I connected. The cop had to be you. Teal had plenty of time to phone you while I was driving down from Heath Row, tell you I was headed for Skindle’s, tell you to pick me up there, rope me, keep me handy. The explanation you had to hatch up between you wasn’t so hard to invent; but I could almost hear the wheels whirring in Teal’s fat head, and see his buttons popping with pride at his own brilliance.”
Chief Inspector Teal thumbed open a tiny envelope of spearmint and mailed the contents in his mouth.
“All right,” he said trenchantly. “But what happened after Miss Halberd left you in her cottage?”
“After she left me to phone you for more advice,” said the Saint smoothly, “I went over those random hunches again and convinced myself. Then I knew I wouldn’t have much more time to work on my own, and I really was seriously worried about what my appearance and my story might rush Reggie into doing. And I decided I just had to see if I couldn’t find a clue in his house—which you couldn’t have tried without a search warrant. You know my methods, Claud. Impulsive. So I picked up the phone and called Mrs. Clarron, and said I was the local police.”
“Falsely representing yourself to be a police officer,” barked Teal.
“For which I might easily get fined a few pounds,” said the Saint sadly. “I said that Mr. Clarron had asked us to keep an eye on her on account of a suspicious character in the neighborhood; and it was really a break when she wasn’t a bit surprised. Reggie had warned her about the Saint. So I asked if we might send a man over to make sure that everything was all right. She said yes, but she couldn’t let him in. I said that was all right, Mr. Clarron had left us a key. I moved my car up the road, walked back, and jiggered the lock, which is a very easy one.”
“He broke in,” jabbered Mr. Clarron forlornly. “He admits it!”
It was not a very effective effort, considering the heap of jewels from his pockets which one of the constables was laboriously inventorying while the other counted them on to an outspread handkerchief; and Teal glanced at him almost pityingly,
“I told her I wanted to check all the windows,” Simon went on, “which gave me an excuse to roam through the house. I didn’t have to roam far. In Reggie’s bedroom, the first thing that caught my eye was a typical old theatrical trunk. I opened the lid; and right on top was this wig, and underneath it those dowager-size falsies.”
He paused for a dramatic moment which he could not deny himself, releasing a leisured streamer of smoke.
“It was all clear in a bolt of lightning. There was no mistaking that hair—I’d seen Mrs. Jafferty at the pub, as Adrienne can tell you. And she’d told me that he was an actor, and once played with a sort of minstrel troupe. And I could see Reggie’s face as I’d met him this afternoon, and of course it was Mrs. Jafferty’s, with the powder and rouge and lipstick off and those horn-rimmed glasses added. And I remembered that in those old music-hall skits with a comic charwoman, which Mrs. Jafferty had reminded me of nothing else but, the part was nearly always played by a
Similar Books
