The Saint in London: Originally Entitled the Misfortunes of Mr. Teal by Leslie Charteris

for ever, and we’ve had lots of fun.” His gaze watched the advancing detective with a hint of wicked banter in it that belied the rueful resignation of his features; but Teal did not see that at once. “It’ll be a sensational case,” said the Saint. “Let me give you an idea.”
    And without warning, with a flow of movements too swift to follow, he took a couple of paces sideways and aimed a punch at what was left of the Honourable Leo’s prosperous corporation. Far-will instinctively jerked up his hands; and with a quick smile Simon turned the feint into a deft reach of his hand that caught Her Wedding Secret as it fell.
    Barrow and Teal plunged towards him simultaneously; and the Saint moved rapidly back— past the automatic that had appeared like magic in the hand of a Mr. Uniatz who this time had not been artificially obstructed on the draw.
    “Stay back, youse guys!” barked Hoppy, in a voice quivering with exultation at his achievement; and involuntarily the two detectives checked.
    The two politicians, equally involuntarily taking the lead in any popular movement, went farther. They went back as far as the confines of the room would allow them.
    “You know your duty, Inspector,” said the Home Secretary tremblingly. “I order you to arrest those men!”
    “Don’t order a good man to commit suicide,” said the Saint curtly. “Nobody’s going to get hurt —if you’ll all behave yourselves for a few minutes. I’m the bloke who’s being arrested, and I want to enjoy it. Readings by the public prosecutor of extracts from this book will be the high spot of the trial, and I want to have a rehearsal.”
    He turned the pages and quickly found a place.
    “Now here’s a juicy bit that’ll whet your appetites,” he remarked. “It must have something to do with those reasons of state which you were burbling about, Leo. ‘On May 15th I dined again with Farwill, then Secretary of State for War. He was inclined to agree with me about the potentialities of the Aix-la-Chapelle incident for increasing the friction between France and Germany; and on my increasing my original offer to ｣ｧ0,000 he agreed to place before the Cabinet––”
    “Stop!” shouted Farwill shrilly. “It’s a lie!”
    The Saint closed his book and put it down; and very slowly the smile returned to his lips.
    “I shouldn’t be so melodramatic as that,” he said easily. “But of course it’s a joke. I suppose it’s really gone a bit too far.”
    There was another long silence; and then Lord Iveldown cleared his throat.
    “Of course,” he said in a cracked voice. “A joke.”
    “A joke,” repeated Farwill hollowly. “Ah—of course.”
    Simon flicked his cigarette through the open window, and a rumble of traffic went by in the sudden quiet.
    “And not, I’m afraid,” he murmured, “in the best of taste.”
    His eyes strayed back to the staring gaze of Chief Inspector Teal.
    Of all those persons present, Mr. Teal did not
    seem the most happy. It would be inaccurate to say that he realized exactly what was going on. He didn’t. But something told him that there was a catch in it. Somewhere in the undercurrents of that scene, he knew, there was something phony-something that was preparing to gyp him of his triumph at the very moment of victory. He had only the dimmest idea of how it was being worked; but he had seen it happen too many times before to mistake the symptoms.
    “What the heck is this joke?” he demanded.
    “Leo will tell you,” said the Saint.
    Farwill licked his lips.
    “I—ah—the joke was so—ah—silly that I—ah … Well, Inspector, when Mr. Templar approached us with the offer of this—ah—literary work, and—ah—knowing his, if I may say so, notorious—ah—character, I—ah—that is, we— thought that it would be humorous to play a slight—ah—practical joke on him, with your—ah —unwitting assistance. Ah––”
    “Whereas, of course, you meant to buy it all the time,”