12 The Saint in London (The Misfortunes of Mr Teal)

Orace's faded eyes lost none of their ferocity, but his overhanging moustache twitched.

"If yer can wite 'arf a minnit, sir," he said, "I'll go wiv yer."

The Saint laughed softly and stood up. His hand fell on Orace's shoulder.

"Thanks a lot, you old humbug; but it isn't nec- , essary. You see, Hoppy's wrong. And you ought to know it, after all the years you've been around with me." He leaned back against the mantelpiece, one hand in his pocket, and looked at the two men with eyes that were beginning to twinkle again. "Hoppy reminds me that Teal knows all about this house, but he's forgotten that Teal also, knows I know it. Hoppy thinks we ought to pack our keisters and take it on the lam, but he's for-gotten that that's the very thing Teal is expecting us to do. After all, Claud Eustace has seen me hang it on the limb before. . . . Are you there, Hoppy?"

"Yes, boss," said Mr. Uniatz, after glancing around to reassure himself of the fact.

"It's quite true that you'll probably see some cops skating up the drive before long; but somehow I don't think Claud Eustace will be with them. It'll be almost a formality. They may browse around looking for incriminating relics, but they won't be seriously looking for me--or Hoppy. And that's why none of 'em will ever be great detectives, because this is exactly where Hoppy is going to be--lying snug and low in the secret room off the study, which is one of the things they still don't know about this house."

"Chees!" said Mr. Uniatz, in pardonable awe. "Didja t'ink of all dat while ya was eatin' breakfast?"

The Saint smiled.

"That and some more; but I guess that's enough for your head to hold at one time." He looked at his watch. "You'd better move into your new quarters now--Orace will bring you food and drink from time to time, and I'll know where to find you when I want you."

He steered Hoppy across the hall and into the study, slid back the bookcase beside the desk, and pushed him through the gap in the wall behind it. Framed in the narrow opening, Mr. Uniatz blinked out at him pleadingly.

"Boss," he said, "it's gonna be toisty waitin'."

"Hoppy," said the Saint, "if I think you're going to have to wait long, I'll tell Orace to have a pipeline laid from a distillery right into the room. Then you can just lie down under the tap and keep your mouth open--and it'll be cheaper than buying it in bottles."

He slammed the bookcase into place again and turned round on the last puff of his cigarette as Orace came in.

"You've got to be an Orpen of the Storm, and draw the fire," he said. "But it shouldn't be very dangerous. They've nothing against you. The one thing you must do is get in touch with Miss Holm --let her know all the latest news and tell her to keep in contact. There may be fun and game! for all before this party's over."

"Addencha better 'ide in there yerself, sir?" asked Orace threateningly. "I can look after every-think for yer."

The Saint shook his head.

"You can't look after what I'm going to look after," he said gently. "But I can tell you some more. It won't mean much to you, but you can pass it on to Miss Holm in case she's curious, and remember it yourself in case anything goes wrong." He caught Orace by the shoulders and swung him round. The mocking blue eyes were reckless and wicked; the Saintly smile was as blithe and tranquil as if he had been setting out on a picnic--which, according to his own scapegrace philosophy, he was.

"Down at Betfield, near Folkestone," he said, "there's a place called March House, where a guy called Sir Hugo Renway lives. The night before last, this guy murdered a Spanish airman named Manuel Enrique, on the Brighton road--and left my mark on him. Last night, this same guy pinched an aeroplane out of the Hawker factory over the road--and left my mark on the night watchman. And in the small hours of this morning, an aeroplane which may or may not have been the one that was pinched landed in the grounds of March House. I was there, and I saw it. A few hours back, Claud Eustace Teal tried to run me in for both those efforts.

"I wasn't responsible for either of 'em, but Teal doesn't believe it. Taking things by and large, you can't exactly blame him. But / know better, even if he doesn't; and I'm just naturally curious. I want to know what all this jolly carnival is. about that Renway's trying to tack onto me. And there's one thing you'll notice, Orace, with that greased-lightning brain of yours, which ties all these exciting goings-on together. What is it, Orace?"

The war-like moustache of his manservant bristled.

"Hairyplanes," said Orace brilliantly; and Simon smote him on the back.

"You said it, Horatio. With that sizzling brain of yours, you biff the ailnay on the okobay. Hairy-planes it is. We've got to get to the bottom of this, as the bishop said to the actress; and it strikes me that if I were to fetch out the old Gillette and go hairyplaning--if I blundered into March House as a blooming aviator waiting to be pruned-----"