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

When he woke up the lights were on again, and men were pulling on their coats and gulping cups of hot tea. One by one they began to slouch off into the tunnel; and Simon splashed cold water on his face from a basin and joined in the general move with a reawakening of vitality. A glance at his watch showed him that it was half-past four, but it might have been morning or afternoon for all the sense of time he had left. When he came up the creaking stairladder into the billiard room, however, he saw that it was still dark. Renway, in a light overcoat, was standing close to the panel watching the men as they emerged: he beckoned the Saint with a slight backward tilt of his head.

"How are you getting on?" he asked.

Simon glanced at the last two men as they stum-bled through the panel and followed their com-panions across the room and out by the more conventional door.

"I have been in more hilarious company," he murmured.

Renway did not appear to hear his answer--the impression was that his interest in Mr. Tombs's social progress was merely formal. He did something to the woodwork at the level of his shoulder, and the secret panel closed with a slight click.

"You'd better know some more about our arrangements," he said.

They went out of the house by the same route as they had finally come in the previous morning. The file of men who had preceded them was al-ready trudging southwards over the rough grass as if on a journey that had become familiar by routine--the Saint saw the little dabs of light thrown by their electric torches bobbing over the turf. A pale strip of silver in the east promised an early dawn, and the cool sweetness of the air as indescribably delicious after the acrid frowstiness of the cellar. Renway produced a flashlight of his own and walked in flat-footed taciturnity. They reached the edge of the cliffs and started down a narrow zigzag path. Halfway down it, the Saint suddenly missed the dancing patches of torchlight ahead: he was wondering whether to make any comment when Renway touched his arm and halted.

"This way."

The oval imprint of Renway's flashlight flickered over the dark spludge of a shrub growing in a cleft beside the path: suddenly Renway's own silhouette appeared in the shrinking circle of light, and Simon realized that the Treasury official was going down on all fours and beginning to wriggle into the bush, presenting a well-rounded posterior which might have proved an irresistible and fatal temptation to an aggrieved ex-service civil servant. The Saint, however, having suffered no especial unkindness from the government, followed him dutifully in the same manner and discovered that he could stand upright again on the other side of the opening in the cliff. At the same time he saw the torches of the other men again, heading downwards into the dark as if on a long stairway.

Thirty feet lower down the steps levelled off into an uneven floor. Simon saw the gleam of dark waters in the light of Renway's torch and realized that he was at the foot of a huge natural cave. The lights of the other men were clustered a few yards away--Simon heard a clunk of wood and metal and the soft plash of an oar.

"The only other way to the sea is under water," Renway explained, his thin voice echoing hollowly. "You can see it at low neap tides, but at this time of year it's always covered."

It was on the tip of the Saint's tongue to make some facetious remark about submarines when Renway lifted his torch a little, and Simon saw a shining black whaleback of steel curving out of the water a couple of dozen feet from where they stood, and knew that his flippancy could only have seemed ridiculous beside the truth.

"Did you catch that with a rod and line?" he asked, after a considerable silence.

"It was ostensibly purchased by a French film company six months ago," Renway said prosaically.

"And who's going to run it?"

"Petrowitz--he was a U-boat officer during the war. The rest of the crew had to be trained. It was more difficult to obtain torpedoes--in case anything should come to the rescue which was too big for you to drive off, you understand. But we succeeded."

The Saint put his hands in his pockets. His face was chiselled bronze masked by the dark.

"I get it," he said softly. "The gold is taken on board that little beauty. And then you go down to the bottom and nobody ever sees you any more.

And then when you turn up again somewhere in South America------"

"We come back here," said Renway. "There are certain reasons why this is one of the last places where anyone would ever expect to find us."

Simon admitted it. From Renway's point of view, it must have loomed out as one of the most cunning certainties of crime. And the Saint was quite cold-bloodedly aware that if he failed to separate himself from the picnic in time, it would still be true.

The party of men in the rowboat had reached the submarine and were climbing out.