The Saint and Mr Teal (Once More the Saint)

"I told you I came here to kill you," said the Saint. "That's about true-anyway, it's one reason. Then I heard your conversation. I just wondered. The girl told me you were married today. I put up the rest of it just to prove to myself whether you were really on the level, and it seems as if you are. It breaks my heart, but I suppose we'll have to go home now without killing you. Even I can't spoil a honeymoon. . . . It's rather a charming thought, Tex-that after all you may be a white-haired old daddy one day, sitting by the fire with a dozen kiddies perched on your knee, telling them fairy stories about the Little Red Riding Hood, and Goldmanlocks and the Three Bears, and Wicked Uncle Al."

Goldman drew a deep breath, but he did not speak. The cold winds of death had blown too close to him, and when that clammy breath is still in a man's throat he has very little to say.

"But the part about breaking up your racket has got to stand," said the Saint, and his blue eyes were steady steel again as he spoke. "We don't like it-it makes life just a little too strenuous. I've emptied your safe already this afternoon, and I expect you'll find that rather discouraging."

He indicated the open door of the bedroom through which he had come. Smiling momentarily, he dipped into a side pocket and dug out half a dozen large notes which he dropped onto the settee.

"I'll give you these back as a wedding present. You wouldn't want to arrive back in St. Louis broke."

Goldman moistened his lips.

"Still hijacking, huh?"

"Still hijacking. All this is to be divided up among the poor devils who got shot in the course of your campaign, except what I keep myself. I take a rather larger share, because I was getting shot at all the time. You won't see it back, Tex." The Saint's voice was grim and purposeful. "You won't even get me bumped before you go, because you don't know where I'm stay­ing and you won't have time to find me. You're taking a train to France at eight-twenty, and you can make your sailing arrangements from Cherbourg. You needn't tell Ted Orping and all the boys, but that's what you're going to do. Because at ten o'clock tonight, whether I'm alive or dead, a message will go to Chief Inspector Teal at Scotland Yard and tell him all about the de­portation order that still holds good against William Gold, alias Tex Goldman, cheap stick-up man of six years back. You won't find it so easy to slip into the country again."

Tex Goldman stared at him.

"How did you find out about that?"

"Comrade Nilder told me," said the Saint easily "He falls apart with a very little shaking."

Goldman showed his teeth.

"I might have known it. That lousy, double-crossing little heel --"

"I should speak to him quite severely about it if I were you," said the Saint, very softly. "Unless I'm mistaken, he'll be calling in here before you go to tell you his troubles. . . . And now I must leave you. Have a jolly honeymoon-and when you give my love to the boys in St. Louis, say it with ukuleles. Fare thee well, fair lady."

He retreated smartly to the door and let himself out. In another moment he was flying down the stairs.

On the street corner he came up behind Mr. Teal.

"Well, what is it?" demanded the detective. "I got your message and came straight along, but why all the mystery ?"

"I don't want to speak too soon," said the Saint, "but I think we may see some fun. A certain gentleman is very annoyed."

"Who do you mean?"

The Saint was smilingly uncommunicative. He took Teal's arm and guided him into a convenient teashop, choosing a table near the window from which he could keep the entrance of Tex Goldman's apartment block under observation.

They sat there for two hours, and Mr. Teal grew restive.

"If you can't show me any more than a plate of toasted scones," he said, "I'll have to be going. I've got work to do. What's on your mind?"

"Don't go yet, Claud," said the Saint. "I've done more work today than you've done in the last week.

I've been cleaning up. Things are happening now."

This was just five minutes after he had seen Ted Orping pass in through the door he was watching.

Tex Goldman answered the bell.

"What is it, Ted?" he asked briefly.

He was impatient, but he did not want Orping to see it. In the bedroom three suitcases were packed and ready for his departure.

"That bus depot hold-up tonight, boss --"

"It's postponed-indefinitely."

Ted Orping's eyebrows went up.

"What for, boss?"

"It's poppycock-that's why. It's a waste of time. It's a risk for nothing." Goldman tapped him on the shoulder. "I'll tell you why I'm passing it up, Ted, I've got onto something that'll make you wonder why you ever wasted your time holding up a bank. It's something so big, it'll make your mouth water till you have to tie a bucket round your neck. And it's fool­proof. One grand raid-and finish. There'll be ten thousand pounds in it for every man who doesn't go soft. Have a cigar."

Orping's eyes opened.

"What is it, boss?"