The Saint and Mr Teal (Once More the Saint)

"Until I'm tired of absorbing Vitamin D, probably," said the Saint. "I have no plans."

"I always thought the south of France was the favourite resort of sunbathers," remarked Mr. Stride, with a show of interest in which only an ear that was listening for it could have discerned the veiled point. "I think, if that were my object, I should be inclined to go there rather than risk the uncertainties of the British climate. I'm sure that would be wiser."

"Ah, but even there they make you wear some clothes," said the Saint ingenuously. "It always annoys me to see myself in my bath looking as if I were wearing a ridiculous pair of transparent white pants. Here I can find a nice piece of coast all to myself and acquire the same beautiful colour all over."

Mr. Toby Halidom, who was wearing an Old Harrovian tie, looked faintly shocked; but Mr. Stride was unmoved.

He accompanied Simon onto the deck, with Laura Berwick, when the Saint excused himself as soon as coffee had been served. One of the men, he said, would take Mr. Hum Ha back to St. Mary's in the motor dinghy; and while the boat was being brought round Simon glanced across again to the Luxor. A seaman was standing on the deck, looking towards them, and as Simon came into view the man turned and spoke through a hatch to someone below. A moment later the man who had watched the Saint before came up the companion and adjusted his binoculars again.

"I hope we shall see some more of you," said Mr. Stride, standing by the gangway. "Come and pay us a call whenever you like."

"I should love to," murmured the Saint, just as politely; and then, with such a smooth transition that the effect of it was like a gunshot, he said: "I didn't know Abdul Osman was short-sighted."

Galbraith Stride went white, as if the blood had been drained from his face by a vacuum pump.

"Do you know Mr. Osman?" he asked, with an effort.

"Fairly well," said the Saint casually. "I branded him on both cheeks five years ago, and it must have cost him no end of money in plastic surgeons to put his face right again. If anyone had done that to me I shouldn't have to look at him twice through field glasses to be sure who it was."

"Very interesting," said Galbraith Stride slowly. "Very interesting." He held out his hand. "Well, good-bye, Mr.-er-hum."

"Templar," said the Saint. "Simon Templar. And thanks so much for the lunch."

He shook the proffered hand cordially and went down to the boat; and he was so happy that he wanted to sing to himself all the way back to St. Mary's.

CHAPTER III

"IF," said Patricia Holm, "that was supposed to be another of your famous Exercises in Tact --"

"But what else could it have been?" protested the Saint. "If I hadn't used extraordinary tact, I shouldn't have been invited to lunch; and that would have meant I'd have missed a display of caviare, lobster mayonnaise, and dry champagne that no man with a decent respect for his stomach could resist-not to mention a first-hand knowledge of the geography of Stride's boat --"

"And by dinnertime," said Patricia, "she'll be fifty miles away, with the Luxor racing her."

Simon shook his head.

"Not if I know Abdul Osman. The surgeons may have refashioned his face, but there are scars inside him that he will never forget. ... I should have had to scrape an acquaintance with Laura some time, and that accident made it so beautifully easy."

"I thought we were coming here for a holiday," said Patricia; and the Saint grinned and went in search of Mr. Smithson Smith.

Mr. Smithson Smith was the manager of Tregar­then's, which is one of the three hotels with which the island of St. Mary's is provided. Simon Templar, whose taste in hotels could be satisfied by nothing less lavish than palaces like the Dorchester, failing which he usually plunged to the opposite extreme, had declined an invitation to stay there, and had billeted himself in a house in the village, where he had a private sitting room thrown in with the best of home-cooked meals for a weekly charge that would have maintained him in an attic at the Dorchester for about five minutes. At Tregarthen's, however, he could stay himself with draught Bass drawn from the wood, and this was one of the things of which he felt in need.

The other thing was a few more details of local gossip, with which Mr. Smithson Smith might also be able to provide him.