The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

How Simon Templar came upon the scene was another matter—but really quite a simple one. For the Saint could never resist anything like that. He read of the early ex­ploits of the Angels of Doom in the rare newspapers that he took the trouble to peruse, and was interested. Later, he heard further facts about Jill Trelawney from Chief Inspector Teal himself, and was even more interested. And the day came when he inveigled Chief Inspector Teal into accepting an invitation to lunch; and when the detective had been suitably mellowed by a menu selected with the Saint's infallible instinct for luxurious living, the Saint said, casually: "By the way, Claud Eus­tace, do you happen to remember that I was once invited to join the Special Branch?"

And Chief Inspector Teal removed the eight-inch cigar from his face and blinked—suspiciously.

"I remember," he said.

"And you  remember my  answer?"

"Not word for word, but——"

"I refused."

Teal nodded.

"I've thought, since, that perhaps that was one of the kindest things you ever did for me," he said.

The Saint smiled.

"Then I want you to take a deep breath and hold on to your socks, Claud Eustace, old okapi," he murmured, and the detective looked up.

"You want to try it?"   .

Simon nodded.

"Just lately," he said, "I've been feeling an awful urge towards that little den of yours on the Embankment. I believe I was really born to be a policeman. As the scourge of ungodliness, I should be ten times more deadly with an official position. And there's one particular case on hand at the moment which is only waiting for a bloke like me to knock the hell out of it. Teal, wouldn't you like to call me 'Sir'?"

"I should hate it," said Teal.

But there were others in Scotland Yard who thought differently.

For it had long since been agreed, among the heads of that gloomy organization of salaried kill-joys which exists for the purposes of causing traffic jams, suppressing riotous living and friendly wassail, and discouraging the noble sport of soaking the ungodly on the boko, that something had got to be done about the Saint. The only point which up to that time had never been quite unani­mously agreed on was what exactly was to be done.