The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

The door of the house in Belgrave Street was a long time opening in response to his peal on the bell. Perhaps to make up for this, it was very quick in starting to shut again as soon as Frederick Wells had recognized the call­er. But Simon Templar was more than ordinarily skilful at thrusting himself in where he was not wanted.

"Not good enough, Freddie," he drawled regretfully, and closed the door himself—from the inside.

The butler glowered.

"Miss Trelawney is out,"  he said.

"You lie, Ferdinand," said the Saint pleasantly, and went on up the stairs.

He really had no idea whether the butler was lying or not, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt. As it happened, this generous impulse was justified, for Jill Trelawney opened the door of the sitting room just as Simon put his hand on the knob.

"Hullo," said the Saint amiably.

His eyes flickered with an offensively secret mirth, and he caught the answering blaze from hers before she veiled them in a frozen inscrutability.

"Lovely day, Jill," remarked the Saint, very amiably.

She relaxed wearily against the jamb.

"My—sainted—aunt! Have you got away from your keeper again?"

"Looks like it," said the Saint apologetically. "Yes, I will stay to tea, thanks. Ring down to the kitchen and tell them not to mix arsenic with the sugar, because I don't take sugar. And it's no use putting strychnine in the milk, because I don't take milk. Just tell 'em to shovel the whole bag of tricks in the teapot."

He walked calmly past her into the room, and sat down in the best chair. As an afterthought, he removed his hat.

The girl followed him in.

"Is your posse outside again?"

"I wonder?" said the Saint. "Why don't you go out and ask? You don't know where you are just now, do you? One time I tell you I haven't a posse, and I haven't. Another time I tell you I have a posse and I haven't. Now suppose I tell you I haven't a posse you'll know I have, won't you?"

She shrugged and took a cigarette from a silver box. Then she offered the box to him.

"Have one?"

"Not with you, darling."

"Did I hear you say 'No, thanks'?"

"Er—no, I don't think so," said the Saint seriously. "Did you?"

With the smoke trickling through her lips the girl looked at him.

"Have you come on business this time?" she inquired. "Or is this just another part of the official persecution?"

"Partly on business, partly on pleasure," said Simon, unabashed. "Which will you have first?"

"The business, please."