Alias The Saint s-6 Read online

  Out of these sentences Simon caught one word. The word was toten, and it did not require a German scholar to grasp the general idea. "Wir mussen ihn toten," Raxel had said, or words to that effect.

  "So at last they've decided to kill me," thought the Saint, eating toast and marmalade. "Presumably my demise will be arranged at the earliest possible opportunity. Well, that means I've got them on the hop at last!" '

  However, the thought failed to disturb him visibly, and in a few moments he rose and left the room. Betty Tregarth had not put in an appearance, but he had not expected that, and so he was not disappointed. The venomous eyes of the ptber three men followed him out.

  In the parlour he found a tall, lean-limbed man wielding a broom.

  "Morning, Dun," said the Saint.

  The man turned a leathery face towards him and grinned.

  "Morning, Saint."

  "How are things?"

  Duncarry grinned.

  "O.K. so far. I haven't heard or seen anything to speak of--I don't think they're sure of me yet. You told me to lie low, so I haven't been nosing around at all."

  "That's right," said the Saint. "Keep on being quiet. I've done all the nosing that need be done. But keep your eyes skinned. There's going to be trouble coming to me soon, I gather, and it's coming good and fast. So long!"

  He drifted away.

  There seemed to be no point in hanging about the inn that morning, and he decided to walk down to the George and have a drink. In the bar he remembered the ship which was anchored opposite the Beacon, and mentioned it to the proprietor.

  "I think it belongs to one of the gentlemen up the road," that mine of local gossip informed him. "Gentleman of the name of Crantor. It came in here about a fortnight ago, and the crew all drove away in a car. I don't think there's anybody on board now.

  "There's smoke comes up from her funnel," Simon pointed out, "You can't keep a fire going without somebody to look after it."

  "Maybe there's a man or two just looking after the ship. Anyway, half a dozen men drove away with Crantor the day the ship came in, and he came back alone. One of the boys did ask what the ship was for--we don't get ships like that in here so often that people don't talk about it. That was in the days when some of the boys used to go up to the Beacon for their drinks, before the new boss there got so rude to them that nobody could stand it any longer. I think it was Bill Jones who asked what the ship was doing. Mr. Raxel said they were working on a new invention--a new sort of torpedo or something--and they were going to use the ship for trying it out at sea. That might easily be true, because about a month ago a lorry came in and delivered a lot of stuff at the Beacon, and the drivers had a drink here on their way out of the village. Chemistry apparatus it was, they said, and Raxel ordered it."

  The Saint nodded vaguely; and then suddenly he stiffened. The proprietor also listened. That sort of thing is infectious.

  Simon went over and looked out of the window. His ears had not misled him--a rickety Ford truck was crashing down the street. It stopped outside the door of the George, and two men came in and walked up to the counter.

  "Couple o' quick halves, mate," ordered one of them.

  They were served. The drinks were swallowed quickly. They seemed to be in a hurry.

  "Got a rush order," one of them explained. "A couple of boxes to get to Southampton to catch a boat that's sailing to-morrow morning, and all luggage has got to be on board to-night. Can you tell us where the Beacon is?"

  "Drive on to the end of the road, and turn to your right," said the Saint. "You'll find it on your right, about three hundred yards up. What ship are these boxes going to?"

  "Couldn't tell you, mate. All I know is that we've got to get them to Southampton by nine o'clock tonight. Cheerio!"

  They went out, and after that the publican felt that he had lost his audience, for the Saint was noticeably preoccupied.

  Half an hour later, the lorry clattered past the window again, and Simon followed its departure with a thoughtful eye.

  He went back to the Beacon at about half-past twelve, and he was having a drink in the parlour preparatory to attacking luncheon, when he saw a fast-looking touring car driven round from the garage at the rear by Basher Tope. A moment later Raxel, Marring, and Crantor came out. Crantor was wearing a heavy leather coat, and appeared to be receiving instructions. Raxel spoke, and Crantor nodded and replied. Then he climbed into the car and took the wheel. The others stepped back, and with a wave of his hand Crantor let in the clutch and went roaring out of sight eastwards along the coast road.

  Raxel and Marring came in again, followed by Basher Tope, and Simon heard Raxel and Marring go through into the dining room. He banged hopefully on the bell, and felt that luck was with him when Duncarry answered the summons.

  "Another half-pint, Dun," said Simon, and tendered a pound note.

  Duncarry was back in a moment with the replenished tankard and the change. There was some silver, and a ten-shilling note. When Duncarry had gone Simon pocketed the silver and unfolded the note. Inside the note was a slip of paper, and on it was written one word.

  "Megantic."

  The Megantic, Simon knew, was on the quick run from Southampton to New York, and he guessed that Duncarry must have been called in to help carry the trunks downstairs, and had noticed the inscription on the labels. But that wasn't particularly helpful, and Simon went in to his lunch a very worried and puzzled man. Theoretically, of course, there was no reason why Raxel should not take a consignment of xylyl bromide to New York if he had to take it somewhere, but on the other hand there was also no earthly reason that the Saint could see why he should.

  8

  "And now, my dear Marring," said Raxel, "there is very little more to delay us."

  Marring moved a couple of Bunsen burners to one side and sat down on the edge of the table.

  "There is Smith," he said.

  "I will attend to Smith," said Raxel. "Fortunately for us, he arrived on the scene a little too late. The boxes have already been despatched, and once Crantor has returned with his crew, we can embark on his ship and disappear. The police will not hurry--I know their methods. They will see no reason to make any special effort, and I shall not expect anything to happen before this evening. By that time we shall be on the high seas, and Smith will be--disposed of. Now that this place's period of usefulness is over, there is no reason for us to move cautiously in fear of a police raid."

  "That's all very well," said Marring. "But what about the girl? Do you think she's as safe as you make out?"

  Raxel frowned.

  "Once, I was certain," he said. "Unfortunately, the arrival of Smith has rather shaken that certain ty. I do not profess to be a psychologist, but I consider my intuition is fairly keen. The girl is now debating in her mind whether she can trust Smith s with her secret. It may seem ridiculous to you that a girl could confess to a detective that she had committed a murder, and hope that he would help her. But she is fascinated by him, and that will have altered her outlook."

  "Then what are you going to do?"

  "That also has been arranged--I think, very neatly. We will deal with it at once."

  He led the way out of the laboratory and across the corridor. After unlocking Betty Tregarth's door he knocked, and they went in.

  Betty Tregarth was sitting in the chair by the fire, reading, but she looked up listlessly at their entrance.

  "Oh, it's you," she said dully.

  Raxel came over and stood in front of the fire. "I have come to tell you that you have now served your purpose, Miss Tregarth," he said, "and there is nothing to stop your departure as soon as you choose to go. I promised you one thousand pounds for your services, and I'll write you a check for that amount now."

  He did so, sitting down at the table. She took the check and looked at it without interest.

  "Now," he said, replacing the cap on his fountain pen, "I wonder what your plans are?"

  "I haven't made any," said the girl,
in a tired 1 voice. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

  "I understand," said the Professor sympathetically. "That was a difficulty in your path which occurred to me shortly after you'd started work, and I have given it a good deal of thought. In fact, I have prepared a solution which I should like to offer you. You may accept or reject it, as you please, but I beg you to give it your consideration." She shrugged.

  "You can tell me what it is."

  "I suggest that you should leave the country, and start life afresh," said Raxel. "The thousand pounds which I have given you will provide you with enough capital to last you for several months, and that should give you plenty of time to find fresh employment. With your qualifications that should be fairly easy."

  "But where am I to go?"

  "I suggest that you go to America. In fact, I have taken the liberty of booking a first-class passage for you on the Megantic, which sails from Southampton early to-morrow morning. You may, of course, decline to go, but I think you would be wise to take it."

  The girl spread out her hands in a weary gesture.

  "America's as good as any other place," she said. "But I haven't got my passport down here, and there isn't time to go back to London for it. Besides, I haven't a visa."

  That also I have taken the liberty of arranging," said Raxel.

  He produced a newspaper of the day before, and pointed to a paragraph. She read: "Burglars last night forced an entry into the first floor flat at 202 Cambridge Square, Bayswater, occupied by Mr. Ralph Tregarth and his sister , ., sister away in the country ... bureau broken open ". . . Mr. Tregarth said . . . nothing of value taken..."

  "The report was quite correct--nothing of value was taken, except this," said Raxel.

  He took a little book from his pocket and handed it over to her. It was her own passport.

  "I caused one of my agents in London to obtain it," explained Raxel. "The following morning he took it to the United States Consulate and obtained a visa. There should now be nothing to stop you leaving for Southampton this afternoon. If you are agreeable, Mr. Marring will drive you to Southampton to-night. You can board the Megantic at once, and go to sleep; by the time you wake up, England and all your fears will have been left behind.

  Betty Tregarth passed a hand across her eyes.

  "I've no choice, have I?" she said. "Yes, I'll go. Will you let me write a couple of letters?"

  "Certainly," said Raxel obligingly. "In fact, if you would like to write them now, I will post them myself on my walk through the village this after noon."

  "And read them first, I suppose," said the girl cynically, "to see that there's nothing in them to incriminate you. Well, there won't be--you're quite safe. They'll be just ordinary good-bye letters."

  Raxel waited patiently while she wrote two short notes--one to her brother, and one to Rameses Smith. She addressed the envelopes and pointedly left the flaps open. Raxel smiled to himself and stuck them down in her presence.

  "I don't need to read them," he said. "The fact that you were prepared to allow me to do so proves at once that the precaution is not necessary."

  "Will you let me say good-bye to Mr. Smith?" she asked.

  Raxel shook his head regretfully.

  "I am afraid that is impossible, Miss Tregarth," he said. "It is the only privilege that I am forced to deny you."

  She nodded.

  "It doesn't matter, really," she said flatly. "I didn't think you'd let me."

  "Circumstances forbid me," said Raxel, and put the letters in his pocket. "The car will be ready for you directly after dinner, if not before. You will remain in your room until then. In any case you would be busy with your packing. Good-afternoon."

  He left the room, Marring following him, and locked the door again on the outside.

  9

  At half-past five that afternoon Crantor returned. The Saint heard the car draw up outside the hotel, and opened his window. It was quite dark, but he could hear voices below, and several men seemed to be moving about in the road. Then the car was turned so that the headlights shone seawards, and they began to flicker. Simon read the Morse message: "Send boat." The men did not go into the hotel, but walked about outside, stamping their feet and conversing in undertones. Presently a lamp winked up from the shore, and Crantor's voice could be heard gathering the men together. They set out to cross the patch of waste land that lay between the road and the sea--Simon saw the torch which Crantor carried to light the way bobbing and dipping down towards the edge of the water. He waited patiently and saw lights spring out on the ship.

  After some time the light came flickering over the foreshore like a will-of-the-wisp, but it was Crantor alone who crossed the road and entered the hotel.

  The Saint was about to close his window when the door of the hotel opened again, and three people came out. They could be seen in the shaft of light that was flung out into the road by the lamp in the hall. One was Raxel, the other Marring, in hat and coat; the third was a muffled figure in furs. Simon realized who it must be, and his lips hardened.

  A moment later Tope came out, carrying a couple of heavy suitcases. These he packed into the back of the car. Then the girl walked to the car alone and got into the front seat. Raxel and Marring stood for a few minutes on the doorstep. Their voices drifted clearly up to the listener above their heads. Only four sentences were spoken.

  "You have not forgotten to pack your revolver, my dear Marring?"

  "Is it likely?"

  "Then, au revoir--and a pleasant voyage."

  Marring chuckled.

  "I shall breakfast with you on Thursday," he said. "Au revoir. Professor"

  He went round to the driver's seat and clambered in.

  Simon Templar watched the car drive away. Raxel, standing on the doorstep, watched it out of sight also, and then turned and went indoors. The door closed.

  "Hell!" said the Saint.

  The balloon was now fairly launched, and he'd been compelled to stand by and watch the performance. And the Saint hated standing by. Yet he'd had to let the girl go, and never make a move to stop her, or even try to get a word with her before she went, because he realized quite clearly that there was nothing he could have done. She must have known that he was in the hotel--even if she didn't, and she had been taken away against her will, she could have cried for help and hoped that he would hear. But she seemed to have left quite willingly. She had walked to the car of her own accord, and although she had not joined in the conversation of Raxel and Marring, there did not seem to have been any coercion. And he realized, of course, that he had nothing to go on, anyway--to all intents and purposes she had been one of the gang. The rest was merely theory--a theory which he would cling to till the bitter end, he admitted, but at the same time a theory which the girl herself had done precious little to encourage. If she'd wanted to see him before she left, she'd have tried to. She wouldn't have gone as quietly as that.

  At that moment he heard the voices of Raxel and Crantor coming down the corridor outside. Simon slid noislessly across the room and stood motionless at the side of the door, in such a position that if it were opened he would be hidden.

  His intuition had served him well, for he had hardly taken up his position when the handle rattled under somebody's hand, and there was a knock.

  The Saint kept silence. The knock was repeated, and then the door opened. Simon held his breath, but Raxel only took one step into the room.

  "He's not here," said the Professor's voice. "We might have expected that he was out. If I have correctly diagnosed the relationship between our Mr. Smith and our Miss Tregarth, one might safely say that he would not have let her leave without trying to get at least a few minutes' conversation with her."

  "Thasso," said Crantor. "He seems to spend most of his time out of doors, walking. I guess he's out on a tramp now."

  "We shall be ready for him when he returns," said Raxel, and the door closed.

  Simon breathed again. The ancient ruse of hiding behind an
opening door had worked for the thousandth time in history. He waited a moment, and then opened the door a cautious two inches. He was in time to hear another door close farther up the passage, and crept out.

  He padded down the corridor on tiptoe, listening at each door as he passed, and located the two men in the laboratory.

  He paused, listening. Their voices came to him quite distinctly. Raxel was speaking.

  "The Megantic makes a steady twenty-five knots. My inquiries have been very complete. Here is the route--I have marked it out in red ink for you. They sail punctually at six o'clock to-morrow morning. By six o'clock on Thursday morning they should therefore be--here."

  "That's right," said Crantor. "Here, pass me those compasses. I'll just check that, and work out ithe position now."

  There was a silence, and then Crantor spoke again.

  "I've jotted down the position against your imark," he said, and mentioned some figures. "So that's that. We've only got to wait till Smith comes back, and then we can be off."

  "I've told. Tope to watch for him and report as soon as he arrives." said Raxel.

  "What are you doing about Duncarry?" asked Crantor.

  "For a time," answered Raxel, "I thought of enlisting him. He seemed to me to have distinct possibilities. But I have since revised that opinion. It is just an idea of mine--I feel that Duncarry might be dangerous. We will leave him behind."

  "Right," said Crantor. "My bag's packed. If yours is ready we might send them down to the boat now. Then we can beat it as soon as we've got rid of Smith."

  Simon Templar turned the handle and kicked the door open. He stepped into the room. Crantor jumped up with an exclamation, but the Professor was unperturbed.

  "We have been expecting you, Mr. Smith," he remarked,

  "Then you've got whatyou wanted, old dear," said the Saint cheerfully. "Stick your hands up, both of you."

  He showed his gun, and Crantor obeyed, but Raxel's hand went to his pocket, and Simon pressed the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  "It is now your turn to put up your hands, Mr. Smith," said Raxel, and his silenced automatic gleamed in his hand. "It was careless of you to leave your gun in your bedroom when you went to your bath this morning, but it gave me an invaluable opportunity of unloading it."