"Blind man's buff," said the Saint's cheery voiced, out of the darkness. "Isn't it fun?"
Then Simon heard a sound from the door on his left, and whirled the beam round. The door had opened and closed again, and now Professor Bernhard Raxel stood with his back to it, and in his hand was an automatic pistol with a silencer screwed to the muzzle.
Raxel fired six times all round the light, and if was quite certain that in whatever contorted position Simon Templar had been holding that torch one of the bullets would have found its mark. But Templar was not holding the torch at all; and when Raxel's automatic was empty Simon struck a match and revealed himself in the opposite corner of the room--revealed, also, the electric torch lying on its side on the table where he had put it down.
"That's a new one on you, I'll bet!" said the Saint.
He lighted the lamp, put on his dressing gown, and ostentatiously dropped his gun into a pocket. Tope looked inquiringly at the Professor, and Taxel shook his head.
"You can go, Basher."
"You can go also, Raxel," said the Saint "It's two o'clock in the morning, and I want to get some sleep. Run away, and save up your little speech for breakfast,"
Raxel inclined his head.
"To-night was intended to be a warning to you," he said. "It was purely on the spur of the moment that I resolved to turn the warning into a permanent prohibition. It was clever of you to think of leaving your torch on the table. It is even flattering to remember that you did me the honour of crediting me with having heard before of the time-honoured device of holding the torch at arm's length away from you. But next time I may be a little cleverer than you."
"There won't be a next time" said the Saint. "You ought to know that it was a fool thing to do, to come to my room and try to put me out to-night, but it was no more than I expected. Now be sensible about it, sonny boy. I've got a little more to learn about you yet, and so you can carry on until I've learned it. But you can't kill me, and you needn't think I'm afraid of being killed. You made a bad break when you overlooked the railway ticket to Llancoed in Henley's wallet. That makes you hop!"
"You're talking in riddles," said Raxel coldly.
"You know the answer to 'em," said Simon. "I could run you in now for attempted murder, but I'm not going to because I want you for something much bigger. I'm going to give you just enough rope to hang yourself. Meanwhile, you will leave me alone. Everyone at Scotland Yard knows that I'm here and you're here, and if I happen to die suddenly, or do a mysterious disappearance, they'd have you in about two shakes of a sardine's trailing edge. Now get out--and stay out."
Raxel went to the door.
"And finally," Simon called after him, as a parting shot, "tell Basher not to put any more butyl in my beer. It kind of takes the edge off my thirst!"
The Saint breakfasted alone the next morning, but he waited about the inn for some time afterwards in the hope of seeing the girl. Crantor and Marring came down, and the cheerful "Good-morning" with which he greeted each of them was replied to in a surly mutter. Raxel followed, and remarked that it was a nice day. The Saint politely agreed. But the girl did not come down, and half an hour later he saw Basher bearing a tray upstairs, and gave it up and went out. His walk did not seem so satisfying to him that morning as it had the previous afternoon, for he was honestly worried about his first visitor of the night before. He made a point of being late for luncheon, but although the three men were sitting at their usual table (the Saint found that a separate table had been prepared for himself) the girl was not with them. He took his time over the meal, having for the moment no fear that his food might have been tampered with, and sat on for an hour after the other three had left, but Betty Tregarth failed to make an appearance.
When he had at last been compelled to conclude that she was lunching as well as breakfasting in her room, he went upstairs to his own room to think things out. There, as, soon as he opened the door, a scene of turmoil met his eye. The suitcase he had brought was open on the floor, empty, and all its contents were strewn about the place in disorder. The search had been very comprehensive--he noticed that even the lining of the bag had been ripped out.
"Life is certainly very strenuous these days," sighed the Saint mildly, and began to clear up the mess.
When he had finished, he lighted the fire and sat down in a chair beside it to smoke a cigarette and review the situation.