06 Alias the Saint

"I never knew how revolting 'Mr. Smith' sounded until you said it just now," he remarked lightly, but he was not thinking of trivialities.

Presently he said:

"There's another room I was meaning to visit tonight, but maybe you can save me the trouble. I'm told it's kept locked, but you spend the best part of the day there. What's inside?"

Her eyes opened wide, and she shrank away from him.

"You can't go in there!"

"I hope to be able to," said the Saint. "The little gadget that let me in here--"

"You can't! You mustn't! If Raxel knew that you knew what's in there he'd take the risk--he'd kill you!"

"Raxel need not know," said the Saint. "I shall try not to advertise the fact that I'm going in there, and I shan't talk to him about it afterwards--unless what I find in there is good enough to finish up this little excursion. Anyhow," he added, watching her closely, "what can there be in that room that you can spend every day with, and yet it would be fatal for me to see it?"

"I can't tell you . . . but you mustn't go!"

Simon looked straight at her.

"Betty," he said, "as I've told you before, you're heading for trouble. I've heard of real tough women who looked like angels, but I've never really believed in them. If you're that sort, I'll eat the helmet off every policeman in London. I don't know why you're in this, but even if you are as free as you say, you don't seem to be enjoying it. I'm giving you a chance. Tell me everything you know, help me all you can, and when the crash comes I'll guarantee to see you through it. You can take that as official."

She moved her head wearily.

"It's useless."

"You mean Raxel's got some sort of hold over you?"

"If you like."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you," she said hopelessly.

The Saint's mouth tightened.

"Very well," he said. "On your own head be it. But remember my offer--it stays open till the very last moment."

He rose, and found her hand clutching his wrist.

"Where are you going?" she asked frightenedly.

"To unlock that door, and find out what's in this mysterious room," said the Saint, a trifle grimly. "I Ji^think I told you that before,"

"You can't. These locks are easy, but there's a special lock on that door."

"And right next door is an empty room, and there's nobody else but myself on that side of the house. Also, there's plenty of ivy, and it looks pretty strong to me. I don't think the window will keep me waiting outside for long,"

He disengaged her hand, and stepped away a little so that she could not grab him again.

"I'll lock your door when I go out," he said.

He went out, and she had not tried to call him back. It was the work of a few moments only to relock the door from the outside, and then he stole across the corridor to the door of the room which he had marked down because of its window, which was separated by no more than a couple of yards from the window of the locked room.

The ivy, as he had guessed, was strong; and as he had said, there was no one but himself sleeping on that side of the house, so that the noise he made was of no consequence. Better still, the Professor, when fitting the special lock to the door of the mystery room, had clearly overlooked the possibilities that the ivy-covered walls presented to an active young man, and the catch of the window was not even secured.

Simon slid up the sash cautiously and slithered over the sill. Then he switched on his torch, and his jaw dropped.

The centre of the room was occupied by a rough wooden bench, and on this was set up a complicated arrangement of retorts, condensers, aspirators, and burners. They seemed to form a connected chain, as if they were intended for the distillation of some subtle chemical substance which was submitted to various processes of blending and refinement during the course of its passage through the length of the apparatus. The chain terminated in a heavy cylinder such as oxygen is supplied in.

Simon studied the arrangement attentively; but he was no chemist, and he could make nothing of it. In his cautious way, he decided not to touch any of the components, for he appreciated that any chemical process which had to be surrounded with so much secrecy might possibly be pregnant with considerable danger for the ignorant meddler, and the association of Bernhard Raxel with the mystery would not have encouraged anyone to imagine that all those elaborate precautions had been taken to protect the secret of the manufacture of some new kind of parlour fireworks to amuse the children. But the Saint did take the liberty of peering closely at the apparatus, and the result was somewhat startling--so startling that it was some time before he was in a condition to pass on to the examination of the rest of the room.

On another bench, against one wall, was a row of glass bottles, unlabelled, containing an assortment of crystals, powders, and liquids, none of which had an appearance with which the Saint was familiar.