06 Alias 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."

Simon's hands went up slowly.

"I congratulate you," he said.

"You flatter me," said the Professor, "it was really quite easy. On the other hand, I am able to thank you for saving us the trouble of waiting for you any longer."

The Saint smiled.

"If the bit of conversation I heard before I came in hadn't been so helpful, you might have had to wait a lot longer," he murmured, "However-- since we're all happy, may I smoke?"

Raxel produced his own case.

"So," he remarked, "you are no longer mystified?"