06 Alias the Saint

"You can tell the Guv'nor anything you like after you've attended to me," said the Saint languidly. "My bag's in the car. Fetch it in. Then bring me the register, and push the old bus round to the garage while I sign. Then, when you come back, bring me a pint of beer. After that, you can run away and do anything you like."

It is interesting to record that Simon Templar got his own way. Basher Tope obeyed his injunctions to the letter before moving off with the obvious intention of informing his boss of the disreputable policeman whom he was being compelled to entertain. Of course, Basher Tope was prejudiced about policemen; and it must be admitted that the Saint used menaces to enforce obedience. There was the little matter of a robbery with violence, for which Basher Tope had been wanted for the past month, as the Saint happened to know, and that gave him what many would consider to be an unfair advantage in the argument,

Left alone with a tankard of beer at his elbow, the register on his knee, a cigarette between his lips, and his fountain-pen poised, Simon read the previous entries with interest before making his own. The last few names were those which particularly occupied his attention:

A.E. Crantor Bristol British

Gregory Marring London British

E. Tregarth London British

Professor Bernhard Raxel Vienna Austrian

All these entries were dated about three weeks before, and none had been made since.

Simon Templar smiled, and signed directly under the last entry;

Professor Rameses Smith-Smyth-Smythe..

Timbuctoo, Patagonian

"And still," thought the Saint, as he carefully blotted the page, "the question remains--who is E. Tregarth?"

3

The saint went to bed early that night, and he had not seen any of the men he hoped to find. That fact failed to trouble him, for he reckoned that the following day would give him all the time he needed for making the acquaintance of Messrs. Raxel, Marring, and Crantor.

He got up early the next morning and went out to have a look round. The mist had cleared, and although it was still bitterly cold the sky was clear and the sun shone. Standing just outside the door of the inn, in the road, he could see on his left the clustered houses of the village of Llancoed, of which the nearest was about a hundred yards away. On the other side of the road was a tract of untended ground which ran down to the sea, two hundred yards away. A cable's length from the shore, a rusty and disreputable-looking tramp steamer, hardly larger in size than a sea-going tug, rode at anchor. A thin trickle of black smoke wreathed up into the still air from her single funnel, but apart from that she showed no signs of life.

Simon returned to the inn and discovered the dining room.

It contained only three tables, and only one of these was laid. In the summer, presumably, it catered for the handful of holiday makers who were attracted by the quietness of the spot, for there were green-painted chairs and tables stacked up under a tarpaulin outside; but in December the place was deserted except for the villagers, and those would be likely to eat at home. The table was laid for four. The Saint chose the most comfortable of the selection of uninviting chairs that offered themselves, and thumped on the table with the handle of a knife to attract attention. It was Tope who answered.

"Breakfast," said the Saint laconically. "Two boiled eggs, toast, marmalade, and a pint of coffee."

Tope informed him that the table he occupied was engaged, and Simon mildly replied that he was not interested.

"It's the only table that looks ready for use," he pointed out, "and I want my breakfast. You can be laying a table for the other guys while I eat. Jump to it. Basher, jump to it!"

Basher Tope muttered another uncomplimentary remark about interfering busies what thought they owned the earth, and went out again. The Saint waited patiently for fifteen minutes, and at the end of that time Tope reentered, bearing a tray, and banged eggs, toast rack, and coffee pot down on the table in front of him.

"Thank you," said the Saint. "But you don't want to be so violent, Basher. One day you'll break some of the crockery, and then your boss will be very angry. He might even call you a naughty boy, Basher, and then you'll go away into a quiet corner and weep, and that would be very distressing for all concerned."

Basher Tope was moved to further criticisms of the police force and their manners, but Simon took no further notice of him, and after glaring sullenly at the detective for some moments. Tope turned on his heel and shuffled out again.

The Saint was skinning the top of his second egg when the door opened and a girl came in. She was wearing a plain tweed costume, and Simon thought at once that she must be the loveliest thing that had ever walked into that sombre room. He rose at once.

"Good-morning," he said politely. "I'm afraid I've pinched part of your table, but the cup smasher who attends to these things couldn't be bothered to lay another place for me."