The Saint and Mr Teal (Once More the Saint)

"No one will kill you if you behave," said the Saint. "You can lie low here till the gang's broken up, and I'll see you out of the country if you want to go abroad. Also I'll say nothing about you to the police, and I'll let you keep all your money."

Clem Enright tried to lick the saliva round a mouth that had gone unaccountably arid. All his dreams of glory had gone west, and yet he felt lucky. There was that in the Saint's eye which told him that Ted Orping's lurid descriptions paled into fairy tales beside what that lean soft-spoken man was capable of doing.

"Wot d'yer want to know?"

"How much have you been getting from Goldman?"

"Fifty quid a week, wiv extra pickings when we did somethink good."

"How much did Ted get?"

"I dunno, guv'nor. P'raps 'e got a bit more-'e did more than they let me."

" Didn't it ever occur to you that there was a lot more money than that in what you were doing?"

"Goldman said 'e better bank for us, guv'nor. We 'ad plenty o' dough to spend, and 'e said where we used to go wrong was by spending everythink when we was flush and then 'aving nothink to see us through rainy days. 'E said you 'ad to 'ave capital so's you could wait for the right job instead of 'aving to do some-think in a nurry."

Simon nodded.

"Where does Goldman keep this money?"

'"E's got a safe in 'is bedroom-in the wall. Some of it's there, anyway. I seen 'im take money out of it to give me, and it was full of dough."

The Saint smoothed his hair and indicated a tele­phone which stood on a small table beside the divan.

"Now there's just one other little thing you can do for me," he said. "Do you know a man called Ronald Nilder?"

"Yus-I seen 'im once."

"You can ring him up and say what I tell you to."

Enright looked at the telephone, and then at the Saint again.

" Yer wouldn't fergit yer promise, would yer, guv'nor ? -cross yer 'eart and 'ope to die?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," said the Saint gravely.

Mr. Ronald Nilder was completing the packing of his third suitcase when the telephone bell rang in his bedroom. For a few moments he thought of letting it ring unanswered, but cunning dictated the bolder course. He picked up the receiver.

"'Ullo," said a voice. "Is that Nilder?"

"This is Mr. Nilder speaking," he replied primly.

"Goldman wants to know why yer ain't come to see 'im like 'e told yer. 'E says yer to meet 'im at once out-side Mark Lane station. It's very urgent." Nilder hesitated for a moment. Then: "All right," he said. "Who's that speaking?" "Enright 'ere," said the voice. "Go on-'urry. If Goldman ain't there yer to wait for 'im. G'bye."

Nilder replaced the receiver and paced up and down the room. He had planned to catch the eight-twenty train via Newhaven, and that gave him plenty of time to keep the appointment. After all, Goldman had no reason to suspect that he had given anything away. It was just his bad luck that the Saint had caught him- the same thing had happened to other men, and their integrity had not been questioned. He had the testi­mony of his engineer to support his story. He knew Enright's name and recognized his voice after the name was given him-there was no trap about it. It would be quite safe to hear what Goldman had to say-it might even have a valuable bearing on his own getaway -whereas to evade it would immediately arouse sus­picion. And already he was feeling a little ashamed of the panic that had made him draw all his money from the bank and pack up to leave London in such haste.

Thus Ronald Nilder worked it out, as the Saint had expected him to, and left his flat five minutes later. But just in case of accidents he removed the bulging wallet from his pocket and hid it behind a row of books-his pocket would have been well worth picking that after­noon.

He had a long wait at Mark Lane; but with that we are not yet concerned.

It was half-past four when Simon Templar arrived at Tex Goldman's apartment by way of the fire escape and let himself in through the bathroom window. A call from the nearest telephone booth had ascertained that Goldman was not at home; and the Saint was not look­ing quite like his normal self. He had a suit of workman's overalls over his clothes and a leather bag of tools in his hand, in which outfit he was not likely to arouse so much curiosity on fire escapes as he would have done in one of the light grey fresco suits of Anderson & Sheppard. But the gun which he had taken from Clem Enright was in his pocket, and it was fully loaded. Simon Templar was cleaning up. And he was making no mis­takes.

Tex Goldman came in at five.

He had a girl with him--the girl who had partnered him at the night club. She was a rather beautiful child, with fair hair that was a little too brilliant to be natural, and big serious eyes. She hung on Tex Goldman's arm. It was the visit to his apartment that he had worked for for so long, and the way it had happened was one that he had not expected a week ago.

"It's marvellous, Tex," she said.