Follow the Saint Read Free Page B

account. The
realization did not actually improve his temper.
    “Have
you any idea who it was ?”
    “That’s
a large order, isn’t it ? If you’re as charming to all your other clients as
you usually are to me, I should say that London must be crawling with birds who’d
pay large sums of money for the fun of
whacking you on the roof with a lump of
iron.”
    “Well,
what did this one look like?” snarled Teal im patiently.
    “I’m
blowed if I could draw his picture, Claud. The light was pretty bad, and
he didn’t stay very long. Medium height, ordinary build, thin
face—nothing definite enough to help you much, I’m afraid.”
    Teal
grunted.
    Presently
he said: “Thanks, anyway.”
    He said
it as if he hated to say it, which he did. Being under any obligation to the
Saint hurt him almost as much as his indigestion. Promptly he wished that he
hadn’t thought of that comparison. His stomach, reviving from a too
fleeting anaesthesia, reminded him that it was still his most
constant companion. And now he had a sore and splitting head as
well. He realized
that he felt about as unhappy as a man can feel.
    He opened
the door of the car, and took hold of his rain coat and bowler hat.
    “G’night,”
he said.
    “Goodnight,”
said the Saint cheerfully. “You know where I live, any time you
decide you want a bodyguard.”
    Mr Teal did
not deign to reply. He crossed the sidewalk rather unsteadily,
mounted the steps of the house, and let himself in without
looking back. The door closed again behind him.
    Simon
chuckled as he let in the clutch and drove on to wards the appointment to which he had been
on his way. The episode which had just taken
place would make a mildly amusing
story to tell: aside from that obvious face value, he didn’t give it a second
thought. There was no reason why he should.
There must have been enough hoodlums in the metropolis with long-cherished dreams of vengeance against Mr Teal,
aside from ordinary casual footpads, to account for the sprinting
beater-up who had made such an agile getaway: the only entertaining angle was
that Coincidence should have chosen the
Saint himself, of all possible people, to be the rescuer.
    That was as
much as the Saint’s powers of clairvoyance were worth on that
occasion.
    Two hours
later, when he had parked the Hirondel in the garage at Cornwall
House, his foot kicked something out of the door as he got
out. It was the yellow packet that had slipped out of Teal’s
pocket, which had fallen on to the floor and been left there forgotten by
both men.
    Simon
picked it up; and when he saw the label he sighed, and then grinned again. So that was a new
depth to which Mr Teal had sunk; and the revelation of the detective’s dyspepsia would provide a little extra piquancy to
their next encounter in badinage…
.
    He went on
reading the exaggerated claims made for Miracle Tea on the
wrapper as he rode up in the elevator to his apartment. And as
he read on, a new idea came to him, an idea which could
only have found a welcome in such a scape grace sense of
mischief as the Saint’s. The product was called Miracle Tea, and there seemed
to be no reason why it should not be endowed with miraculous properties
before being returned to its owner. Chief Inspector Teal would surely
be disappointed if it failed to perform miracles. And that could so easily
be arranged. The admixture of a quantity of crushed senna pods, together
with a certain amount of powdered calomel—the indicated specific in all
cases of concussion….
    In his
own living-room, the Saint proceeded to open the packet with great
care, in such a way that it could be sealed again and bear no trace of having been
tampered with.
    Inside,
there seemed to be a second paper wrapping. He took hold of one
corner of it and pulled experimentally. A complete crumpled piece of paper came
out in his fingers. Below that, there was another crumpled white pad. And
after that, another. It went on until the whole package was