The Saint vs Scotland Yard Read Free Page B

about the Scorpion, of course, Mr.
Templar, you being—— ”
    “Yeah?”
    Simon drawled out the prompting diphthong in a honeyed slither up
a gently persuasive G-string; and Long Harry shuffled his feet uncomfortably.
    “Well, you remember what you used to be, Mr. Templar. There
wasn’t much you didn’t know in those days.”
    “Oh, yes—once upon a time. But now—”
    “Last
time we met, sir——”
    The Saint’s features relaxed, and he smiled.
    “Forget it, Harold,” he advised quietly. “I’m now a
respect able citizen. I was a respectable citizen the last time we met, and I
haven’t changed. You may tell me anything you like, Harry—as one
respectable citizen to another—but I’d recom mend you to forget the
interview as you step over the front door mat. I shall do the same—it’s
safer.”
    Long Harry nodded.
    “If you forget it, sir, it’ll be safer for me,” he said
seriously.
    “I have a hopeless memory,” said the Saint carefully.
“I’ve already forgotten your name. In another minute, I shan’t
be sure that you’re here at all. Now shoot the dope, son.”
    “You’ve got nothing against me, sir?”
    “Nothing. You’re a professional burglar, housebreaker, and petty
larcenist, but that’s no concern of mine. Teal can attend to your
little mistakes.”
    “And you’ll forget what I’m going to say—soon as ever I’ve said
it?”
    “You heard me.”
    “Well,   Mr. Templar—— ” Long
Harry cleared his throat, took another pull at his drink, and blinked
nervously for some seconds. “I’ve worked for the Scorpion, Mr.
Templar,” he said suddenly.
    Simon Templar never moved a muscle.
    “Yes?”
    “Only once, sir—so far.” Once having left the diving-board, Long Harry
floundered on recklessly. “And there won’t be a second time—not if I
can help it. He’s dangerous. You ain’t never safe with him. I
know. Sent me a message he did, through the post. Knew where I was staying,
though I’d only been there two days, an’ everything about me. There was
five one-pound notes in the letter, and he said if I met a car that’d be waiting
at the second milestone north of Hatfield at nine o’clock last Thursday
night there’d be another fifty for me to earn.”
    “What
sort of car was it?”
    “I never had a chance to notice it properly, Mr. Templar. It was a big,
dark car, I think. It hadn’t any lights. I was going to tell you—I
was a bit suspicious at first, I thought it must be a plant, but it was that
talk of fifty quid that tempted me. The car was waiting for
me when I got there. I went up and looked in the window, and
there was a man there at the wheel. Don’t ask me what he looked
like—he kept his head down, and I never saw more than the top of his
hat. ‘Those are your instructions,’ he says, pushing an envelope at
me, he says, ‘and there’s half your money. I’ll meet you here at the same time
tomorrow.’ And then he drove off. I struck a match, and found he’d given me the
top halves of fifty pound notes.”
    “And then?”
    “Then—I went an’ did the job, Mr. Templar.”
    “What job?”
    “I was to go to a house at St. Albans and get some papers. There was a
map, an’ a plan, an’ all about the locks an’ everything. I had my
tools—I forgot to tell you the first letter said I was to bring them—and it was
as easy as the orders said it would be. Friday night, I met the car as
arranged, and handed over the papers, and he gave me the other halves
of the notes.”
    Simon extended a lean brown hand.
    “The orders?” he inquired briefly.
    He took the cheap yellow envelope, and glanced through the
contents. There was, as Long Harry had said, a neatly- drawn map and plan;
and the other information, in a stu diously characterless copperplate
writing, covered two more closely written sheets.
    “You’ve
no idea whose house it was you entered?”
    “None at all, sir.”
    “Did you look at these papers?”
    “Yes.” Long Harry raised