"Not me," said the Saint. "You must be thinking of someone else. I'll admit I've been to Paris, but—"
Teal's lower jaw ruminated rhythmically.
"Yes," he said, "some of it was in Paris."
Simon leaned against the mantelpiece with a little twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
"Well?"
"In Paris," said Teal, "you doped Lord Essenden and took a couple of hundred thousand francs off him. Before that, while acting as a police officer, you abandoned your duty and connived at the escape of a woman who's wanted for murder. You can't go on doing that sort of thing, Saint, I'm afraid I shall have to bother you again."
"Well?"
The detective's shoulders moved in a ponderous shrug.
"The best thing about you, Templar," he said, "is that you always come quietly."
Simon fingered his chin.
"What d'you mean — 'come quietly'?" he asked, with childlike innocence.
"Come for a walk," said Teal. "Or, if you like, we'll take a taxi. I'm sorry to have to pull you in at this hour, but you were out when I called earlier, and if I left it till tomorrow morning you might have gone away again.
"And where are we going to take this walk — or this taxi drive?"
Mr. Teal blinked. He seemed to find it a tremendous effort to keep awake.
"Rochester Row police station."
"In Pimlico?" protested the Saint. "Not that. I'm only taken to West End police stations."
"Not Pimlico," said Teal. "Westminster."
"Worse still," said the Saint. "Members of Parliament get taken there."
Mr. Teal settled his hat, which, like the traditional detective, he had not removed when he entered the flat.
"Coming?" he inquired lethargically.
"Can't," said the Saint. "Sorry, old dear."
"Simon Templar," said Teal, "I arrest you on a charge of—"
"Let's see it on the warrant."
"Which warrant?"
The Saint grinned.
"The warrant for my arrest," he said.
"I haven't got a warrant."
"I guessed that. And how are you going to arrest me without a warrant?"
"I can take you into custody—"
"You can't," said the Saint pleasantly. "I'm behaving myself. I'm in my own flat, just about to go to bed like any respectable citizen. There's nothing you can accuse me of. What you're doing, Teal, is to put up a very thin bluff, and I'm calling the bluff. Laugh that off."
Teal closed his eyes.
"In Paris—"
"In Paris," said Simon calmly, "I stole two hundred thousand francs from Lord Essenden. I admit it. If you like, I'll put it in writing, and you can take it home with you to show the chief commissioner. But you can't do anything about it. The hideous crime was committed on French soil and it's a matter for the French police alone. I'm in England. An Englishman cannot be extradited from England. Sorry to disappoint you, I'm sure, but you shouldn't try to put things like that over on me."
"In Birmingham—"
"In Birmingham," said the Saint, in the same equable manner, "a man known lately as Stephen Weald and formerly as Waldstein was shot by Jill Trelawney. Whether it was in self-defense or not is a matter for the jury which may or may not try her — I suppose you had some sort of a story from Donnell. However, I did my duty and arrested her. I thought I had disarmed her, but in the taxi she produced another gun and stuck me up. I was forced to get into a train with her. Not far north of London, she forced me to jump out. I don't know what happened after that. I lay stunned beside the track for several hours —"
"What kind of a gag," demanded Teal, "are you trying to put over?"
The Saint beamed.
"I'm merely giving you a free sample of my defense, which will also be the means of getting you thoroughly chewed up in the courts if you get nasty, Claud Eustace, old corpuscle. The commissioner should have had my letter of resignation, in which I explained that I was so overcome with shame that I couldn't face him to hand it in personally. It was posted the same evening. I admit I proved to be the duddest of all possible dud policemen, but my well known desire to save my own skin at all costs —"
Teal spread a scrap of paper on the table.
"And this — your receipt to Essenden? I know one of these pictures, Templar, but the other—"
"My wife," said the Saint breezily.
"Oh, yes. And when were you married?"
"Not yet. The tense is future."
The detective closed his eyes again.
"So that's your story, is it?"
"And a darn good story it is, too," said Simon Templar complacently.
"And what about this new home of yours?"
"Since when has it been illegal for a respectable citizen to have a second establishment — or even an alias?.. But I wouldn't mind knowing how you located it so quickly, all the same."
"I've known about it for months," said the detective sleepily. "When I drew blank at Upper Berkeley Mews, I came straight here."
The Saint laughed.
"And then you go straight home again. Teal, that's too bad!.. But you ought to have known better, honey, really you ought. Now, are you going to take Uncle's advice and have a glass of barley water before you go, or do you want to argue some more?"
For some moments there was a gigantic silence — on the part of Chief Inspector Teal. The Saint could feel the tremendousness of it; and he was amused, for he knew exactly where he stood. And in his trouser pockets there were two iron fists quietly bunched up ready to prove the courage of his convictions if the challenge were offered…
And then Teal opened his eyes, and his mouth widened half an inch momentarily.
He nodded.
"You always were a bright boy," he said.
"I know," said the Saint.
Teal's smile remained in position. He hitched his overcoat round, and buttoned a button that must have had a tiring day. His heavy-lidded eyes roved boredly over the furnishings of the apartment.
"Sorry you've wasted your time," said the Saint sympathetically. "Don't let me keep you any longer if you're really in a hurry."
"I won't," said Teal. And then his eyes fell on the chair where Jill Trelawney had been sitting.
Simon followed his gaze.
"Been entertaining a friend?" asked Teal, without a change of expression.
"My Auntie Ethel," said the Saint blandly. "She left just before you came in. Isn't it a pity? Still, maybe you'll be able to meet her another day."
"How old is this Auntie Ethel?"
"About fifty," said the Saint. "A bit young for you, but you might try your luck. I'll send you her address. She might like to see round Rochester Row."
Teal took his hands out of his pockets and locomoted across the room. Only a man like Teal can possibly be said to locomote.
This locomotion was deceptive. It appeared to be very heavy off the mark, and very slow and clumsy in transit, but actually it was remarkably agile. Teal picked a bag up from the chair and inspected it soberly.
"Your Auntie Ethel has a gaudy taste in bags," he remarked. "How old did you say she was?"
"About a hundred and fifty," said the Saint.
Teal opened the bag and proceeded to examine the contents, extracting them one by one, and laying them on the table after the inspection. Lipstick, powder puff, mirror, comb case, handkerchief, cigarette case, gold pencil, some visiting cards.
"Princess Selina von Rupprecht," Teal read off one of the visiting cards. "Where does she come from?"
"Lithuania," said the Saint fluently. "I have some very distinguished relations in Czecho-Slovakia, too," he added modestly.
Teal put the bag down and turned with unusual briskness.
"I should like to meet this Princess," he said.
"Call her Auntie," said Simon. "She likes it. But you can't meet her here tonight because she's gone home."