“Oh!” said Cassie Lane, with sudden comprehension.
Then she ran off across the roof toward her own flat.
5
When Bert the mover (who had never been reputed to possess a surname) arrived with two husky cohorts, Simon was putting the finishing touches to the rewelded seams he had made in the side of Loudon’s last creation. It was fairly obvious that the giant metal beehive had been opened up and closed again, but one of the reasons for Bert’s long success at his vocation was his total lack of inquisitiveness. He was an iron-grey man with the neck of a rhinoceros and the handshake of a grappling hook.
“Good to see you,” he rumbled to Simon.
He looked at Cassie Lane, who was sitting benumbed on a stool, and pretended not to have noticed her.
“Is this it?” he asked, nodding toward the sculpture.
“Yes,” Simon answered. “And remember — it’s Perry Loudon who asked to have it moved.”
“Right.”
One of Bert’s men trundled in a dolly, the sculpture was heaved on to it, and within a minute it was on its way downstairs.
The Saint took a deep breath of satisfaction and stretched his arms. Cassie Lane burst into tears. “I could kill you,” she sobbed. “We’ve had enough of that here today.”
“You’ve ruined everything!” she went on. “My life — I had it so well worked out. Now I’m involved in your beastly affairs right up to my neck.”
“Well, you can’t expect to live your whole life in an airtight box with a couple of make-believe boy friends.”
“I could try! It was working very well until you came along.”
“Never mind. If we’re caught, I’ll ask my friend Inspector Teal to put you in a quiet private cell. Solitary confinement. Wouldn’t that be ducky?”
The thought failed to comfort her, so Simon stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders and found once more that physical contact had a much better effect than verbal persuasion. She stopped blubbering and was soon breathing with something not terribly unlike contentment.
“Just try to calm down,” he murmured. “I’ll be out of here in a minute.”
“You’re not going to leave me here?” the girl cried. Simon went over to the telephone and began scanning the numbers which Loudon had noted on the wall.
“It’s up to you. I’d enjoy your company if you’d like to come along with me.”
She got up and looked over his shoulder. He was scrutinizing one of the barely legible pencil scrawls. “Where are you going?” she asked. “I’m not sure yet. Look.”
He indicated the name and number he had been inspecting. “Simon,” it said. “BEL3344.”
“That’s you,” Cassie exclaimed.
“One of me,” said Simon. “I think I’ll take advantage of this rare opportunity to talk to myself while I’m in two different places.”
He took up the receiver and began dialing the number.
“You think somebody actually made Perry Loudon think he was you?” Cassie said.
“Exactly. There’s even a photograph downstairs with someone in it who looks remarkably like me.”
There was an answer at the other end of the line.
“Hullo?”
“Is Simon Templar there, please?” asked the Saint.
“Simon Templar speaking.”
“I’m a friend of a friend of yours, and I have an important message that has to be delivered in person. Could you meet me somewhere, or give me your address?”
There was a moment of hesitation.
“Who is this please?”
The voice resembled the Saint’s, but only roughly. No one who knew him well would have been fooled by it.
“I’ll explain when I see you,” Simon said.
It was more a feeling than anything else, but abruptly he knew that the man who had been speaking to him was no longer there; He waited a few seconds and there was only silence.
“Will you meet me, then?” he said.
The emptiness was finally broken by a single click as the receiver at the other end of the connection was put back into its cradle.
“Did he hang up?” Cassie asked.
“He did. Or somebody did.”
Simon was dialing again.
“Are you calling back?”
“No. Trying to get the address that goes with that number. You can’t get it from information, but I’ve got a friend in the right department.”
“Then are you going there?”
“Yes,” said Simon.
“May I come with you?”
“Getting brave?”
The girl shrugged.
“Just resigned, I guess.”
“That’s a sign of progress, anyway.”
When Simon had obtained the information he wanted, which turned out to be an address in Kensington, he led Cassie down the stairs and out on to the sidewalk, leaving Perry Loudon’s studio as nearly as possible as it had been before the murder.
“See over there?” said the Saint. “That dark blue car parked down the block? That’s one of Chief Inspector Teal’s sleuths.”
“How can you tell?”
“It’s a special gift I have, from years of abstinence and yoga.”
“I don’t really understand what you are exactly,” Cassie said.
“A lot of people have that problem.”
“What’ll he think of me coming down from Perry’s place with you?”
“Does it matter? Come to think of it, it’s an advantage. You could easily account for what I’ve been doing up there all this time.” He gave her an appraising look. “Very easily.”
Suddenly, before she could reply, the girl realized that he was taking her directly over to the dark blue car that he had pointed out.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, clutching his hand.
“Having fun.”
The Saint sauntered up to the driver’s window and leaned down to look in. The single occupant of the car, a thirtyish man with black beetling brows, was sitting embarrassedly upright, looking straight ahead.
“Hullo there, Longbottom,” Simon hailed him cheerfully. “Going our way?”
Longbottom — which actually was the name of this particular specimen of Teal’s personnel — could no longer ignore the Saint’s proximity. He turned to look at the lean pirateer’s face with a kind of humiliated indignation.
“I don’t think I know you,” he said.
“Oh, come now, Longbottom, I never forget a face — particularly a funny one. How about giving the lady and me a lift? I don’t have my car along, and I’m sure we’re all headed for the same destination. This way you won’t run any risk of losing us in the traffic.”
Without waiting for a reply, Simon opened the back door and handed Cassie in, then slipped in beside her.
“Longbottom, this is Miss Lane, one of London’s outstanding artists. Miss Lane, Mr Longbottom of Scotland Yard.”
“How do you do?” said Cassie.
“Fine,” mumbled the plain-clothes man. “But honestly, I can’t—”
“Of course you can,” said the Saint, leaning back in his seat and crossing his long legs. “You’re assigned to follow me, and I’m making it as easy for you as possible. But neither I nor Miss Lane will tell on you. Isn’t that right?”
“Of course,” responded Cassie.
For the first time she not only did not look depressed, but actually showed signs of enjoying herself. Longbottom, on the other hand, showed distinct signs of not enjoying himself at all, but he had been thrown so off balance by the Saint’s gambit that he apparently could think of nothing better to do than go along with it. After all, it could not be disputed that he was faithfully carrying out his orders, albeit in a somewhat unorthodox manner. But the fact that he would arrive at the Saint’s next stop a couple of feet ahead of the Saint instead of half a block behind him seemed a small enough technicality to be overlooked for the time being.