"Must you do these things?" he inquired mildly. "You know, I'm rather ticklish, and I might scream."
The prince settled down and crossed his legs.
"You must not let me detain you too long," he remarked solicitously. "Your time must be valuable."
"Have you anything really interesting to say?" murmured the Saint bluntly.
The prince looked at him.
"This is the third time that you have chosen to meddle in my affairs, Mr. Templar. I have told you before that your persistence might compel me to think of methods of permanent discouragement Believe me, my dear friend, it will only be your own obstinacy which may cause me to take steps which I should genuinely regret."
"Such as—handing over the vendetta to a couple of overfed policemen? You don't know how disappointed I am about you, Rudolf."
"That was an unfortunate necessity. You had to be found without delay, and the police have facilities which are denied to ordinary people like ourselves."
The Saint smiled.
"I see. While you hang around in the offing as the righteous citizen what's been robbed. Well, well, Rudolf," said the Saint tolerantly, "the notion was passably sound, though I won't say I hadn't heard of it before. And what would you have done if I'd actually been collared with the boodle—gone home and burst into tears?"
"That possibility had been considered," admitted the prince calmly. "In fact, I had anticipated it. You may have forgotten that my name carries some weight in this country. I do not think I should have found my task difficult." He shrugged. "But you were always enterprising, my dear Mr. Templar."
"That past tense makes me feel all Tolstoy," said the Saint plaintively.
The prince fingered his moustache.
"You are the unknown quantity which is always disconcerting," he said; and Simon blew out two leisured smoke rings.
"Have you lost your voice, Rudolf?"
"Why?"
"There must be some more policemen in Munich. From what I've seen I shouldn't think there was room for many, but you might find one or two. You could try yodelling for 'em."
"I doubt whether that would be so expedient," said the prince, tapping a length of ash from his cigarette—"now that we know that the jewels are no longer in your possession."
Simon sat up. That was a new one on him—straight from the bandbox and dolled out with ribbons. It caught him slap in the middle of his complacency and made him blink.
"Yeah?" he said automatically. "I haven't seen any corpses carried out"
"Would that be a corollary?"
"It would be if any of your birds tried to go scratching round my room. There's not only two guns in it—there's a girl who can shoot the pips out of a razzberry keeping 'em warm, and she doesn't sleep on her feet. Now think up something else that'll cure hiccoughs!"
The prince showed a glimmer of pearly teeth.
"In that case," he said imperturbably, "we must feel thankful that the porter is an observant man with a good memory."
"Meaning exactly?"
"You went out at eleven o'clock this morning with a parcel, and you came back without it."
Simon raked him with crystalline blue eyes. He had an instant recollection of the scene in which he had surprised the prince, and in the same flash he understood the significance of it. The very words that must have been spoken trickled almost verbatim through his imagination. His Sublime Eminence's dear young friend had promised to deliver a small package for him. It was vitally important that it should be sent off before midday. Had anything been done about it? The package would be about so big. His dear young friend was inclined to be forgetful. Could the porter remember if he had seen the gentleman leaving the hotel with such a package as had been described? . . . The interrogation would have been simplicity itself to a man of the Crown Prince's magnetic geniality, once he had realized that such a contingency was on the cards. And if it had proved fruitless there would have been no harm done. Mentally the Saint raised his hat to that effort of inductive speculation.
"I won't deceive you," said the Saint. "We have ceased to hold the baby."
"Others have also found it dangerous," murmured the prince.
"That's just how it struck me," said the Saint with equanimity. "So I got rid of it. I went out and bought three fat packets of German cigarettes. I came home and loaded the swag into 'em, and jammed it tight with cotton wool. I tied the boxes up in brown paper and stuck on a label. And then I went out and shoved the whole works into the post office across the way —just ordinary parcel post, and no registration or anything. It'll be waiting for me where I want it." The Saint pushed his hands back in his pockets and stared at the prince seraphically through a veil of smoke. "Got any more to say?" he purred.
Up on the wall the clock gathered its creaking springs and chimed the quarter. The margin of time was dosing in; and Simon had learned nearly everything he required to know. There was only one thing more to come—an inkling of the counter attack which must have been spinning its swift web between the lines of that entertaining little chat. And the Saint was keyed up for it like a tiger crouching for the kill.
The Crown Prince leaned forward.
"My friend, we are in danger of cutting our own throats. You have disposed of the jewels temporarily, but you will have still to recover them. It would be awkward for you if you were arrested—and I admit that it would be inconvenient for me. For the time being we have your interests in common. And yet you must acknowledge that you have not one chance in ten thousand of making your escape."
"That sounds depressing," said the Saint.
"It is a matter of fact. In England you have your Scotland Yard, which is the model of the whole world. Perhaps you are tempted to think that our European police organizations are inferior. You would be foolish—very foolish. You have many hundreds of miles still to travel, and every frontier will be watched for you. Every mile, every minute, will see the dice loaded more heavily against you. You have temporarily disposed of the detectives who were sent here; I do not ask how you accomplished it, but I assure you they were only a beginning. Our police do not easily forget being made to look stupid. Your arrest will be a point of honour with every detective in Germany."
"Well?"
Simon's prompting monosyllable rapped into the prince's silence like the crack of an overstrained fiddle string.
The prince, tapped his cigarette holder thoughtfully on a pink-tinted thumbnail. He met the Saint's eyes with a survey of deliberate appraisal.
"I offer you an alliance. I offer you protection, hiding, influence, a practical certainty of escape. I have told you that in this country I am a person of some importance. Mr. Templar, we have been enemies too long. I offer you friendship and security—at the price of a division of the spoils."
The Saint's eyes never moved; but his lips smiled.
"And how would this partnership begin?" he queried.
"My car is outside. It is at your disposal. I promise you safe conduct out of Munich—for yourself and your friends."
For two seconds the Saint gazed at the red tip of his cigarette, with that tentative half-smile playing round his mouth.