Enter the Saint by Leslie Charteris

Author:Leslie Charteris [Charteris, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780441207275
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1930-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter VI

"SORRY to have kept you waiting," drawled the Saint, ten minutes later, "but your manageress is wandering about in the line of retreat looking like a flat tire, and I didn't dare let her see me. Roger, you've blighted her young life. I know she'll never smile again."

Conway pointed his chair-leg at the bed.

"He sleeps."

"After laying his egg?"

"He spilled a certain amount of beans. It ought to be enough to work on."

"Let's see what you've got—as the actress said to the bishop," murmured Simon. "Half a sec.—we'll have some light on the subject."

He felt for the socket, extracted the bulb from his pocket, and adjusted it. Roger switched it on.

The Saint inspected Mr. Dyson with interest.

"Do you think he'll die? " he asked.

"I don't think so."

"A pity," said the Saint. "It means we'll have the trouble of roping him up. Make yourself look decent, and go out and find some string. You can talk while I tie."

Roger removed the choker and replaced his collar while the Saint employed spit-and-polish methods, with a handkerchief, to his face. Then Roger snooped off on his errand.

He met Miss Cocker in the corridor.

"I've been looking for you, Mr. Conway," said the lady ominously. "Where have you been all this time?"

"If I told you," said Roger truthfully, "you'd be shocked. What's the trouble?"

"A gentleman's been complaining about the noise."

"Let him complain."

"He's wanting to leave at once."

"Don't stop him. Are the sandwiches and beer ready?"

"They've been waiting half an hour. But, Mr. Conway—"

"Tell the little fellows to be patient. I sha'n't be long now."

He stalked away before the manageress could find her voice. But the woman was waiting for him when he came back, after a few minutes, with a couple of fathoms of stout cord in his pocket.

"Mr. Conway—"

"Miss Cocker."

"I'm not used to being treated like this, I'm not, really. I think you must be drunk yourself. I'm used to respectable hotels, I am, and I never heard of such goings on, I didn't—"

"Miss Cocker," said Roger kindly, "take my advice and go and look for a nice respectable hotel. Because I'm turning this one into a high-class road-side gin palace, from which people will be removed, roaring drunk, in the small hours of every morning. Bye-bye, ole geranium."

He entered the porter's room and closed the door in her face.

The Saint looked up with his quick smile.

"Domestic strife?" he queried.

"I'm used to respectable hotels, I am, and I never heard of such goings on, I didn't."

"And you always such a nice quiet gentleman, Mr. Conway!"

"It's the only way to carry it off—to pretend I'm canned. To-morrow I shall have to see her and apologize profusely. Here's your string."

The Saint took the cord and bent to his task with practised efficiency, while Roger described the interview with Mr. Dyson. Simon listened intently, but his memory was baulked by the name of Sleat. It had a vaguely familiar ring about it, but nothing more.

"Spider Sleat," he repeated. "Can't place it. How many men are there supposed to be on the moor?"

"I didn't find that out.

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