The Saint Closes the Case (30 page)

And now, in the name of fortune and all the
mysteries of
women, she had to blurt it out of the blue like that,
almost as
if
…
“Burn it!” thought the
Saint. “Almost as if she
thought I was going to leave her!”

“Darling old idiot,” said the Saint,
“what’s the matter?”

Roger Conway answered, from the Saint’s
shoulder, having
entered the room unnoticed. He answered with a question.

“You’ve seen Vargan?”

“I have.”

Roger nodded.

“We heard some of the noise. What did he say?”

“He went mad, and gibbered. Orace
rescued me, and car
ried him away—fighting like a wild cat. Vargan’s a
lunatic, as
Norman said. And a lunatic said … ‘No.’ “

Conway went to the window and looked up the
river, shad
ing his eyes against the sun. Then he turned back.

“Teal’s on his way,” he said, in a
matter-of-fact voice. “For
the last half-hour the same energetic bird has
been scuttling
up and down the river in a motorboat. We spotted him
through
the kitchen window, while we were drinking beer and wait
ing for
you.”

“Well, well,
well!”
drawled
the Saint, very gently and
thoughtfully.

“He was snooping all round with a pair of
binoculars. Pat being out on the lawn may have put him off for a bit. I left
Norman on
the lookout, and sent Orace out for Pat as soon
as we heard you were
through.”

Norman Kent came in at that moment, and Simon
took his
arm and drew him into the group.

“Our agile brain,” said the Saint,
“deduces that Hermann
has squealed, but has forgotten the actual
number of our
telephone. So Teal has to investigate Maidenhead
generally.
That may yet give us another hour or two; but it doesn’t
alter
the fact that we have our marching orders. They’re easy. Your
luggage
has already gone. So, if you beetle off to your rooms
and have a final wash
and brush-up, we’ll be ready to slide.
Push on, souls!”

He left them to it, and went to the kitchen
in search of O
race.

“Got your bag packed, Orace?”

“Yessir.”

“Passport in order?”

“Yessir.”

“Fine. I’d like to take you in the
Desoutter, but I’m afraid
there isn’t room. However, the police aren’t
after you, so
you won’t have any trouble.”

“Nossir.”

The Saint took five ten-pound notes from a
bulging wallet

“There’s a train to London at 4.58,”
he said. “Paddington,
5.40. That’ll give you time to say good-bye
to all your aunts,
and catch a train from Victoria at 8.20, which will take
you
via Newhaven and Dieppe to Paris, where you arrive at 5.23
to-morrow
morning at the Gare St. Lazare. While you’re wait
ing in London, you’d
better tear yourself away from your
aunts for as long as it takes you to
send a wire to Mr. Tremayne
and ask him to meet you at the station and
protect you
from all those wild French ladies you’ve read about. We’ll
meet you at Mr. Tremayne’s… . Oh, and you might post this letter for
me.”

“Yessir.”

“O.K., Orace. You’ve just got time to
get to the station with
out bursting a bloodvessel. S’long!”

He went on to his room, and there he found
Patricia.

Simon took her in his arms at once.

“You’re coming on this getaway?” he asked.

She held tightly to him.

“That’s what I was wondering when I came
in from the
garden,” she said. “You’ve always been such a
dear old quixotic
ass, Simon. You know how it was at Baycombe.”

“And you thought I’d want to send you
away.”

“Do you?”

“I should have wanted to once,” said
the Saint. “In the
bad old days… . But now—oh, Pat, dear
lass, I love you
too much to be unselfish! I love your eyes and your lips
and
your voice and the way your hair shines like gold in the sun.
I love your
wisdom and your understanding and your kindli
ness and your courage
and your laughter. I love you with every
thought of my mind and
every minute of my life. I love you
so much that it hurts. I couldn’t face
losing you. Without you, I just shouldn’t have anything to live for… . And
I
don’t know where we shall go or what we shall do or what we
shall find
in the days that are coming. But I do know that if I
never find more than
I’ve got already—just you, lass!——
I
shall have had more
than my life.
…”

“I shall have had more than mine, Simon.
… God bless
you!”

He laughed.

“He has,” said the Saint. “You
see how it is.
…
And I
know a gentleman
would be strong and silent, and send you
out into the night for
your own sake. But I don’t care. I’m not
a gentleman. And if
you think it’s worth it, to be hunted out
of England with me——”

But her lips silenced his, and there was no heed to say more.
And in Simon Templar’s heart was a marvel of
thanksgiving
that was also a prayer.

16. How Simon Templar pronounced
sentence,

and Norman Kent went to
fetch his
cigarette-case

A few minutes later, the Saint joined Roger
Conway and
Norman Kent in the sitting-room. He had already started up
the Hirondel, tested its smooth running as well as he could,
and
examined the tyres. The sump showed no need of oil, and
there was
gasoline enough in the tank to make a journey twice as long as the one they had
to take. He had left the car ticking
over on the drive outside, and returned
to face the decision
that had to be taken.

“Ready?” asked Norman quietly.

Simon nodded.

In silence he took a brief survey through the
French win
dows; and then he came back and stood before them.

“I’ve only one preliminary remark to
make,” he said. “That
is—where is Tiny Tim?”

They waited.

“Put yourselves in his place,” said
the Saint. “He hasn’t got
the facilities for trailing us that Teal has
had. But Teal is here;
and wherever old Teal is, Angel Face won’t be
far behind.
Angel Face, being presumably anything but a bonehead,
would
naturally figure that the smartest thing to do, knowing Teal was trailing
us, would be to trail Teal. That’s the way I’d do
it myself, and you
can bet that Angel Face is nearly as rapid on the bounce, in the matter of
brainwaves, as we are ourselves. I
just mention that as a factor to be
remembered during this fade-away act—and because it’s another reason for us to
solve
a certain problem quickly.”

They knew what he meant, and met his eyes steadily—Roger
Conway grim, Norman Kent grave and inscrutable.

“Vargan will not listen to reason,”
said the Saint simply.
“You heard him… . And there’s no way
out for us. We’ve
only one thing to do. I’ve tried to think of other
solutions, but
there just aren’t any… . You may say it’s
cold-blooded. So
is any execution. But a man is cold-bloodedly executed by
the
law for one murder that is a matter of ancient history. We execute
Vargan to save a million murders. There is no doubt
in any of our minds
that he will be instrumental in those mur
ders if we let him go.
And we can’t take him with us.
…
So
I say that he must
die.”

“One question,” said Norman.
“I believe it’s been asked
before. If we remove Vargan, how much of the
menace of war
do
we remove with him?”

“The question has been answered before. I
think Vargan is a keystone. But even if he isn’t—even if the machinery
that Marius
has set in motion is able to run on without want
ing more fuel—even if
there is to be war—I say that the wea
pon that Vargan has created must not be
used. We may be
accused of betraying our country, but we must face that.
Perhaps
there are some things even more important than winning
a war.
…
Do you
understand, I wonder?”

Norman looked through the window; and some
whimsical
fancy, unbidden alien at such a conference, touched his
lips
with the
ghost of a smile.

“Yes,” he
said, “there
are so many important things to think
of.”

The Saint turned to Roger Conway.

“And you, Roger—what do you say?”

Conway fingered an unlighted cigarette.

“Which of us shall do it?” he asked simply.

Simon Templar looked from Roger to Norman; and
he said
what he
had always meant to say.

“If we are caught,” he said,
“the man who does it will be
hanged. The others may save
themselves. I shall do it.”

Norman Kent rose.

“Do you mind?” he said. “I’ve
just remembered I left my
cigarette-case in my bedroom. I’ll be back in
a moment.”

He went out, and passed slowly and
thoughtfully down the
little hall to a door that was not his own.

He knocked, and entered; and Patricia Holm
looked round
from
the dressing-table to see him.

“I’m ready, Norman. Is Simon getting
impatient?”

“Not yet,” said Norman.

He came forward and set his hands on her
shoulders. She turned, with a smile awakening on her lips; but the smile died
at the
sight of a queer light burning deep in his dark eyes.

“Dear Pat,” said Norman Kent,
“I’ve always longed for a
chance to serve you. And now it’s come. You knew I loved you,
didn’t you?”

She touched his hand.

“Don’t, Norman dear … please!
…
Of course
I knew.
I couldn’t help knowing. I’m so sorry… .”

He smiled.

“Why be sorry?” he answered gently.
“I shall never bother
you. I wouldn’t, even if you’d let me. Simon’s
the whitest man
in the world, and he’s my dearest friend. It will be my
hap
piest thought, to know that you love him. And I know how
he loves
you. You two will go on together until the stars fall
from the sky. See that you never lose the
splendour of life.”

“What do you mean?” she pleaded.

The light in Norman Kent’s eyes had in it
something like a
magnificent laughter.

“We’re all fanatics,” he said.
“And perhaps I’m the most
fanatical of us all… . Do you remember,
Pat, how it was I
who first said that Simon was a man born with the sound of
trumpets in his ears? … That was the truest thing I ever
said. And
he’ll go on in the sound of the trumpet. I know, be
cause to-day I heard
the trumpet myself… . God bless you,
Pat.”

Before she knew what was happening, he had
bent and
kissed her lightly on the lips. Then he walked quickly to
the
door, and it was closing behind him when she found her
voice. She
had been left with no idea of what he meant by
half the things he
had said, and she could not let him go so
mysteriously.

She called him—an imperative Patricia.

“Norman!”

He was back in a moment, almost before she
had spoken
his name. Something had changed in his face.

His finger signed her to silence.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“The last battle,” said Norman Kent
quietly. “Only a little
sooner than we expected. Take this!”

He jerked back the jacket of a small
automatic, and thrust it into her hands. An instant later he was rapidly
loading a
larger gun which he took from his hip pocket.