Enter the Saint (6 page)

Hayn vented his exasperation on Jerry, and even the fact that he had seen the boy help to tackle the Saint and get the worst of it in their company did not mitigate his wrath. “You damned fool!” he blazed. “Couldn’t you see he was up to something? Are you taken in by everyone who tells you the tale?”

“I told you I couldn’t guarantee him,” Stannard protested. “But when I met him he wasn’t a bit like he was to-night. Honestly, Mr. Hayn-how could I have known? I don’t even know what he was after yet. Those cards …”

“South African grandmothers,” snarled Hayn.

Braddon intervened. “Who was this gentleman, anyway,” he demanded. “Gentleman” was not the word he used.

“Use your eyes, you lunatic!” Hayn flared, pointing to the table, and Braddon’s jaw dropped as he saw the cards.

“You’ve had that guy in here?”

“What the hell d’you think? You probably passed him coming in. And from what the Snake said, and what I’ve seen myself, he’s probably right at the top-he might even be the Saint himself.”

“So that was the gentleman!” said Braddon, only once again he described Simon Templar with a more decorative word.

Hayn snorted. “And that fool Stannard brought him here,” he said.

“I’ve told you, I didn’t know much about him, Mr. Hayn,” Stannard expostulated. “I warned you I couldn’t answer for him.”

“The kid’s right,” said Braddon. “If he put it over on the Snake, he might put it over on anybody.”

There was logic in the argument, but it was some time before Hayn could be made to see it. But presently he quieted down. “We’ll talk about this, Braddon,” he said. “I’ve got an idea for stopping his funny stuff. He didn’t get clean away-I put Keld on to follow him. By to-night we’ll know where he lives, and then I don’t think he’ll last long.”

He turned to Jerry. The boy was fidgeting nervously, and Hayn became diplomatic. It wasn’t any use rubbing a valuable man up the wrong way.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper, old man,” he said. “I can see it wasn’t your fault. You just want to be more careful. I ought to have warned you about the Saint-he’s dangerous! Have a cigar.”

It was Mr. Hayn’s peace-offering. Stannard accepted it. “No offence,” he said. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

“We won’t say anything more about it, old man,” said Hayn heartily. “You won’t mind if I leave you? Mr. Braddon and I have some business to talk over. I expect you’ll amuse yourself upstairs. But you mustn’t play any more, you know.”

“I shan’t want to,” said Stannard. “But, Mr. Hayn-“

Hayn stopped. “Yes, old man?”

“Would you mind if I asked you for that check? I’ll give you an I O U now.”

“I’ll see that you get it before you leave.”

“It’s awfully good of you, Mr. Hayn,” said Stannard apologetically. “Three thousand pounds it was.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” said Hayn shortly. He moved off, cursing the damaged waiter out of his path; and Stannard watched him go, thoughtfully. So far, it had all been too easy, but how long was it going to last?

He was watching the early dancers assembling when a waiter, whose face was obscured by a large piece of sticking-plaster, came through with a sealed envelope. Stannard ripped it open, inspected the check it contained, and scribbled his signature to the promissory note that came with it. He sent this back to Hayn by the same waiter.

Although he had disposed of several cocktails before dinner, and during the meal had partaken freely of wine, and afterwards had done his full share in the consumption of liqueurs, his subsequent abstemiousness was remarkable. He sat with an untasted brandy-and-soda in front of him while the coloured orchestra broke into its first frenzies of syncopation, and watched the gyrating couples with a jaundiced eye for an hour. Then he drained his glass, rose, and made his way to the stairs.

Through the window of the office he saw Hayn and Braddon still engaged in earnest conversation. He tapped on the pane, and Hayn looked up and nodded. The hidden door swung open as Stannard reached it, and closed after him as he passed through.

He strolled through the gaming rooms, greeted a few acquaintances, and watched the play for a while without enthusiasm. He left the club early, as soon as he conveniently could.

The next morning, he hired a car and drove rapidly out of London. He met the Saint on the Newmarket road at a prearranged milestone.

“There was a man following me,” said the Saint happily. “When I got out of my bus, he took a taxi. I wonder if he gave it up, or he’s still toiling optimistically along, bursting the meter somewhere in the wilds of Edmonton.” He gave Stannard a cigarette, and received a check in return.

“A thousand pounds,” said Stannard. “As I promised. ” The Saint put it carefully away in his wallet. “And why I should give it to you, I don’t know,” said Stannard.

“It is the beginning of wisdom,” said the Saint. “The two thousand that’s left will pay off your debts and give you a fresh start, and I’ll get your lOU’s back for you in a day or two. A thousand pounds isn’t much to pay for that.”

“Except that I might have kept the money and gone on working for Hayn.”

“But you have reformed,” said the Saint gently. “And I’m sure the demonstration you saw last night will help to keep you on the straight and narrow path. If you kept in with Hayn, you’d have me to deal with.” He climbed back into his car and pressed the self-starter, but Stannard was still curious.

“What are you going to do with the money?” he asked. “I thought you were against crooks.”

“I am,” said the Saint virtuously. “It goes to charity. Less my ten per cent commission charged for collecting. You’ll hear from me again when I want you. Au revoir-or, in the Spanish, hasta la vista- or, you prefer it in the German, auf Wiedersehen!”

Chapter VIII
ABOUT a week after the Saint’s mercurial irruption into Danny’s, Gwen Chandler met Mr. Edgar Hayn in Regent Street, one morning by accident. At exactly the same time, Mr. Edgar Hayn met Gwen Chandler on purpose, for he had been at some pains to bring about that accidental meeting.

“We see far too little of you these days, my dear,” he said, taking her hand.

She was looking cool and demure in a summer frock of printed chiffon, and her fair hair peeped out under the brim of her picture hat to set off the cornflower blue of her eyes. “Why, it seems no time since Jerry and I were having supper with you,” she said.

“No time is far too long for me,” said Mr. Hayn cleverly. “One could hardly have too much of anyone as charming as yourself, my dear lady.”

At the supper-party which she had unwillingly been induced to join, he had set himself out to be an irreproachable host, and his suave geniality had gone a long way towards undoing the first instinctive dislike which she had felt for him, but she did not know how to take him in this reversion to his earlier pose of exaggerated heartiness. It reminded her of the playful romping advances of an elephant, but she did not find it funny.

Mr. Hayn, however, was for the moment as pachydermatous as the animal on whose pleasantries he appeared to have modelled his own, and her slightly chilling embarrassment was lost on him. He waved his umbrella towards the window of the shop outside which they were standing. “Do you know that name, Miss Chandler?” he asked.

She looked in the direction indicated.

“Laserre? Yes, of course I’ve heard of it.”

“I am Laserre,” said Hayn largely. “This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for to introduce you to our humble premises-and how convenient that we should meet on the very doorstep.”

She was not eager to agree, but before she could frame a suitable reply he had propelled her into the glittering red-carpeted room where the preparations of the firm were purveyed in a hushed and reverent atmosphere reminiscent of a cathedral.

A girl assistant came forward, but in a moment she was displaced by Braddon himself-frock-coated, smooth oleaginous, hands at washing position.

“This is my manager,” said Hayn, and the frock-coated man bowed. “Mr. Braddon, be so good as to show Miss Chandler some samples of the best of our products-the very best.”

Thereupon, to the girl’s bewilderment, were displayed velvet-lined mahogany trays, serried ranks of them, brought from the shelves that surrounded the room, and set out with loving care on a counter, one after another, till she felt completely dazed. There were rows upon rows of flashing crystal bottles of scent, golden cohorts of lipsticks, platoons of little alabaster pots of rouge, orderly regiments of enamelled boxes of powder. Her brain reeled before the contemplation of such a massed quantity of luxurious panderings to vanity.

“I want you to choose anything you like,” said Hayn. “Absolutely anything that takes your fancy, my dear Miss Chandler.”

“But -I-I couldn’t possibly,” she stammered.

Hayn waved her objections aside. “I insist,” he said. “What is the use of being master of a place like this if you cannot let your friends enjoy it? Surely I can make you such a small present without any fear of being misunderstood? Accept the trifling gift graciously, my dear lady. I shall feel most hurt if you refuse.”

In spite of the grotesqueness of his approach, the circumstances made it impossible to snub him. But she was unable to fathom his purpose in making her the object of such an outbreak. It was a hot day, and he was perspiring freely, as a man of his build is unhappily liable to do, and she wondered hysterically if perhaps the heat had temporarily unhinged his brain. There was something subtly disquieting about his exuberance. She modestly chose a small vanity-case and a little flask of perfume, and he seemed disappointed by her reluctance. He pressed other things upon her, and she found herself forced to accept two large boxes of powder.

“Make a nice parcel of those things for Miss Chandler, Mr. Braddon,” said Hayn, and the manager carried the goods away to the back of the shop.

“It’s really absurdly kind of you, Mr. Hayn,” said the girl confusedly. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.”

“Your face is your fortune, my dear young lady,” answered Hayn, who was obviously in a brilliant mood.

She had a terrified suspicion that in a moment he would utter an invitation to lunch, and she hastily begged to be excused on the grounds of an entirely fictitious engagement. “Please don’t think me rude, hurrying away like this,” she pleaded. “As a matter of fact, I’m already shockingly late.”

He was plainly crestfallen. “No one can help forgiving you anything,” he said sententiously. “But the loss to myself is irreparable.”

She never knew afterwards how she managed to keep her end up in the exchange of platitudes that followed, until the return of Braddon with a neat package enabled her to make her escape.

Hayn accompanied her out into the street, hat in hand. “At least,” he said, “promise me that the invitation will not be unwelcome, if I ring you up soon and ask you to suggest a day. I could not bear to think that my company was distasteful to you.”

“Of course not-I should love to-and thank you ever so much for the powder and things,” she said desperately. “But I must fly now.” She fled as best she might.

Hayn watched her out of sight, standing stock still in the middle of the pavement where she had left him, with a queer gleam in his pale eyes. Then he put his hat on, and marched off without reentering the shop. He made his way to the club in Soho, where he was informed that Snake Ganning and some of the Boys were waiting to see him. Hayn let them wait while he wrote a letter, which was addressed to M. Henri Chastel, Poste Restante, Athens; and he was about to ring for the Snake to be admitted when there was a tap on the door and Danny entered.

“There are five of them,” said Danny helpfully.

“Five of whom?” said Hayn patiently.

“Five,” said Danny, “including the man who pulled Mr. Braddon’s hat down over his eyes. They said they must see you at once.”

Mr. Hayn felt in the pit of his stomach the dull sinking qualm which had come to be inseparable from the memory of the Saint’s electric personality. Every morning without fail since the first warning he had received, there had been the now familiar envelope, beside his plate at breakfast, containing the inevitable card; and every afternoon, when he reached Danny’s he found a similar reminder among the letters on his desk. He had not had a chance to forget Simon Templar, even if he had wished to do so-as a matter of fact, the Snake and his Boys were at that moment waiting to receive their instructions in connection with a plot which Hayn had formed for disposing of the menace.

But the Saint’s policy was rapidly wearing out Hayn’s nerves. Knowing what he did, the Saint could only be refraining from passing his knowledge along to Scotland Yard because he hoped to gain more by silence, yet there had been no attempt to blackmail-only those daily melodramatic reminders of his continued interest.

Hayn was starting to feel like a mouse that has been tormented to the verge of madness by an exceptionally sportive cat. He had not a doubt that the Saint was scheming and working against him still, but his most frenzied efforts of concentration had failed to deduce the most emaciated shred of an idea of the direction from which the next assault would be launched, and seven days and nights of baffled inaction had brought Edgar Hayn to the borders of a breakdown.

Now the Saint-and the rest of his gang also from all appearances-was paying a second visit. The next round was about to begin, and Hayn was fighting in a profounder obscurity than ever. “Show them in,” he said in a voice that he hardly recognized as his own.

He bent over some writing, struggling to control his nerves for the bluff that was all he had to rely on, and with an effort of will he succeeded in not looking up when he heard the door opening and the soft footsteps of men filing into the room.

“Walk right in, souls,” said the Saint’s unmistakable cheery accents. “That’s right. Park yourselves along that wall in single rank and stand easy.”

Then Hayn raised his eyes, and saw the Saint standing over the desk regarding him affectionately.

“Good morning, Edgar,” said the Saint affably. “How’s Swan?”

“Good morning, Mr. Templar,” said Hayn.