Chief Inspector Claud Eustace Teal looked at him suspiciously. "I might ask the same question."
"I'm recuperating," said the Saint blandly, "from many months of honest toil. There are times when I have to get away from London just to forget what gas fumes and soot smell like. Come and have a drink."
Teal handed his bag to the boots and chewed on his gum continuously.
"What I'm wanting just now is some breakfast. I've been on the go since five o'clock this morning without anything to eat."
"That suits me just as well," murmured the Saint, taking the detective's arm and steering him towards the dining-room. "I see you're staying. Has some sinister local confectioner been selling candy at illegal hours?"
They sat down in the deserted room, and Teal ordered himself a large plate of porridge. Then his sleepily cherubic blue eyes gazed at the Saint again, not so suspiciously as before, but rather regretfully.
"There are times when I wish you were an honest man, Saint," Teal said.
Simon raised his eyebrows a fraction. "There's something on your mind, Claud," he said. "May I know it?"
Mr. Teal pondered while his porridge was set before him, and dug a spoon into it thoughtfully. "Have you heard of Sir Joseph Whipplethwaite?"
Simon stared at him; and then he covered his eyes. "Have I not!" he articulated tremulously. He flung out a hand. " 'Badminton,' " he boomed, " 'is a game that has made we politicians what we are. Without badminton, we politicians —' "