His secretary picked up the book and looked at the title.
"Mr. Timmins left yesterday — he was the man you fired four months ago," she said; but even then Mr. Parstone was no wiser.
VIII
The Noble Sportsman
It would be difficult to imagine two more ill-assorted guests at a country house party than Simon Templar and Chief Inspector Teal. The Saint, of course, was in his element. He roared up the drive in his big cream and red sports car and a huge camel-hair coat as if he had been doing that sort of thing for half his life, which he had. But Mr. Teal, driving up in the ancient and rickety station taxi, and alighting cumbrously in his neat serge suit and bowler hat, fitted less successfully into the picture. He looked more like a builder's foreman who had called to take measurements for a new bathroom, which he was not.
But that they should have been members of the same house party at all was the most outstanding freak of circumstance; and it was only natural that one of them should take the first possible opportunity to inquire into the motives of the other.
Mr. Teal came into the Saint's room while Simon was dressing for dinner, and the Saint looked him over with some awe.
"I see you've got a new tie," he murmured. "Did your old one come undone?"
The detective ran a finger round the inside of his collar, which fitted as if he had bought it when he was several years younger and measured less than eighteen inches around the neck.
"How long have you known Lord Yearleigh?" he asked bluntly.