The Saint Meets His Match

by Charteris Leslie

For a space of five or six taut and significant seconds. and then a glimmer of the old Saintly mockery twinkled back into Simon Templar's gaze, and he laughed.

"Which is all very unfortunate for you — isn't it, Algernon?" he drawled; and Cullis's mouth tightened up like a steel trap under his moustache.

"I see," he said softly.

"Cheers!" said the Saint. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

He helped himself to a cigarette from the box on the table and struck a match.

"So that's the yarn you propose to tell, is it?" said Cullis.

"It is," said the Saint tranquilly. "And I think it's a damned good yarn, if you ask me. At any rate, it'll keep your brain ticking over, working out what sort of an answer you're going to make."

Suddenly Cullis laughed.

"And you really think anyone will believe you?"

"I don't know," said the Saint. "I shall do my best to spread the glad news around, and when I get going I have no mean spread. With all the accumulated evidence—"