By the end of his words he had definitely focused his attention on Manders, who uncomfortably nodded agreement.
At that moment there was a bustling in the hall clearly attendant on the arrival of some important personage. An instant later the door was thrown open by a uniformed constable, and a plump pink-cheeked man in a belted overcoat marched ponderously in, his jaw working mercilessly on a wad of chewing gum entrapped somewhere in the vicinity of his left upper and lower second molars. When he saw the Saint — as he did almost immediately — the gum received a moment’s reprieve, for the man’s jaw promptly ceased its labors and fell slackly open. The massive self-confidence seeped out of him like water out of a muslin sack.
Simon affected a second or two of puzzlement, and then of delighted recollection. He rushed forward, his hands fraternally extended, his voice throbbing with emotion.
“Why, as I live and breathe, it’s Claud Eustace Teal! Claud, I thought you were dead.”
Claud did not look nearly as happy about the meeting as his enthusiastic friend. The pink of his cheeks coagulated into blotches of a deeper crimson.
“I’m not,” he said unoriginally.
“Then why do you look so bloated? It must be your diet. Are you still stuffing yourself with spaghetti and suet puddings? You don’t need to, really. When they want to put you in a museum, they’ll have a taxidermist do a professional job.”
Chief Inspector Teal conquered a wincing grimace with a steely new set to his facial muscles.
“What are you doing here?” he barked.
“Claud, you have the most delightful way of coming right to the point.”
“Yes. And what are you doing here?”
“You said that before.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I meant asked. Of course. Yes. Well, I happened to be wandering by outside when I ran into an elephant. It wasn’t one of those pink ones, either — it was green. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ it said, very politely, ‘but could you help me?’ This was in Hindi, of course, because it was an Indian elephant. I asked what the trouble was, and it said: ‘This is very embarrassing, but you know the saying that elephants never forget? Well, I just can’t remember who said it.’ I said I didn’t know either, but why didn’t he go into the University and look it up in the library? And he said ‘I was going to do that, but I can’t get through the door.’ So being a kind-hearted bloke—”
“That’s enough,” Teal said.
Simon looked hurt.
“Don’t you believe me? Didn’t you see an elephant waiting outside?”
The detective turned away and went to the body. He peered at the shattered telephone.
“Now,” he said stubbornly, hooking his thumbs in the belt of his coat. “Let’s hear all about this.”
The Saint knew when it was time to be serious.
“I was here when it happened,” he said. “But before I tell you, let me introduce my friends to the finest officially approved ferreter of misdeeds this side of Mayfair — Chief Inspector Claud Eustace Teal of Scotland Yard. This is Dr Manders, professor of psychology, Grey Wyler, student, and Jenny Turner, another student.”
Teal nodded and grunted the required number of times, brightening a little when it came Jenny’s turn.
“I’ll have to question you all,” he said.
“But it’s late,” Wyler protested. “And we weren’t involved.”
“I’ll make it as fast as possible. In the meantime...”
“Claud,” said the Saint, taking an urgent grip on the fat detective’s arm, “if you’d question me first I’d very much appreciate it.”
Teal also recognized when the Saint had stopped fooling, and having benefited before from Simon’s misappropriation of his duties, he had sense enough to give in without an argument.
“I’ll talk to you first down here,” he said.
He led the way to the far end of the room and planted himself at a workbench, in the center of which was a complex open-topped maze of the type used for the confusion and intellectual testing of mice. Simon relaxed gracefully into the place beside him.
“Now,” Teal said, “let’s hear the real story.”
The Saint was very sober now. He began, without elaboration, at the point of Jenny’s mimicked phone call and quickly brought the detective up to the time at which Bast had asked Simon to leave the prize-giving party so that the two of them could talk.
At that stage of the narrative, a little Saintly selectivity seemed advisable. A plan had already evolved in Simon’s mind, and if Teal learned too much too soon his unimaginative and congenitally uncooperative nature would surely lead him to become a hindrance. Simon wanted Manders out of the way until he could get his own plans moving, but he was not yet prepared to present Teal with the complete possible background of Manders’ misdeeds. Fortunately, the letter Bast had given him, while incriminating, was quite vague in most respects, and did not even mention the Death Game.
“If this Wyler invented that telephone-tuning fork trick,” Teal said, pocketing his gum chipmunk-fashion in one bulging cheek, “and you think he’s some kind of nut anyway, then...”
Simon shook his head patiently and inserted a long finger into the entrance of the maze, whence it began to move quickly along the convoluted paths, occasionally hesitating, avoiding a dead end, then hurrying on again with greater certainty.
“No,” he said, “it’s Manders. I feel completely sure of that.”
Teal watched with fascination the progress of the Saint’s finger through the maze.
“Can you prove it?”
“I think so. Aren’t you going to ask what Bast told me when we left the party?”
“Of course. I was just trying to think...”
“No need to overtax yourself, Claud. I have evidence.”
Simon’s forefinger slid victoriously around the last corners of the maze and emerged from the exit gate, ignoring the bit of dried cheese which waited there as a reward. Then it reached, in combination with his thumb, into his shirt pocket and pulled out the letter, which Teal eagerly read.
Almost before he finished the last line, the chief inspector was starting to gather his legs under him to stand up, but the Saint restrained him with a firm hand and a cautionary look.
“Don’t jump the gun, dear old bloodhound. One bit of advice first.”
“What?” Teal asked impatiently, partly settling back again.
“Since Manders seems to be tied in with other people in some nefarious scheme, get rid of the other witnesses first, then take him off quietly, and keep him under lock and key and away from any telephones, telegraph offices, or outside contacts for as long as you can. Don’t tell the newspapers about him. We don’t know what Manders was involved in, but it would seem wise to avoid changing the plans of anybody connected with him.”
“What kind of plans?” Teal asked.
He was eyeing the maze, its challenge distracting his thoughts from more important business. His right forefinger made a tentative move toward the entrance and then hopped back to his paunch like a cautious bird.
“Any kind of plans,” Simon answered impatiently. “You don’t want to tip off Manders’ buddies that he’s been pinched; otherwise they may just fold their tents and silently steal away before you can sweat their names and addresses out of him.”
“Bast didn’t tell you anything about thus ‘T’ who signed the letter, or what it was all about?”
“Sorry. He didn’t have a chance.”
“It could stand for Templar,” Teal said, with chronic dubiety.
“Or Teal?” responded the Saint goodhumoredly. “Shall we call it a stand-off?”
Teal did not answer immediately. He had just succumbed to temptation. His pudgy finger, a good inch shorter than the Saint’s, lunged at the entrance of the maze and barged down the first aisle.