Read Online The Saint Meets His Match by Leslie Charteris - Free Book Online Page B

platform barrier just as the
guard was blowing his whistle.
    He had no ticket, but such
minor difficulties were never allowed to stand in Simon Templar’s way. Nor
was the ticket collector. Simon picked him.
up and sat him on a convenient luggage trolley, and raced down the platform as the train was gathering way. He opened
the door of the first convenient carriage and swung into it. Looking back through the window, he saw the chase of porters
tailing off breathlessly. They might telephone to Birmingham and prepare
a reception for him there, but that would not take long to deal with.
    Then he turned to inspect
the other occupants of the carriage, whose
flabbergasted comments had been audible behind
him as he looked back out of the window; but the first person he
noticed was not a man in the carriage. It
was a man who happened to be passing down the corridor.
    The Saint strode over a
barricade of legs, odd luggage, and a bird cage, and went down the corridor in
the man’s wake. Coming up sufficiently close
behind him, he trod heavily on the
man’s heels; and Stephen Weald turned with an oath.           
    “What the—— ”
    The exclamation died
suddenly, and Weald’s face went grey as he recognized the offender.
    Simon’s lips twitched
into a little smile of sprightly merriment.
    “So we’re all going to
Birmingham together!”
    Then, with a surprising
abruptness, he turned away into the nearest carriage, where he had already
perceived a vacant seat, and composed
himself to the enjoyment of a
cigarette.
    Weald passed on.   
    A little farther down the corridor was the
compartment in which he and the girl had found places. She looked up as he showed in the doorway, and he gave her an
imper ceptible signal. She came out to join him in the corridor.
    “What is it?”
    “Let’s go to the
dining car,” said Weald. “We shan’t be overheard
there.”
    He led the way, and no
more was said until they were securely ensconced and tea
had been ordered.
    “Well, what is it,
Weald?”
    “The Saint’s on the
train! I’ve just seen him.”
    She stopped in the act of
fitting a cigarette into a holder.
    “The Saint? You’re
dreaming.”
    He shook his head. The
hand with which he offered her a match was shaking.
    “I tell you I saw
him. He spoke to me. He’s in a com partment three
divisions back from ours. I don’t know how he got away, but
he’s done it.”
    The girl’s eyes narrowed.
    “It’s that man
Dyson. Heavens, Templar’s clever! You were listening when he warned me about
Dyson, weren’t you? And we took it just the way the
Saint meant us to take it. Dyson’s done the
double-cross.”
    “And Pinky—— ?”
    “Pinky’s a back
number.”
    The girl admitted the fact
grimly. She was calm about it.
    “Why do you think the
Saint is in this, Jill?”
    “Who knows why the
Saint does anything? You’ve read the stories in the
newspapers—he was pardoned, and now he seems to be
working right in with the police. … But you’re right. This isn’t
like any ordinary racket of the Saint’s.”
    “What are we going to
do?” asked Weald tremblingly.
    “I’ll tell you in a
minute,” she said. “Keep quiet, and don’t
bother me.”
    She drew at her
cigarette, looking out of the window at the
darkening scenery. It was some time before she looked at Weald again.
    Then she said:
    “We go on, of
course!”
    Weald’s mouth fell open.
    “But Templar’s on the
train. I’m not being funny—— ”
    “Neither am I. The Saint’s expecting to
scare us off Donnell, but we aren’t going to be scared. If he’s on the train, we haven’t a way out, anyway. The only
thing for us to do is to go on. We
may be able to deal with him at Donnell’s,
but we can’t here, that’s certain. The train’s packed, and we’d never
get away with it.”
    “He’ll have a posse
at Donnell’s.”
    She laughed, a hard little
laugh.
    “That posse’s another of the Saint’s
fairly tales. I don’t believe a man