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closely, and realised that Nulland was simultaneously studying him. The
youngster was a mass of undisciplined nerves under his flaccid posturing, and
the inane cliches which made up ninety per cent, of his dialogue came
pattering out so noisily at the slightest lull in the general talk that Simon
wondered why he was so afraid of silence.
Teal noticed it too.
What do you think? he asked the Saint.
They were alone together for a moment after dinner- Lord Ripwell was
telephoning the local Inspector, and Nulland had taken Martin Irelock out to
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admire some new gadget he had had fitted to his car.
He s frightened, said the Saint carefully. But I don t know that it would
take much to frighten him. Maybe he doesn t want to be blown up.
Mr. Teal sucked at his after-dinner ration of spearmint. He was letting
himself become temporarily resigned to the irregularity of his position. After
all, there was nothing else that he could do about it. The house was Lord
Ripwell s, and the case was more or less Lord Ripwell s: if Lord Ripwell
wanted the Saint to stay with him, that was Lord Ripwell s business and nobody
else s. Even the Assistant Commissioner, Teal tried to tell himself with more
confidence than he actually felt, could have found no flaw in the transparent
logic of the argument. Therefore, proceeded Chief Inspector Teal, brilliantly
scoring all the points in this pleasant imaginary debate with the spectre of
his superior officer, since the Saint had to be accepted, it was simply an
obvious stroke of masterly and unscrupulous cunning to pick his brains for any
help they could be induced to yield.
That fellow had something on his mind, said the detective, astutely
pursuing this Machiavellian plan.
If you could call it a mind, said the Saint, docilely surrendering the
fruits of his cerebration.
Teal screwed up a scrap of pink paper in his pudgy fingers.
I suppose he d come into all Ripwell s money, if a bomb went off as it was
meant to.
Don t forget he d come into all Mrs. Ellshaw s money as well-and mine, said
the Saint, with the utmost kindness. And I ll bet he d need it all. There s a
beautiful motive in that, waiting for some bright detective to dig it out,
Claud. I expect Ripwell gives him a perfectly miserly allowance, don t you?
Ripwell strikes one as that sort of man.
Mr. Teal s mouth tightened-he was an amiable man in most ways, but he had a
train of memories behind him which were apt to start a quite unreasonably
truculent inflammation in his stout bosom when the Saint smiled at him so
compassionately and said things which made him feel that his legs were being
playfully lengthened. He might even have responded with fatal rudeness, if he
had had time to compose a sufficiently crushing retort; but Lord Ripwell
joined them again before this devastating gem of repartee was polished to his
mordant satisfaction.
Inspector Oldwood will be over in ten minutes, said his lordship. He s
bringing some ammunition for my gun-I wish I knew where the damned thing was.
He went to the french window that opened on to the garden at the side, and
peered out. Hey, Martin!
It was nearly dark outside, and the air had turned cool directly the sun went
down. Simon Templar, lighting one of Lord Ripwell s cigars by the mantelpiece,
wondered if that seasonable evening chill was enough to account for the way
Kenneth Nulland seemed to be shivering when he came in behind the secretary.
Martin, where is that damned revolver? I haven t seen it for months.
I think it s in the loft, said Irelock. Shall I have a look for it
tomorrow?
Tomorrow? repeated Ripwell, screwing up his face like a disappointed
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schoolboy. Eh? What? I want it now. Suppose this gang comes back tonight?
Nonsense. What s the matter with looking for it now?
Right-ho, said Irelock peaceably. I ll look for it now.
Right-jolly-old-ho, echoed Nulland, peeling himself off the edge of the
table in his undulating boneless way. And I must be tootling along. Cheerio,
Pop. Sorry I can t stay
longer, but jolly old Jumbo Ferris is always complaining about me being late
for his parties. Toodle-oo, Martin-------
Mr. Teal cleared his throat.
Just a minute, Mr. Nulland, he said. There are one or two small questions
you might be able to help us with before you go.
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