Alias the Saint Read Online Free PDF

and he guessed that his arrival had been the occasion for a council of war. When they came out of the dining room, however, they walked straight past him without speaking, and ignored his existence. They went upstairs, and none of them even looked back.
    They did not appear again for the rest of the morning; but at about twelve o’clock Detective Duncarry was ushered upstairs by Basher Tope. He was there twenty minutes, and when he came down again he was peeling off his coat and generally conveying the impression of being here to stay. Simon shrewdly surmised that the congregation of the ungodly was now increased by one, but Basher Tope took no notice of the Saint, and led Duncarry round in the direction of the public bar without speaking a word. It must be recorded that Simon Templar took a notably philosophic view of this sudden passion for ignoring his existence.
    He lunched early, and Basher Tope returned exclusively monosyllabic replies to the cheerfully aimless conversation with which Simon rewarded his ministrations. After about the fourth unprofitable attempt to secure the observation of the conversational amenities, the Saint sighed resignedly and gave it up as a bad job.
    After lunch he put on his hat and went out for a brisk walk, for he had decided that there was nothing he could do in broad daylight as long as the whole gang were in the house. With characteristic optimism, he refused to consider what particular form of unpleasantness they might be preparing for his entertainment that night, and devoted himself whole-heartedly to the enjoyment of his exercise. He covered ten miles at a brisk pace, and ended up with a ravenous appetite at the only other ina which the village boasted.
    The proprietor and his wife were clearly surprised by his demand for a meal, but after first being met with the information that they were not prepared to cater for visiting diners, he successfully contrived to blarney them into accommodating him. The Saint thought that that was only a sensible precaution to take, for by that time no one could tell what curious things might be happening to the food at the Beacon.
    He ate simply and well, stood the obliging publican a couple of drinks, and went home about ten o’clock.
    As he approached the Beacon he took particular note of the lighting in the upstairs windows. Lights showed in only two of them, and these were two of the three that had been lighted up on the night he arrived. There were few lights downstairs—since the change of management, the Beacon had become very unpopular. The Saint had gathered the essential reasons for this from his conversation with the villagers in the rival tavern. The new proprietor of the Beacon was clearly running the house not to make money but to amuse himself and entertain his friends, for visitors from outside had met with such an uncivil welcome that a few days had been sufficient to bring about a unanimous boycott, to the delight and enrichment of the proprietor of the George on the other side of the village.
    The door was locked, as before, but the Saint hammered on it in his noisy way, and in a few moments it was opened.
    “Evening, Basher,” said the Saint affably, walking through into the parlour. “I’m too late for dinner, I suppose, but you can bring me a pint of beer before I go to bed.”
    Tope shuffled off, and returned in a few moments with a tankard.
    “Your health. Basher,” said the Saint, and raised the tankard.
    Then he sniffed at it, and set it carefully down again.
    “Butyl chloride,” he remarked, “has an unmistakable odour, with which all cautious detectives make a point of familiarizing themselves very early in their careers. To vulgar people like yourself, Basher, it is known as the knockout drop, and one of the most important objections that I have to it is that it completely neutralizes the beneficial properties of good beer.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with that beer,” growled Basher.
    “Then you may have