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.And there are three hundred and twenty pages of it eighty thousand wordsof continuous and unbridled insult.For a thing like that, Herbert, I thinkfifty thousand pounds is pretty cheap.""You could'n get it," said Parstone harshly."It's the author's liability ""I know that clause," answered the Saint coolly, "and you may be interested toknow that it has no legal value what-ever.In a successful libel action, theauthor, printer, and publisher are joint tort-feasors, and none of them canin-demnify the other.Ask your solicitor.As a matter of fact," he addedprophetically, "I don't expect I shall be able to recover anything from theauthor, anyway.Authors are usually broke.But you are both the printer andpublisher, and I'm sure I can collect from you."Mr.Parstone stared at him with blanched lips."But fifty thousad pouds is ibpossible," he whined."It would ruid be!""That's what I mean to do, dear old bird," said the Saint gently."You've goneon swindling a lot of harmless idiots for too long already, and now I want youto see what it feels like when it happens to you."He stood up, and collected his hat."I'll leave you the book," he said, "in case you want to entertain yourselfsome more.But I've got another copy; and if I don't receive your cheque bythe first post on Friday morning it will go straight to my solicitors.And youcan'tt kid yourself about what that will mean."For a long time after he had gone Mr.Herbert Parstone sat quivering in hischair.And then he reached out for the book and began to skim through itspages.And with every page his livid face went greyer.There was no doubtabout it.Simon Templar had spoken the truth.The book was the most monumentallibel that could ever have found its way into print.Parstone's brain reeledbefore the accumulation of calumnies which it unfolded.His furious ringing of the bell brought his secre-tary running."Fide me that proof-reader!" he howled."Fide be the dab fool who passed thisbook!" He flung the volume on to the floor at her feet."Sed hib to be atwuds! I'll show bib.I'll bake hib suffer.By God, I'll "Page 51 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThe other things that Mr.Parstone said he would do can-not be recorded insuch a respectable publication as this.His secretary picked up the book and looked at the title."Mr.Timmins left yesterday he was the man you fired four months ago," shesaid; but even then Mr.Parstone was no wiser.VIIIThe Noble SportsmanIt would be difficult to imagine two more ill-assorted guests at a countryhouse party than Simon Templar and Chief In-spector Teal.The Saint, ofcourse, was in his element.He roared up the drive in his big cream and redsports car and a huge camel-hair coat as if he had been doing that sort ofthing for half his life, which he had.But Mr.Teal, driving up in the ancientand rickety station taxi, and alighting cum-brously in his neat serge suit andbowler hat, fitted less successfully into the picture.He looked more like abuilder's foreman who had called to take measurements for a new bathroom,which he was not.But that they should have been members of the same house party at all was themost outstanding freak of cir-cumstance; and it was only natural that one ofthem should take the first possible opportunity to inquire into the motives ofthe other.Mr.Teal came into the Saint's room while Simon was dressing for dinner, andthe Saint looked him over with some awe."I see you've got a new tie," he murmured."Did your old one come undone?"The detective ran a finger round the inside of his collar, which fitted as ifhe had bought it when he was several years younger and measured less thaneighteen inches around the neck."How long have you known Lord Yearleigh?" he asked bluntly."I've met him a few times," said the Saint casually.He appeared to be speaking the truth; and Mr.Teal was not greatlysurprised the Saint had a habit of being acquaint-ed with the most unlikelypeople.But Teal's curiosity was not fully satisfied."I suppose you're here for the same reason as I am," he said."More or less, I take it," answered Simon."Do you think Yearleigh will bemurdered?""You've seen the anonymous letters he's been receiving?""Some of 'em.But lots of people get anonymous threatening letters withoutgetting a Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard sent down as a private pet.""They aren't all M.P.'s, younger sons of dukes, and well-known influentialmen," said the detective rather cynically."What do you think about it?""If he is murdered, I hope it's exciting," said the Saint callously."Poisonis so dull.A hail of machine-gun bullets through the library window would berather diverting, though.What are you getting at, Claud are you tryingto steal my act or are you looking for an alliance?"Mr.Teal unwrapped a wafer of chewing gum and stuck it in his mouth, andwatched the Saint fixing buttons in a white waistcoat with a stolid air ofdetachment that he was far from feeling.It was sometimes hard for him tore-member that that debonair young brigand with the dangerous mouth andhumorous blue eyes had personally murdered many men, beyond all practicaldoubt but equally beyond all pos-sibility of legal proof; and he found it hardto remember then
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