Free Prelude for War by Leslie Charteris

smeary individual with a lock of hair
plastered down over his forehead, said
ingratiatingly: “He might ‘ve been a heavy
sleeper.”
    “From the evidence,
that seems to be the only reasonable explanation,”
said the coroner firmly. “Thank you, Mr Luker.”
    General Sangore and his
wife briefly corroborated what had been told before. They
had been wakened by the fire alarms, they left the
house, and it was not until later that they
realized that Kennet was missing. Lady Valerie gave evidence
of being rescued by Captain Knightley and of being
the first to notice that Kennet was not outside. The chauffeur
gave evidence of having met Luker on the drive and
of having gone back to call the fire brigade. He had had
a lot of difficulty in getting through, and consequently had been detained too long to see much of what went on at the house.
    None of these witnesses
were questioned. The black- bearded juryman,
temporarily discouraged, had relapsed into frustrated scowling.
    The coroner shuffled his
papers again with an air of returning equanimity. No
doubt he was feeling that he had now got the situation well in hand.
    “Next witness,
please.”
    “Simon Templar,”
called the sergeant.
     
    III
    How Simon Templar Drove to
London,
    and General   Sangore   Experienced   an
    Impediment in His Speech
     
    T HERE was a stir of excitement in the press seats as Simon Templar
walked up on to the platform and took the oath. Even
if the party from Whiteways had failed to recognize his
name, there was no such obtuseness among the reporters. The Saint had provided them with too many good stories in the past for them to forget him, and their air of profes sional boredom gave way to a sudden and unexpected alertness. A
subdued hum of speculation swept over them and spread
to one or two other parts of the room where the name
had also revived recollections. The black-bearded little
juryman sat forward and stared.
    While Simon was taking the
oath, he noticed that the coroner was poring intently
over a scrap of paper which had somehow come into his
hands. When he raised his eyes from it, they came to rest on the Saint with a
new wariness. He folded the note and tucked it away
in his breast pocket without shifting his gaze;
and his manner became very brisk again.
    “I understand, Mr
Templar, that you arrived on the scene of the fire some time
after it had started.”
    “I have no idea,”
said the Saint carefully. “I only saw it
a very short time before I got there. And I was there in
time to hear Lady Valerie say that Kennet was missing.”
    The coroner rubbed his
chin. He seemed to be weighing his words with particular
circumspection.
    “Then you went into
the house to try to get him out.”
    “Yes.”
    “In what condition was
the house when you entered it? I mean, how far had the
fire progressed?”
    “The whole place was
blazing,” Simon answered. “It was
worst in the part which I now gather was called the west wing. There was fire
in the hall, and the stairs had begun to burn. Part of the
passage I had to go down to reach Kennet’s room was
also alight.”
    “I take it that with
all that fire there would be a great deal of smoke and
fumes.”
    “There was quite a
bit.”
    “I understand that
you were quite—er—groggy when you came out.”
    “Only for a moment. It
passed off very quickly.”
    “But I take it that if
you had stayed in the house any longer than you did, you
would inevitably have been over come by the smoke and
fumes and lost consciousness.”
    “I suppose so,
eventually.”
    “To look at you, Mr
Templar, one would certainly get the impression that your
physical condition was exception ally good.”
    “I’ve always got
around all right.”
    There was a pause. The
coroner turned to the jury.
    “Mr Templar modestly
tells us that he gets around all right,” he stated.
“You can see for yourselves that he has the
build and bearing of an unusually strong and athletic man.
You will therefore agree that