The Saint Closes the Case

weapons. They distress me.'

Captain Gerald Harding leaned comfortably against the wall, and devoted one of his distressing weapons entirely to the Prince.

'I'm not Templar's friend,' he said. 'I'm a humble member of the British Secret Service, and I was sent here to get Var­gan. I didn't arrive in time to save Vargan, but I seem to have got here in time to save something nearly as valuable. You're late, Your Highness!'

19. How Simon Templar went to his lady, and Norman Kent answered the trumpet

For a moment there was an utter silence; and then Marius began to speak rapidly in his own language.

The Prince listened, his eyes narrowing. Apart from that attentive narrowing of the eyes, neither his attitude nor his expression changed at all. The man had an inhumanly sleek superiority to all ordinary emotion.

Simon made no attempt to interrupt Marius's recital. Some­one had to explain the situation; and, since Marius had as­sumed the job, Marius might as well go on with it. The inter­val would give the Saint another welcome breather. And the Saint relaxed against his barricade and took out his ciga­rette-case, and began to tap a cigarette thoughtfully against his teeth.

Then the Prince turned to him, and spoke in his sleek, vel­vety voice.

'So! I begin to understand. This man caught you, but you came to an agreement when you found that you were at least united against me. Is that right?'

'But what a brain Your Highness has!' murmured the Saint.

'And he has ended the armistice in his own way without giving you notice?'

'I'm afraid so. I think he got some sort of stag fever when he saw the papers. Anyway, he forgot the spirit of the Eton Boating Song.'

'And you have no influence with him?'

'None.'

'But your friend'—the Prince indicated Norman Kent— 'has the papers?'

'And I've got the friend,' said Harding cheerfully. 'So what do you all do about it?'

In that instant he stood absolutely alone, dominating the situation; and they all looked at him. He was young, but he had the spirit, that boy. And the Saint understood that Hard­ing could not have helped breaking his parole, even where an older man might have hesitated.

And then Harding no longer stood alone; for in the next instant Norman Kent had usurped the limelight with a com­pelling movement of his hand that drew every eye.

'I should like to have something to say about this,' said Norman Kent.

His voice was always low and measured. Now it was quieter than ever, but every syllable was as sure as a clarion.

'I have the papers,' he said, 'and Captain Harding has me. Perfectly true. But there is one thing you've all overlooked.'

'What is that?'

It was the Prince who spoke; but Norman Kent answered to them all. He took one glance out of the window, at the sun­light and the trees and the green grass and a clump of crimson dahlias splashed against the hedge like a wound, and they saw him smile. And then he answered.

'Nothing is won without sacrifice,' he said simply.

He looked across at the Saint.

'Simon,' he said, 'I want you to trust me. Ever since we came together I've done everything you ordered without ques­tion. We've all followed you, naturally, because you were always our natural leader. But we couldn't help learning something from your leadership. I've heard how you beat Marius in Brook Street last night—by doing the one thing you couldn't possibly do. And I've heard how Roger used the same principle, and helped us to beat Teal with it—by doing the one thing he couldn't possibly do. It's my turn now. I think I must be very clever to-day. I've seen how to apply the principle to this. In my own way. Because now—here—there is something that no one could do. And I can do it. Will you follow me?'

And Norman's dark eyes, with a queer fanatical light burn­ing in them, met the Saint's clear sea-blue eyes. For a second's tense stillness. ...

Then:

'Carry on,' said the Saint.

Norman Kent smiled.

'It's easy,' he said. 'You've all appreciated the situation, haven't you? . . . We have you, Prince, and you, Marius, as hostages; but you have as a counter-hostage a lady who is very dear to all but one of us. That in itself would be a deadlock, even if it were not for Captain Harding and his guns.'

'You express it admirably,' said the Prince.

'On the other hand, Captain Harding, who for the moment . is in command, is in a very awkward situation. He is by far the weakest party in a three-cornered fight. Whether the fact that you hold a friend of ours as a hostage would weigh with him is open to doubt. Personally, I doubt it very much. He's never met the lady—she's nothing more than a name to him—and he has to do what he believes to be his duty. Moreover, he has already given us an example of the way in which his sense of duty is able to override all other considerations. So that we are in a very difficult predicament. As Englishmen, we are bound to take his part against you. As mere men, we would rather die than do anything to endanger the lady whom you have in your power. These two motives alone would be com­ plication enough. But there's a third. As the Saint's friends, who hold to his ideals, we have set ourselves to accomplish something that both you and Captain Harding would do any­thing to prevent.'

'You could not have made a more concise summary,' said the Prince.

Again Norman Kent smiled.

'So you will agree that the deadlock only exists because we are all trying to win without a sacrifice,' he said. 'And the answer is—that the situation doesn't admit of a victory with­out sacrifice, though there are plenty of means of surrender without the sacrifice of more than honour. But we dislike surrenders.'

He took from his pocket three sheets of paper closely written in a small, neat hand, folded them carefully, and held them out.

'Captain Harding—you may take these.'

'Norman! Damn you——'

The Saint was crossing the room. His mouth was set in a hard line, and his eyes were as bleak as an arctic sky. But Norman Kent faced him without fear.

'You agreed to let me handle this, Saint.'

'I never agreed to let you surrender. Sooner than that——'

'But this isn't surrender,' said Norman Kent. 'This is vic­tory. Look!'

Harding was beside him. Norman turned, the papers loosely held in his fingers. And Norman looked straight at Roger Conway.

'Roger,' he said slowly, 'I think you'll understand. Take the papers, Harding!'

Harding dropped one gun into his pocket, and snatched. ...

And then the Saint understood.

Harding was, as Norman had said, alone among many enemies. And for a moment he had only one automatic with which to hold them all. The gun was aimed at Roger Conway, who was nearest; but in order to take the papers Harding had to glance away at right angles to his line of aim, towards Norman Kent and the Saint. Just for a sufficient moment.

And Norman let go the papers as Harding touched them; but then, instead of going back, his hand went forward. It had closed upon Harding's wrist in a flash, fastened there like a vice. And it jerked—one sudden heave into which Norman put all the strength at his command.

The gun in Harding's hand exploded once; but the shot smacked harmlessly up into the ceiling. For Roger Conway had understood in time. He had pounced on Harding's left hand and wrenched away the automatic in the instant of time that was given him; and he had the Prince safely covered with it even as Gerald Harding, yanked off