Knight Templar, or The Avenging Saint

steadfast and inde­feasible against the storm. And the climax had come when, at the end of narrative and cross- examination, the crazy young man had laid his gun on the table and invited the millionaire to take his choice— Saltham or Scotland Yard....

'Come on, 'snapped Roger.

He was already out of the car, and Lessing fol­lowed blindly. Roger had his finger on the bell be­side the gate when Lessing caught up with him— Lessing was not built for speed. He stood beside his guide, breathing heavily, and they watched a window light up in the cottage that served for a lodge. A grumbling figure came through the gloom to the other side of the gates.

'Who is that?'

'A message for the prince.''

'He is not here.'

'I said from the prince. Open quickly, fool!'

A key grated in the massive lock, and, as the gate swung open on creaking hinges, Roger slipped through in a flash. The muzzle of his gun jabbed into the man's ribs.

'Quiet,' said Roger persuasively.

The man was very quiet.

'Turn round.'

The gatekeeper obeyed. Roger reversed his gun swiftly, and struck accurately with the butt and in­tent to do enduring damage.. . .

'Hurry along, please,' murmured Roger brisk­ly.

He went padding up the drive, and Sir Isaac Lessing plodded after him short-windedly. It was a long time since the millionaire had taken any exer­cise of this sort; and his palmiest athletic days were over, anyway; but Roger Conway hustled him along mercilessly. Having hooked his fish, accord­ing to the Saint's instructions, he meant to keep it on the line; but he was in no mood to play it with a delicate hand. He had never seen Isaac Lessing in his life before, and his first glimpse of the man had upset all his expectations, but he had a fundamen­tal prejudice against the Petroleum Panjandrum which could not be uprooted merely by discovering that he neither lisped nor oleaginated.

The drive cut straight to the front door of the house, and Roger travelled as straight as the drive, his automatic swinging in his hand. He did not pause until he had reached the top of the steps, and there he waited an impatient moment to give Lessing a chance. Then, as the millionaire set the first toiling foot on the wide stone stair, Roger pressed the bell.

He braced himself, listening to the approach of heavy footsteps down the hall, as Lessing came panting up beside him. There was the sound of two bolts socketing back; then the rattle of the latch; then, as the door opened the first cautious inch, Roger hurled his weight forward. . . .

The man who had opened the door looked down the snout of the gun; and his hands voyaged slowly upwards.

'Turn round,' said Roger monotonously. . .

As he brought the gun butt back into his hand he found the millionaire at his elbow, and surprised a certain dazed admiration in Lessing's crag-like face.

'I wish I had you in my office,' Lessing was saying helplessly. 'You're such a very efficient young man, Mr.— er—Conway —'

'I'm all of that,' agreed an unsmiling Roger.

And then he heard a sound in the far corner of the hall, and whipped round to see an open door and a giant blocking the doorway. And Roger laughed.

'Angel Face!' he breathed blissfully. 'The very man. . . . We've just dropped in to see you, Angel Face!'

2

MARIUS STOOD perfectly still—the automatic that was focussed on him saw to that. And Roger Conway walked slowly across the hall, Lessing behind him.

'Back into that room, Angel Face!' The giant turned with a faint shrug, and led the way into a richly furnished library. In the centre of the room he turned again, and it was then that he first saw Lessing in the full light. Yet the wide, hideous face remained utterly impassive—only the giant's hands expressed a puzzled and faintly cyni­cal surprise.

'You, too, Sir Isaac? What have you done to in­cur our friend's displeasure?'

'Nothing,' said Roger sweetly. 'He's just come along for a chat with you, as I have. Keep your hands away from that desk, Angel Face—I'll let you know when we want to be shown the door.'

Lessing took a step forward. For all his bulk, he was a square-shouldered man, and his clean­shaven jaw was as square as his shoulders.

'I'm told,' he said, 'that you have, or have had, my fiancee—Miss Delmar—here.'

Marius's eyebrows went up.

'And who told you that, Sir Isaac?'

'I did,' said Roger comfortably. 'And I know it's true, because I saw her brought here—in the ambulance you sent to take her from Upper Berk­eley Mews, as we arranged you should.''

Marius still looked straight across at Lessing.

'And you believed this story, Sir Isaac?' he in­quired suavely; and the thin, soft voice carried the merest shadow of pained reproach.

'I came to investigate it. There were other circumstances ——'

'Naturally there are, Sir Isaac. Our friend is a highly competent young man. But surely—even if his present attitude and behavior are not sufficient to demonstrate his eccentric character—surely you know who he is?'

'He was good enough to tell me.'

The giant's slitted gaze did not waver by one millimetre.

'And you still believed him, Sir Isaac?'

'His gang has a certain reputation.'

'Yes, yes, yes!' Marius fluttered one vast hand. 'The sensational newspapers and their romantic nonsense! I have read them myself. But our friend is still wanted by the police. The charge is—mur­der.'

'I know that.'

'And yet you came here with him—volun­tarily?'

'I did.'

'You did not even inform the police?'

'Mr. Conway himself offered to do that. But he also pointed out that that would mean prison for himself and his friend. Since they'd been good enough to find my fiancee for me, I could hardly offer them that reward for their services.'

'So you came here absolutely unprotected?'

'Well, not exactly. I told my butler that unless I telephoned him within three hours he was to go to the police.'

Marius nodded tolerantly.

'And may I ask what were the circumstances in which our friend was so ready to go to prison if you refused to comply with his wishes?'

'A war—which I was to be tricked into financ­ing.'

'My dear Sir Isaac!'

The giant's remonstrance was the most perfect thing of its kind that Roger had ever seen or heard; the gesture that accompanied it would have been expressive enough in itself. And it shook Lessing's confidence. His next words were a shade less asser­tive; and the answer to them was a foregone con­clusion.

'You still haven't denied anything, Marius.'

'But I leave it to your own judgment!'

'And still you haven't denied anything, Angel Face,' said Roger gently.

Marius spread out eloquent hands.

'If Sir Isaac is still unconvinced,' he answered smoothly, 'I beg that he will search my house. I will summon a servant —'

'You'll keep your hands away from that bell!'