The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

Gugliemi straightened up. 'You have forced your way in here, and if you do not go quickly I will call for the police.'

Simon straightened up also.

'Your ideas of hospitality are deplorable,' he remarked genially. 'But I'm sure you don't mean it. You're just one of these strong men with no trimmings, and you wouldn't be really troublesome for the world, would you?'

A shining automatic had appeared from nowhere in his hand. He flourished it airily, and Gugliemi became aware of an unpleasant sinking feeling.

'I'm not very used to these little toys,' said the Saint mildly, as the gun flourished round and settled down directly opposite the sinking feeling. 'I am a man of peace, though nobody ever seems to believe it. But I understand that if you squeeze these gadgets in the wrong place they go bang and make holes in things. I should be frightfully interested to see if that's true. Do you happen to know, by any chance?' His fingers flickered carelessly over the trigger, and Gugliemi went pale. 'But what's the idea, my little andante capriccioso? A spot of kidnaping? Some of this heavy desert love stuff you've seen on the cine­matografo?'

He waggled his automatic perilously with every ques­tion.

Gugliemi reached behind him, but the Saint was a little quicker. He reached out and caught the Italian's wrist in time, and Gugliemi dropped his gun with a yelp of pain. Simon pushed him away and picked it up.

'And what are your views,' asked the Saint conversationally, 'on the subject of supralapsarianism? They should be valuable. Only a few hours ago——'

'All right,' snarled Gugliemi. 'I find you Mees Tre­lawney. Only put that gun away.'

'Not till I know you aren't going to pull any more slapstick comedy, sweetheart,' said the Saint. 'Where is she?'

'Upstairs.'

'Dear—me!' The automatic nuzzled again into Gug­liemi's fancy waistcoat. 'I hope you haven't been forgetting your manners?'

'I will show you.'

'You certainly will,' said the Saint pleasantly. 'But I'm afraid that if you have been forgetting your manners, I shall be forced to do things to you which will be not only painful, but permanently discouraging . . . Lead on, Rudolph.'

Gugliemi led on, and the Saint followed him into the upper room. He saw the light that came to the girl's eyes as he entered, and bowed to her with a laugh— the en­trance happened too obviously upon its cue, and anything like that was bliss and beauty for the Saint, who was nothing if not melodramatic. And he turned again to the Italian.

'Remove the whatnots,' he ordered operatically.

Gugliemi bent shakily to obey. The straps fell from the girl's wrists, then from her ankles.

'And now, Jill, has the specimen behind this tie pin been getting what you might call uppish?'

'He was——'

'Ah-ha!' The Saint revolved his automatic. 'I don't . want to be premature, Antonio, but this looks bad for your matrimonial prospects. If you remember what I was saying just now——'

'But you got here in time,' Jill protested. 'What are you going to do?'

'Oh!' said the Saint, almost reluctantly. 'Hasn't he been really nasty?'

'Not really.'