The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

Cautiously, as well as he could without attracting at­tention, the Saint tested his bonds. The process did not take him long. His expert tests soon proved that the rop­ing had been done by a practised hand. It remained, therefore, to depend on the loyalty of Slinky Dyson. And how much was that worth? In an interval in the game he caught Dyson's eye. Slinky's expression did not change, but Simon found something reassuring in that unpromis­ing fact.

For a quarter of an hour the game continued, and then Slinky wiped his mouth with a soiled handkerchief.

'This is a thirsty job,' he complained.

'Ain't it?' agreed Budd. 'Would you like a drink?'

'Not 'arf. Is there anything?'

Budd nodded.

'I'll see if I can find something. You keep your eyes skinned for Templar, see?'

'You bet I will.'

Budd rose and went out, leaving the door open, and Simon listened without speaking as the sound of the man's heavy footsteps faded up the stairs.

A moment later he found Dyson beside him.

'I don't want to hustle you,' said the Saint easily, 'but if you've nothing else to do at the moment——'

Dyson swallowed.

'If Budd comes back and catches me at this I'm a goner,' he said.

He had opened a murderous-looking jackknife, and Simon felt the ropes loosen about his arms and legs as Dyson slashed clumsily at them. Then, beyond the sound of Dyson's laboured breathing, he heard Budd coming back. Slinky gave a little grunt of panic.

'You'll see I'm all right, Mr. Templar, won't you?'

'Sure,' said the Saint.

He stood up and swiftly untwisted the loose cords that held him and dropped them on the floor.

Pinky Budd saw him standing up free beside the table, and very carefully he put down the tray he was carrying.

'So that's the idea!' breathed Budd.

'It is,' said the Saint gently. 'And now we're going to have a fight, aren't we?'

Dyson was still holding the murderous jackknife, but the Saint pushed him smoothly aside.

'You can put that away,' he said. 'This is a vegetarian party. Fairly vegetarian, anyway. I'm going to give Pinky beans, and— Oh, don't go yet, Pinky!'

Budd had made a dive for the door. The key was still in the lock, and if he had brought off the manoeuvre he might have been able to get outside and lock the door behind him. But the Saint was a shade quicker. The table was between him and Budd, but he hurled it aside as if it had been made of cardboard, and caught Budd's hand as it went to the lock.

Budd dropped the key with a scream of pain. He tried to kick, but Simon dodged neatly.

Then he pushed Budd away so that the man went reel­ing across the room, and the Saint picked up