The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

from his pocket. It bulged. Donnell's eyes fastened on it hungrily.

'A thousand, Donnell. It's all I can spare. I've got to leave myself some money to get clear.'

'Let's see it.'

Feverishly Weald counted out the notes with shaking fingers and put them on the table. Donnell moistened his thumb and counted them deliberately. Then he put them in his pocket.

'That cupboard behind you,' he said. 'The back of it's a sliding door. You'll find some stairs. Go right down. There's a tunnel under the block and the street, and it comes up in the cellar of a house on the other side.'

'But you've got to hold Templar up.'

Donnell struck his chest with a huge fist.

'Me? I'll hold the Saint up. I don't run away from any­one—but you can clear out when you want to. You'd be more trouble than use, anyway.'

Weald swallowed the taunt without a protest.

'All right. As soon as the girl comes back you get out and say you're going to warn your gang. I'll look after the rest.'

Donnell sat down heavily on a truckle bed in one corner. He took a massive revolver from his pocket, spilled the cartridges into his hand, and squinted up the barrel. He spun the cylinder with his fingers, tested the hammer action to his satisfaction, and reloaded the gun method­ically.

'What's the idea?' he asked laconically. 'You sweet on her?'

Weald nodded, with the bottle in his hand.

'That's not the half of it. I've been wanting her for months. I thought I'd do it gradually, working with her and making her like me. But there isn't time for any more fooling about. If the police are going to get me I'm going to get her first. I don't care if it's the last thing I do. Donnell—on the train—she was sneering at me!'

'Anyone would,' said Donnell unemotionally. 'A white-livered rat like you!'

Weald wiped his mouth. The whisky was going to his head.

'I'm not a white-livered rat, Donnell!' he blustered.

'You're a white-livered rat and a yellow cur at the same time,' said Donnell without heat, testing the sights of his Colt on the whisky bottle.

Weald lurched towards him.

'Donnell, you take that back!'

'Don't be a blasted nuisance,' said Donnell im­patiently.

He took Weald's shoulder in a huge hand and pushed him away. Then Jill Trelawney came into the room.

'I've seen all I want to see,' she said. 'Donnell, will you go down and rouse up the boys?'

'I was just going to, Miss Trelawney,' said Donnell heavily.

He went to the door and leered, behind her back, at Weald. Then he went out, and Weald heard him clumping heavily down the stairs.

'I didn't say you were to drink a whole bottle,' re­marked Jill, surveying Weald's unsteady balance.