The movement brought him right up to Harry Donell, who stood with his revolver lowered to the full length of a loose arm. There was only the width of Weald's body between them.
Simon relaxed his hold suddenly and dropped Weald unceremoniously to the floor; and then he hit Donnell accurately on the joint of the jaw.
Donnell went down, and the Saint was on him in a flash, wrenching the revolver out of his hand.
And then, as the Saint rose again, he laughed—a laugh of sheer delight.
'You know, Jill, the only real trouble about this game of ours is that it's too darned easy,' he said; and there was a new note in his voice which she had never heard before, that made her look at him in a strange puzzlement and surprise.
3
But still for a moment the Saint seemed egotistically oblivious of every angle on the situation except his own. The gun he had taken covered Harry Donnell, who was crawling dazedly up to his feet; and the Saint had backed away to the table and was propping himself against it. His cigarette case clicked open, and a cigarette flicked into his mouth; his lighter flared, and a cloud of smoke drifted up through the gloom; he had his own private satisfaction. And Jill Trelawney said: 'I suppose I ought 'to thank you ...'
The Saint tilted his head.
'Why?' he inquired blankly.
'You know why.'
Simon shrugged—an elaborate shrug.
'I hope it will be a lesson to you,' he said solemnly. 'You must be more careful about the company you keep. Oh, and thanks for helping me to get Harry,' said the Saint incidentally. 'What made you do that?'
She looked at him.
'I thought it might go a little way towards settling the debt.'
'So that we could start fighting again—all square? . . . Yes, I should think we can call it quits.'
'I suppose you'd like to take my gun?'
'Please.'
She was fumbling in her bag, and the Saint was not watching her. He was smoking his cigarette and beaming with an infuriating smugness at Harry Donnell. About two seconds ago, his own weird intuition had raised an eyelid and wrinkled a thin hairline of clairvoyant light across his brain; and he knew exactly what was going to happen. There was just one little thing left that had to happen before the adventure took the twist that it had always been destined to take. And the Saint was not bothered about it at all, for he had his immoral views on these matters of private business. He had taken no further notice of Weald since he had dropped him to the floor. He had not even troubled to search Weald's pockets. And when he turned his head at the sound of the shot, he saw the automatic half-out of Weald's pocket, and the man lying still, and turned again to smile at another gun.
'Don't move,' said Jill Trelawney quietly, and the Saint shook his head.
'Jill, you really mustn't commit murder in the presence of respectable policemen. If it happens again——'
'Never mind that,' said the girl curtly.
'Oh, but I do,' said the Saint.
