The Saint vs Scotland Yard (The Holy Terror)

would be a pity for us to quarrel. We have crossed swords, and you have lost. Let us reach an amicable armistice. You have only to give me a lit­tle information; and then, as soon as I have verified it, and have finished my work—say after seven days, during which time you would stay with me as an honoured guest—you would be as free as air. We would shake hands and go our ways.' Kuzela smiled, and picked up a pencil. 'Now firstly: where has your accomplice gone?'

'Naturally, she drove straight to Buckingham Palace,' said the Saint.

Kuzela continued to smile.

'But you are suspicious. Possibly you think that some harm might befall her, and perhaps you would be unwilling to accept my assurance that she will be as safe as yourself. Well, it is a human suspicion after all, and I can understand it. But suppose we ask you another question. . . . Where is the Duke of Fortezza?' Kuzela drew a small memorandum block towards him, and poised his pencil with engaging expectancy. 'Come, come! That is not a very difficult question to answer, is it? He is nothing to you—a man whom you met a few hours ago for the first time. If, say, you had never met him, and you had read in your newspaper that some fatal accident had overtaken him, you would not have been in the least disturbed. And if it is a decision between his temporary inconvenience and your own promising young life . . .' Kuzela shrugged. 'I have no wish to use threats. But you, with your experience and imag­ination, must know that death does not always come easily. And very recently you did something which has mortally offended the invaluable Ngano. It would distress me to have to deliver you into his keeping. . . . Now, now, let us make up our minds quickly. What have you done with the Duke?'

Simon dropped his chin and looked upwards across the desk.

'Nothing that I should be ashamed to tell my mother,' he said winningly; and the other's eyes narrowed slowly.

'Do I, after all, understand you to refuse to tell me?'

The Saint crossed his left ankle over to his right knee.

'You know, laddie,' he remarked, 'you should be on the movies, really you should. As the strong silent man you'd be simply great, if you were a bit stronger and didn't talk so much.'

For some seconds Kuzela looked at him.

Then he threw down his pencil and pushed away the pad.

'Very well, then,' he said.

He snapped his fingers without turning his head, and one of the two bruisers came to his side. Kuzela spoke without giving the man a glance.

'Yelver, you will bring round the car. We shall require it very shortly.'

The man nodded and went out; and Kuzela clasped his hands again on the desk before him.

'And you, Templar, will tell us where we are going,' he said, and Simon raised his head.

His eyes gazed full and clear into Kuzela's face, bright with the reckless light of their indomitable mockery, and a sardoni­cally Saintly smile curved the corners of his mouth.

'You're going to hell, old dear,' he said coolly; and then the negro dragged him up out of his chair.

Simon went meekly down the stairs, with the negro gripping his arm and the second bruiser following behind; and his brain was weighing up the exterior circumstances with light­ning accuracy.

Patricia had got away—that was the first and greatest thing. He praised the Lord who had inspired her with the sober far­sightedness and clearness of head not to attempt any futile heroism. There was nothing she could have done, and merci­fully she'd had the sense to see it. ... But having got away, what would be her next move?

'Claud Eustace, presumably,' thought the Saint; and a wry little twist roved across his lips, for he had always been the most incorrigible optimist in the world.

So he reached the hall, and there he was turned round, and hustled along towards the back of the house. As he went, he stole a glance at his wrist-watch. . . . Patricia must have been gone for the best part of an hour, and that would have been more than long enough for Teal to get busy. Half of that time would have been sufficient to get Teal on the phone from the nearest call box and have the house surrounded by enough men to wipe up a brigade—if anything of that sort were going to be done. And not a sign of any such developments had interrupted the playing of the piece. . . .

Down from the kitchen a flight of steps ran to the cellar; and as the Saint was led down them he had a vivid apprecia­tion of another similarity between that adventure and a con­cluding episode in the