The Saint vs Scotland Yard (The Holy Terror)

'Good morning,' said the Saint.

Patricia half turned. She could not help herself—the expres­sions on the faces of the two men in front of her were far too transparently heartfelt to leave her with any mistrust that they were part of a ruse to put her off her guard.

But the result of her movement was the same; for as she turned her eyes away, the smallest part in the cast had his moment. He awoke out of his groping comatosity, saw his chance, and grabbed it with both fists.

The automatic was wrested violently out of the girl's hands, and she was thrown stumbling back into the Saint's arms. And the Saint's gentle smile never altered.

He passed Patricia to one side, and cocked a derisive eye at the gun that was turned against him. And with no more heed for it than that, he continued on towards the desk.

'So nice to see you again,' he said.

 

Chapter IX

Kuzela rose lingeringly to his feet.

There was a perceptible pause before he gained control of the faculty of speech. The two consecutive smacks that had been jolted into the very roots of his being within the space of the last forty seconds would have tottered the equilibrium of any man—of any man except, perhaps, the Saint himself. . . . But the Saint was not at all disturbed. He waited in genteel silence, while the other schooled the flabby startlement out of his face and dragged up his mouth into an answering smile.

'My dear young friend!'

The voice, when Kuzela found it, had the same svelte tim­bre as before, and Simon bowed a mocking compliment to the other's nerve.

'My dear old comrade!' he murmured, open-armed.

'You have saved us the trouble of fetching you, Templar,' Kuzela said blandly. 'But where is Ngano?'

'The Negro Spiritual?' The Saint aligned his eyebrows ban­teringly. 'I'm afraid he—er—met with a slight accident.'

'Ah!'

'No—not exactly. I don't think he's quite dead yet, though he may easily have strangled himself by this time. But he hasn't enjoyed himself. I think if the circumstances had been reversed, he would have talked,' said the Saint, with a glacial inclemency of quietness.

Kuzela stroked his chin.

'That is unfortunate,' he said.

And then he smiled.

'But it is not fatal, my friend,' he purred. 'The lady has already solved one problem for us herself. And now that she is here, I am sure you would do anything rather than expose her to the slightest danger. So let us return to our previous con­versation at once. Perhaps the lady will tell us herself where she went to when she drove away from here?'

Simon put his hands in his pockets.

'Why, yes,' he said good-humouredly. 'I should think she would.'

The girl looked at him as if she could not quite believe her ears. And Simon met her puzzled gaze with blue eyes of such a blinding Saintly innocence that even she could read no entice­ment to deception in them.

'Do you mean that?' she asked.

'Of course,' said the Saint. 'There are one or two things I shouldn't mind knowing myself.'

Patricia put a hand to her head.

'If you want to know—when I left here I drove straight to—'

'Buckingham Palace,' drawled the Saint. 'And then?'

'I had the bags taken up to Beppo's room, and I saw him myself. He was quite wide awake and sensible. I told him I was coming back here to get you out, and said that if I wasn't back by four o'clock, or one of us hadn't rung him up, he was to get in touch with Teal. I gave him Teal's private number. He didn't want me to go at all, but I insisted. That's all there is to tell. I picked up a puncture on the second trip out here, and that held me up a bit ——'