Rolfieri licked his lips and squirmed in the tight ropes which bound him—he was a fat man, and they had a lot to bind. Perhaps the glimpse of his well-fed corporation which that movement gave him made him realise some of the inescapable discomforts of penal servitude to the amateur of good living, for his voice was even more half-hearted when he spoke again.
'I have not so much money in England,' he said.
'You have a lot more than that in England,' answered the other Naccaro harshly. 'It is deposited in the City and Continental Bank under the name of Pierre Fontanne; and we have a cheque on that bank made out ready for you. All we require is your signature and a letter in your own hand instructing the bank to pay cash. Be quick and make up your mind, now—we are losing patience.'
It was inevitable that there should be further argument on the subject, but the outcome was a foregone conclusion.
The cheque was signed and the letter was written; and Domenick Naccaro handed them over to his brother.
'Now you will let me go,' said Rolfieri.
'We will let you go when Alessandro returns with the money,' said Domenick Naccaro. 'Until then, you stay here. Maria will look after you while I go back to the farm and detain Templar.'
The Saint did not need to hear any more. He went back to the kitchen with soundless speed, and let himself out of the window by which he had entered. But before he left he picked up a trophy from a shelf over the sink.
Domenick Naccaro reached the farmhouse shortly after him, and found the Saint reading a newspaper.
'Rolfieri has-a marry Maria,' he announced triumphantly, and kissed the Saint on both cheeks. 'So after all I keep-a da secret of my leedle trick wis-a da soap. But everyting we owe to you, my friend!'
'I guess you do,' Simon admitted. 'Where are the happy couple?'
'Ha! That is-a da romance. It seems that Signor Rolfieri was always fond of Maria, and when he hear that she have-a da baby, and he see her again—
They spent a convivial morning, which Simon Templar would have enjoyed more if caution had not compelled him to tip all his drinks down the back of his chair.
It was half-past one when a car drew up outside, and a somewhat haggard Rolfieri, a jubilant Alessandro Naccaro, and a quietly smiling Maria came in. Domenick jumped up.
'Everything is all right?' he asked.
'Pairfect,' beamed Alessandro.
That was as much as the Saint was waiting to hear. He uncoiled himself from his chair and smiled at them all.
'In that case, boys and girls,' he drawled, 'would you all put up your hands and keep very quiet?'
There was an automatic in his hand; and six eyes stared at it mutely. And then Domenick Naccaro smiled a wavering and watery smile.
'I tink you make-a da joke, no?' he said.
'Sure,' murmured the Saint amiably. 'I make-a da joke. Just try and get obstreperous, and watch me laugh.'
He brought the glowering Alessandro towards him and searched his pockets. There was no real question of anybody getting obstreperous, but the temptation to do so must have been very near when he brought out a sheaf of new banknotes and transferred them one-handed to his own wallet.
