15 The Saint in New York

'You haven't been to the Waldorf?'

'No. I was short of cash, and I was going into the bank first.'

Simon drew a deep breath.

'It's the luckiest thing that ever happened to you that you had business in Pittsburgh,' he said. 'And the next luckiest is that you ran short of cash this morning. Somebody's snitched on us, Bill. When I got into the Waldorf in the small hours of this morning it was full of policemen, and one detachment of 'em is still waiting there for you unless it's starved to death!'

Valcross was staring at him blankly.

'Policemen?' he echoed. 'But how——'

'I don't know, and it isn't much use asking. The Big Fellow did it—apparently he said I was treading on his toes. Since his own mobs hadn't succeeded in getting rid of me, I sup­pose he thought the police might have a try. He's paying their wages, anyway. That needn't bother us. What it means is that you've got to get out of this state like a bat out of hell.'

'But what about you?'

The Saint smiled a little.

'I'm afraid I shall have to wait for my million dollars,' he said. 'I've got five of your men out of six, but I don't know whether I shall be able to get the sixth.'

He told Valcross what had been happening, in terse, crackling sentences pared down to the uttermost parched economy of words. The other's eyes were opening wider from the intervention of Fay Edwards at the last moment of the ride—on through the slaying of Dutch Kuhlmann to the unpleasantness of Mr. Kestry and the amazing reprieve that Fernack had offered. The whole staggering course of those last few hectic hours was sketched out in clipped impression­istic phrases that punched their effect through like a rattle of bullets. And all the while the Saint's eyes were scanning the road and sidewalks, his fingers were curled round the butt of Fernack's gun, his nerves were keyed to the last milligram of vigilance.

'So you see it's been a big night,' he wound up. 'And there isn't much of it left. Fernack's probably wondering already whether I haven't skipped into Canada and left him to hold the baby.'

'And Fay Edwards told you the Big Fellow would be here at nine?' said Valcross.

'Not exactly. She asked me to be here at nine—and she was looking for the Big Fellow. I'm hoping it means she knows something. I'm still hoping.'

'It's an amazing story,' said Valcross thoughtfully. 'Do you know what to make of that girl?'

Simon shrugged.

'I don't think I ever shall.'

'I shall never understand women,' Valcross said. 'I wonder what the Big Fellow will think. That marvellous brain—an organization that's tied up the greatest city in the world into the greatest criminal combine that's ever been known— and a harlot who falls in love with an adventurer can tear it all to pieces.'

'She hasn't done it yet,' said the Saint.

Valcross was silent for a few moments; and then he said: 'You've done your share. You've got five men out of the six names I gave you. In the short time you've been working, that's almost a miracle. The Big Fellow's your own idea—you put him on the list. If you fail—if you feel bound to keep your word and go back to Fernack—I can't stop you. But I feel that you've earned the reward I promised you. I've had a million dollars in a drawing account, waiting for you, ever since you came over. I'd like to give it to you, anyhow. It might be some use to you.'

Simon hesitated. Valcross's eyes were fixed on him eagerly.

'You can't refuse,' he insisted. 'It's my money, and I think it's due to you. No one could have earned it better.'

'All right,' said the Saint. 'But you can pay me in propor­tion. I haven't succeeded—why try to make out that I have?'

'I think I'm the best judge of that,' said Valcross and let himself out of the cab with a quick smile.