set and the blue in his eyes was icy as he glanced over the group.
'A ladder wouldn't be much use now,' said a quiet voice. 'The flames are pouring out of his window. There isn't a hope.'
It was the square-jawed man who spoke; and again it seemed to Simon that there was a faint sneer in his dark eyes.
The Saint's gaze turned back to the house; and as if to confirm what the other had said there came from the blaze a tremendous rumbling rending sound. Slowly, with massive deliberation, the roof began to bend inwards, sagging in the middle. Faster and faster it sagged; and then, with a shattering grinding roar like an avalanche, it crumpled up and vanished. A great shower of golden sparks shot upwards and fell in a brilliant rain over the lawns and garden.
'You see?' said the square man. 'You did everything you could. But it's lucky you turned back when you did. If you had reached his room, the chances are that you'd never have got back.'
Simon's eyes slanted slowly back to the heavy-set powerful face.
It was true that there was nothing more that he could do. But now, for the first time since the beginning of those last mad minutes, he could stop to think. And his mind went back to the chaotic questions that had swept through it for one vertiginous instant back there in the searing stench of the fire.
'But I did reach his room,' he answered deliberately. 'Only I couldn't get in. The door was locked. And the key wasn't in it.'
'Really?'
The other's tone expressed perfunctory concern, but his eyes no longer held their glimmer of cold amusement. They stared hard at Simon with a cool, analytical steadiness, as if weighing him up, estimating his qualities and methodically tabulating the information for future reference.
And once more that queer tingle of suspicion groped its way through the Saint's brain. Only this time it was more than a vague, formless hunch. He knew now, beyond any shadow of doubt, with an uncanny certainty, that he was on the threshold of something which his inborn flair for the strange twists of adventure was physically incapable of leaving unexplored. And an electric ripple of sheer delight brought every fibre of his being to ecstatic life. His interlude of peace was over.
'Really,' he affirmed flatly.
'Then perhaps you were even luckier than you realize,' said the square man smoothly. If he meant to give the words any extra significance, he did it so subtly that there was no single syllable on which an accusation could have been pinned. In point of time it had only lasted for a moment, that silent and apparently unimportant exchange of glances; and after it there was nothing to show that a challenge had been thrown down and taken up. 'If we can offer you what hospitality we have left—I'm sure Mr Fairweather ——'
The Saint shook his head.
'Thanks,' he said, 'but I haven't got far to go, and I've got a suitcase in the car.'
'Then I hope we shall be seeing more of you.' The square man turned. 'I suppose we should get along to the lodge, Sir Robert. We can't be any more use here.'
'Harrumph,' said the general. 'Er—yes. A splendid effort, young man. Splendid. Ought to have a medal. Harrumph.'
He allowed himself to be led away, rumbling.
Mr Fairweather grasped the Saint's hand and pumped it vigorously up and down. He had recovered what must have been his normal tremendous dignity, and now he was also able to make himself heard.
