Prelude For War

'Did you find the photograph?'

'Only a print, mon commandant.'

Marteau nodded and sat back with a rudimentary but sufficient gesture towards Luker; and Luker sat forward.

He clasped his hands on the table in front of him and said quietly, with his eyes fixed passionlessly on the Saint: 'Mr Templar, among the papers which you secured from Lady Valerie there was a photograph and the negative of that photograph. Where is the negative?'

There was a short silence.

'Go on,' said the Saint encouragingly.

'That is all I want you to tell me.'

'But you haven't finished yet. Don't you know the formula ? You have to describe all the hideous things that 'll happen if I don't tell you, and make my blood run cold. The audience expects the thrill.'

Luker's expressionlessness did not change. He answered in the same passionless voice.

'A number of hideous things may happen to you in due course, Mr Templar. But for the present I am not concerned with them. I know quite well that you have a temperament which would probably resist interrogation for a long time; and at the moment time is precious. We shall therefore start with Lady Valerie, whose powers of resistance are certainly less than yours. The Sons of France have an excellent treatment for obstinacy. Unless we are given the informa­tion we require, Lady Valerie will be tied up over there'— Luker pointed with one hand—'and flogged until we do get it.'

The Saint's eyes travelled in the direction indicated by Luker's hand. In the wall to which Luker was pointing there were two iron rings, a yard apart, cemented into the stone about seven feet from the ground. The wall around them was stained a different colour from the rest; and in spite of his jest the Saint felt as if cold fingers crept up his spine.

Lady Valerie looked in the same direction, and her breath caught in her throat.

'But I don't know,' she cried out quiveringly. 'I don't know what happened to the negative. Simon, I don't know what you did with it!'

'That's true,' said the Saint, in a voice of terrible sin­cerity. 'Leave her out of it. She doesn't know. She couldn't tell you, even if you flogged her to death.'

He might as well have appealed to a graven image. Luker was not even interested.

'In that case I hope that your natural chivalry will induce you to spare her any unnecessary suffering,' he said. 'You will of course be allowed to watch the proceedings, so that your sympathies may be fully aroused. A word from you at any time will save her any further—discomfort.' He brought his hands together again with an air of finality. 'Since I understand that you were proposing to marry Lady Valerie, your affection for her should not encourage you to hesitate.'

Simon looked at the girl. She stared back at him, her eyes wide with terrified entreaty.

'Oh, Simon, must I be flogged?' she said faintly.

Her face was white and terror-stricken; her lips trembled so that the words would hardly come out. And yet in a queer way it was plain that she was only asking him to tell her, whatever he might say.

The Saint felt that everything inside him was cold and stiff, as if the rigour of death had already touched him. somehow he kept all weakness out of his face.

He spoke to Marteau in French.

'Monsieur le Commandant, I ask nothing for myself. But you