'So you were going to kill Lady Valerie and blame it on to me,' he said with great gentleness. 'That was as far as we'd got, wasn't it ? The Sons of France avenge the murder of one of their sympathizers, and all sorts of high-minded nitwits wave banners. Do you see any good reason why you shouldn't take some of your own medicine ?'
'You daren't do it!' said Bravache whitely. 'The Sons of France will make you pay for my death a hundred times!'
Dumaire's face was yellow with fear. Simon took him by the scruff of the neck and heaved him over to the window. He parted the curtains and pointed downwards.
'I suppose you came here in a car,' he said. 'Which of those cars is yours?'
The man shook like a leaf but did not answer.
Simon turned him round and hit him in the face. He held him by the lapels of his coat and brought him back to the window.
'Which of those cars is yours?'
'That one,' blubbered Dumaire.
It was a small black sedan, far more suitable for the transport of unwilling passengers than the open Hirondel.
Simon released his informant, who tottered and almost fell when the Saint's supporting grip was removed. The Saint lighted another cigarette and spoke to Peter.
'You can use their car. Take them to Upper Berkeley Mews.'
He looked up to find Hoppy Uniatz' questioning eyes upon him. There were times when Mr Uniatz had a tendency to fidget, and these times were usually when he felt that a very obvious and elementary move had been delayed too long. It was not that he was a naturally impatient man, but he liked to see things disposed of in the order of their importance. Now he grasped hopefully for the relief of the problem that was uppermost in his mind.
'Is dat where we give dem de woiks, boss?'
'That's where you give them the works,' said the Saint. 'Will you come outside for a minute, Peter?'
He took Peter out into the hall and gave him more detailed instructions.
'Did you hear enough while you were waiting to convince you that I haven't been raving?' he said.
'I always knew you couldn't be,' Peter said sombrely, 'because you sounded so much as if you were. I'm damned if I know how you do it, but it always seems to be the way.'
'You'll see it through?'
'No,' said Peter. 'I'm going home to my mother.' His face was serious in spite of the way he spoke. 'But aren't you taking an unnecessary risk with Bravache and friend? Of course I'm not so bloodthirsty as Hoppy——'
The Saint drew at his cigarette.
'I know, old lad. Maybe I am a fool. But I don't see myself as a gangster. Do it the way I told you. And when you've finished, bring Hoppy back here and let him pick up the Hirondel and drive it down to Weybridge. You can stay in town and wait for developments—I expect there 'll be plenty of them. Okay?'
'Okay, chief.'
Simon's hand lay on Peter's
