Follow the Saint

the killer might be watching him from a few yards away, and still to hold his steps down to the same steady pace; but the Saint's nerves were hardened to an icy quietness, and all his senses were working together in taut-strung vigilance.

He walked three-quarters of the way round the building, and arrived at the back door. It was unlocked when he tried it; and he pushed it open and looked down the barrel of Mr Uniatz's Betsy.

'I bet you'll shoot somebody one of these days. Hoppy,' he remarked; and Mr Uniatz lowered the gun with a faint tinge of disappointment.

'What ya find, boss ?'

'Quite a few jolly and interesting things.' The Saint was only smiling with his lips. 'Hold the fort a bit longer, and I'll tell you.'

He found his way through the kitchen, where the other servants were clustered together in dumb and terrified silence, back to the front hall where Rosemary Chase and the butler were standing together at the foot of the stairs. They jumped as if a gun had been fired when they heard his foot­steps ; and then the girl ran towards him and caught him by the lapels of his coat.

'What is it?' she pleaded frantically. 'What happened?'

'I'm sorry,' he said, as gently as he could.

She stared at him. He meant her to read his face, for everything except the fact that he was still watching her like a spectator on the dark side of the footlights.

'Where's Jim?'

He didn't answer.

She caught her breath suddenly, with a kind of sob, and turned towards the stairs. He grabbed her elbows and turned her back and held her.

'I wouldn't go up,' he said evenly. 'It wouldn't do any good.'

'Tell me, then. For God's sake, tell me! Is he——' She choked on the word—'dead ?'

'Jim, yes.'

Her face was whiter than chalk, but she kept her feet. Her eyes dragged at his knowledge through a brightness of un­heeded tears.

'Why do you say it like that ? What else is there ?'

'Your father seems to have disappeared,' he said, and held her as she went limp in his arms.

VIII

 

SIMON CARRIED her into the drawing-room and laid her down on the sofa. He stood gazing at her introspective­ly for a moment; then he bent over her again quickly and stabbed her in the solar plexus with a stiff forefinger. She didn't stir a muscle.

The monotonous cheep-cheep of a telephone bell ringing somewhere outside reached his ears, and he saw the butler starting to move mechanically towards the door. Simon passed him, and saw the instrument half hidden by a curtain on the other side of the hall. He took the receiver off the hook and said: 'Hullo.'

'May I speak to Mr Templar, please ?'

The Saint put a hand on the wall to save himself from falling over.

'Who wants him ?'

'Mr Trapani.'