Follow the Saint

know. And they were probably more valuable than anything you could have done for me.'

The blurry resonance of the other's voice was nearly normal again. He moved firmly over to the table on which the tray of drinks stood.

'I'm going to prescribe myself a whisky and soda,' he said.

Simon fixed it for him. Quintus took the glass and sat down gratefully on the edge of a chair. He rubbed a hand over his dishevelled head as though trying to clear away the lingering remnants of fog. He had washed his face and hands, but the darkening patches of red stain on his clothing were still gruesome reminders of the man who had not come down.

'I'm sorry I was so useless, Mr Templar,' he said heavily. 'Did you find anything ?'

'Not a thing.' The Saint's straightforwardness sounded completely ingenuous. 'Mr Chase must have been taken out of the window—I climbed down from there myself, and it was quite easy. I walked most of the way round the house, and nothing happened. I didn't hear a sound, and it was too dark to see anything.'

Quintus looked across at the girl.

'There isn't anything I can say, Miss Chase. I can only tell you that I would have given my own right hand to prevent this.'

'But why?' she said brokenly. 'Why are all these things happening? What is it all about? First Nora and then— Jim. . . . And now my father. What's happened to him? What have they done with him ?'

The doctor's lips tightened.

'Kidnapped, I suppose,' he said wretchedly. 'I suppose everything has been leading up to that. Your father's a rich man. They'd expect him to be worth a large ransom—large enough to run any risks for. Jim's death was . . . well, just a tragic accident. He happened to run into one of them in the corridor, so he was murdered. If that hadn't confused them, they'd probably have murdered me.'

'They?' interposed the Saint quickly. 'You saw them, then.'

'Only one man, the one who hit me. He was rather small, and he had a handkerchief tied over his face. I didn't have a chance to notice much. I'm saying 'they' because I don't see how one man alone could have organized and done all this. ... It must be kidnapping. Possibly they were trying to force or bribe Nora to help them from the inside, and she was murdered because she threatened to give them away.'

'And they tried to kill me in case she had told me about the plot.'

'Exactly.'

Simon put down the stub of his cigarette and searched for a fresh one.

'Why do you think they should think she might have told me anything?' he inquired.

Quintus hesitated expressionlessly. He drank slowly from his glass, and brought his cavernous black eyes back to the Saint's face.

'With your reputation—if you will forgive me—finding you on the scene . . . I'm only theorizing, of course——'

Simon nodded good humouredly.

'Don't apologize,' he murmured. 'My reputation is a great asset. It's made plenty of clever crooks lose their heads before this.'

'It must be kidnapping,' Quintus repeated, turning to the girl. 'If they'd wanted to harm your father, they could easily have done it in his bedroom when they had him at their mercy. They wouldn't have needed to take him away. You must be brave and think about that. The very fact that they took him away proves that they must want him alive.'

The Saint finished chain-lighting the fresh cigarette and strolled over to the fireplace to flick away the butt of the old one. He stood there