hand ? You notice that it's in my coat pocket. I've got you covered with another gun, Bertrand, and I'm ready to bet I can shoot faster than you. If you don't believe me, just start squeezing that trigger.'
Tamblin stood gazing motionlessly at him for a moment; and then his head tilted back and a cackle of hideous laughter came through the slit in the bandages over his mouth.
'Oh, no, Mr Templar,' he crowed. 'You're the one who took too much for granted. You decided that Quintus was a phoney doctor, and so you didn't stop to think that he might be a genuine pickpocket. When he was holding on to you in the corridor upstairs—you remember?—he took the magazines out of both your guns. You've got one shot in the chamber of the gun you've got left, and Quintus has got you covered as well now. You can't get both of us with one bullet. You've been too clever for the last time——'
It was no bluff. Simon knew it with a gambler's instinct, and knew that Tamblin had the last laugh.
'Take your hand out of your pocket,' Tamblin snarled. 'Quintus is going to aim at Rosemary. If you use that gun, you're killing her as surely as if ——'
The Saint saw Tamblin's forefinger twitch on the trigger, and waited for the sharp bite of death.
The crisp thunder of cordite splintered the unearthly stillness; but the Saint felt no shock, no pain. Staring incredulously, he saw Tamblin stagger as if a battering-ram had hit him in the back; saw him sway weakly, his right arm drooping until the revolver slipped through his fingers; saw his knees fold and his body pivot slantingly over them like a falling tree. . . . And saw the cubist figure and pithecanthropoid visage of Hoppy Uniatz coming through the door with a smoking Betsy in its hairy hand.
He heard another thud on his right, and looked round. The thud was caused by Quintus's gun hitting the carpet. Quintus's hands waved wildly in the air as Hoppy turned towards him.
'Don't shoot!' he screamed. 'I'll give you a confession. I haven't killed anyone. Tamblin did it all. Don't shoot me——'
'He doesn't want to be shot, Hoppy,' said the Saint. 'I think we'll let the police have him—just for a change. It may help to convince mem of our virtue.'
'Boss,' said Mr Uniatz, lowering his gun, 'I done it.'
The Saint nodded. He got up out of his chair. It felt rather strange to be alive and untouched.
'I know,' he said. 'Another half a second and he'd 've been the most famous gunman on earth.'
Mr Uniatz glanced cloudily at the body on the floor.
'Oh, him,' he said vaguely, 'Yeah.... But listen, boss— I done it!'
'You don't have to worry about it,' said the Saint. 'You've done it before. And Comrade Quintus's squeal will let you out.'
Rosemary Chase was coming towards him, pale but steady. It seemed to Simon Templar that a long time had been wasted in which he had been too busy to remember how beautiful she was and how warm and red her lips were. She put out a hand to him; and because he was still the Saint and always would be, his arm went round her.
'I know it's tough,' he said. 'But we can't change it.'
'It doesn't seem so bad now, somehow,' she said. 'To know that at least my father wasn't doing all this.... I wish I knew how to thank you.'
'Hoppy's the guy to thank,' said the Saint, and looked at him. 'I never suspected you of being a thought-reader, Hoppy, but I'd give a lot to know what made you come out of the kitchen in the nick of time ?'
Mr Uniatz blinked at him.
