The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

He found himself in a kind of attic, lumbered with boxes and odds and ends of broken furniture. It had one cobwebbed window, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through; but Simon squeezed through it and emerged on the leads. At that point, from where he stood with his heels in the gutter, leaning back against the tiles of the roof with a sixty-foot drop in front of him, the flat roof of Donnell's house, with a high embrasured wall running round it and a kind of penthouse in the centre, was about six feet below him, and still fourteen feet away. But it was in the convenient position of not being over­looked by any of the windows from which his attack was likely to be watched for.

The Saint bent his knees and braced himself. He tested the strength of the gutter, found it firm, and without further hesitation launched himself into space.

He cleared the wall and landed on the flat concrete of Donnell's roof, stumbling forward and saving himself with his hands. Then he picked himself up and released the safety catch of his automatic.

He circumnavigated the penthouse warily. It was square and solidly built, with narrow barred windows, and had obviously been designed as a point of vantage from which any attempt to reach the house over the roofs could be repelled. On that occasion, however, the possi­bility seemed to have been overlooked, for no shots came from it to greet him.

He worked his way round it and came to a massive door faced with iron. There was no handle on the outside, and the Saint tried to open it without success.

He gave up the task after a few seconds, and went and looked over the wall down the face of the building.

There was a window directly below him, about six feet down, at the point where he had chanced to look over. He climbed up on the wall and looked down at it, consider­ing the lie of the land.