The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

The grimly brilliant scheme that he had elaborated was toppling down like a house of cards. . . .

But Jill Trelawney only laughed.

"Now we have our talk, don't we?" she said; and Lord Essenden seemed to shiver—but that might have been due to nothing but the draught from the French windows which his guards had left ajar when they went out.

By the windows stood the Saint.

"The boys are coming back," he said. "This time, I think, a gun might save trouble."

He stepped over to Essenden, lifted the automatic from Essenden's pocket, and retired to the cover of a bookcase which projected in such a way that it would hide him from the view of anyone entering by the windows.

"And if you'll just take Essenden for a walk," he drawled, "I'll give a yodel when the collection is complete. It's a bit late in the year, but you might find some mistletoe somewhere——"

"O.K., Big Boy."

Simon watched Essenden removed; and leaned back against the wall with the peer's gun swinging lightly in his hand.

Voices spoke outside the windows. The voice of Red Harver, booming above the others, said: "A plant, that's what it was——"

And the voice stopped short, on the threshold of the room, it seemed to Simon; and the other voices died down also.

Then Flash Arne spat an unprintable word.

Keld yapped: "He couldn't've got outa those ropes—not by hisself, he couldn't——"

"There's the rope there on the floor where he was," Ganning hissed derisively. "I suppose he just melted and trickled through it and froze again on the other side."

"Don't talk soft," snarled Harver. "We know Albert George was a liar. One of his pals has been in here while we were outside——"

"Quate," said the Saint apologetically. "Oh, quate!"

Harver whipped round, his fists doubling; but the automatic in the Saint's hand discouraged him. It discouraged Ganning, who was renowned for his slick-ness on the draw, and Flash Arne, who knew some tricks of his own; and it discouraged Matthew Keld, that vio­lent but efficient rope expert.

"Sorry," said the Saint, without regret, "but it's a cop as George said."

Red Harver, peering savagely at him, recognized him by his voice.

"You——"

"Oh, no," said the Saint in distress. "Never. I hate sit­ting with my back to the engine."

He herded the four men into a convenient corner, in his briskly persuasive way, and raised his voice to Jill. Lord Essenden came through the door first, and Ganning drew in his breath sharply; but the mystery was solved when Jill Trelawney followed.