The Saint Closes the Case (36 page)

Simon stood where he was.

“I saved your life, Prince Rudolf,”
he answered, in a voice
like a whip-lash, “because I had nothing
against you. But
now I have something against you, and I may take your
life
for it before the end of the day.”

The Prince shrugged delicately.

“At least,” he remarked,
“while we are discussing that point,
you might ask your
friend to put away his weapons. They
distress me.”

Captain Gerald Harding leaned comfortably
against the
wall, and devoted one of his distressing weapons entirely
to
the Prince.

“I’m not Templar’s friend,” he said.
“I’m a humble member of the British Secret Service, and I was sent here to
get Vargan
. I didn’t arrive in time to save Vargan, but I seem to
have
got here in time to save something nearly as valuable. You’re
late, Your
Highness!”

19. How Simon Templar went to his lady,

and Norman Kent answered the trumpet

For a moment there was an utter silence; and
then Marius
began to speak rapidly in his own language.

The Prince listened, his eyes narrowing. Apart
from that
attentive narrowing of the eyes, neither his attitude nor
his expression changed at all. The man had an inhumanly sleek
superiority
to all ordinary emotion.

Simon made no attempt to interrupt Marius’s
recital. Some
one had to explain the situation; and, since Marius had
as
sumed the job, Marius might as well go on with it. The interval would
give the Saint another welcome breather. And the
Saint relaxed against
his barricade and took out his ciga
rette-case, and began to tap a
cigarette thoughtfully against
his teeth.

Then the Prince turned to him, and spoke in
his sleek, vel
vety voice.

“So! I begin to understand. This man
caught you, but you
came to an agreement when you found that you were at least
united against me. Is that right?”

“But what a brain Your Highness
has!” murmured the Saint.

“And he has ended the armistice in his
own way without
giving you notice?”

“I’m afraid so. I think he got some sort
of stag fever when
he saw the papers. Anyway, he forgot the spirit of the
Eton
Boating
Song.”

“And you have no influence with
him?”

“None.”

“But your friend”—the Prince
indicated Norman Kent—
“has the papers?”

“And I’ve got the friend,” said
Harding cheerfully. “So what do you all do about it?”

In that instant he stood absolutely alone,
dominating the
situation; and they all looked at him. He was young, but
he
had the spirit, that boy. And the Saint understood that Hard
ing could
not have helped breaking his parole, even where an older man might have
hesitated.

And then Harding no longer stood alone; for
in the next
instant Norman Kent had usurped the limelight with a com
pelling
movement of his hand that drew every eye.

“I should like to have something to say
about this,” said
Norman Kent.

His voice was always low and measured. Now it
was quieter
than
ever, but every syllable was as sure as a clarion.

“I have the papers,” he said,
“and Captain Harding has me.
Perfectly true. But there is one thing
you’ve all overlooked.”

“What is that?”

It was the Prince who spoke; but Norman Kent
answered to
them all. He took one glance out of the window, at the
sun
light and the trees and the green grass and a clump of crimson dahlias
splashed against the hedge like a wound, and they saw
him smile. And then
he answered.

“Nothing is won without
sacrifice,” he said simply.

He looked across at the Saint.

“Simon,” he said, “I want you
to trust me. Ever since we
came together I’ve done everything you
ordered without ques
tion. We’ve all followed you, naturally,
because you were always our natural leader. But we couldn’t help learning
something from your leadership. I’ve heard how you beat
Marius in
Brook Street last night—by doing the one thing you couldn’t possibly do. And
I’ve heard how Roger used the same principle, and helped us to beat Teal with
it—by doing the one
thing he couldn’t possibly do. It’s my turn now. I think
I must be very clever to-day. I’ve seen how to apply the principle to
this. In
my own way. Because now—here—there is something that no one could do. And I can
do it. Will you follow me?”

And Norman’s dark eyes, with a queer
fanatical light burn
ing in them, met the Saint’s clear sea-blue eyes. For a second’s
tense stillness.
…

Then:

“Carry on,” said the Saint.

Norman Kent smiled.

“It’s easy,” he said. “You’ve
all appreciated the situation,
haven’t you? … We have you, Prince, and
you, Marius, as
hostages;
but you have as a counter-hostage a lady who is very
dear to all but one of us. That in itself would be a deadlock,
even if it were not for Captain Harding and his
guns.”

“You express it admirably,” said
the Prince.

“On the other hand, Captain Harding, who
for the moment .
is in command, is in a very awkward situation. He is by
far the
weakest party in a three-cornered fight. Whether the fact that
you hold a
friend of ours as a hostage would weigh with him
is open to doubt.
Personally, I doubt it very much. He’s never
met the lady—she’s
nothing more than a name to him—and
he has to do what he believes to be his duty. Moreover, he
has
already given us an example of the way in
which his sense of
duty is able to
override all other considerations. So that we
are in a very difficult predicament. As Englishmen, we are
bound to take his part against you. As mere men, we
would
rather die than do anything to
endanger the lady whom you
have in
your power. These two motives alone would be com
plication enough. But there’s a third. As the Saint’s friends,
who hold to his ideals, we have set ourselves to
accomplish
something that both you and
Captain Harding would do anything to prevent.”

“You could not have made a more concise
summary,” said
the Prince.

Again Norman Kent smiled.

“So you will agree that the deadlock
only exists because we
are all trying to win without a
sacrifice,” he said. “And the
answer is—that the
situation doesn’t admit of a victory without sacrifice, though there are
plenty of means of surrender without the sacrifice of more than honour. But we
dislike
surrenders.”

He took from his pocket three sheets of paper
closely written
in a small, neat hand, folded them carefully, and held them
out.

“Captain Harding—you may take
these.”

“Norman! Damn you——
”

The Saint was crossing the room. His mouth was
set in a
hard line, and his eyes were as bleak as an arctic sky.
But
Norman Kent faced him without fear.

“You agreed to let me handle this, Saint.”

“I never agreed to let you surrender.
Sooner than that——
”

“But this isn’t surrender,” said
Norman Kent. “This is vic
tory. Look!”

Harding was beside him. Norman turned, the
papers loosely
held in his fingers. And Norman looked straight at Roger
Conway.

“Roger,” he said slowly, “I
think you’ll understand. Take
the papers, Harding!”

Harding dropped one gun into his pocket, and
snatched.
…

And then the Saint understood.

Harding was, as Norman had said, alone among
many
enemies. And for a moment he had only one automatic
with which
to hold them all. The gun was aimed at Roger Conway, who was nearest; but in
order to take the papers
Harding had to glance away at right angles to
his line of aim, towards Norman Kent and the Saint. Just for a sufficient
moment.

And Norman let go the papers as Harding
touched them;
but then, instead of going back, his hand went forward. It
had closed upon Harding’s wrist in a flash, fastened there like a
vice. And
it jerked—one sudden heave into which Norman
put all the strength
at his command.

The gun in Harding’s hand exploded once; but
the shot smacked harmlessly up into the ceiling. For Roger Conway
had
understood in time. He had pounced on Harding’s left
hand and wrenched away
the automatic in the instant of time
that was given him; and he had the
Prince safely covered
with it even as Gerald Harding, yanked off
his balance by
Norman Kent’s superhuman effort, stumbled slap into the
Saint’s left.

It was all over in a split second, before
either the Prince
or Marius could have realised what was happening and taken
advantage of it.

And then Roger’s gun was discouraging the
movement of
the hand towards the hip that Marius had started too
late; and Norman Kent, white to the lips with the agony his supreme
attempt had
cost him, was leaning weakly against the arm of the sofa. And Gerald Harding
was stretched out on the floor
like a log, with the Saint stooping over him
and collecting the
second automatic with one hand and the fallen papers with
the other.

“That looks better,” said Roger
Conway contentedly.

But Norman Kent had not finished.

He was saying, through clenched teeth:
“Give me back those
papers, Simon!”

The Saint hesitated, with the sheets crumpled
in his hand.

“But——
”

“At once!” rang Norman’s voice
imperatively. “You’ve
trusted me so far, and I haven’t let you
down. Trust me a little
more.”

He took the papers almost by force, and
stuffed them into
his pocket. Then he held out his hand again.

“And that gun!”

Simon obeyed. It would have been impossible to refuse. For
once, the Saint was not the leader. Perhaps the
greatest thing
he ever did in all his
leadership was to surrender it then, as he
surrendered it, without jealousy and without condescension.

But Norman Kent was a man inspired. His
personality,
which had always been so gentle and reserved, flamed in
the ,
room then like a dark fire.

“That’s the first thing,” said
Norman. “And there are only
two things more.”

The Prince had not moved. Nothing in those few
momen
tous and eventful seconds had provoked the faintest ripple on
the
tranquil surface of his self-control. He still stood in the position he had
taken up when he first entered the room—
perfectly at his ease,
perfectly calm, perfectly impassive,
smoothing his wisp of moustache. Suave
and imperturbable,
he waited without any visible exertion of patience for the
fer
ment to subside and the embroiled items of it to settle down
into their
new dispositions. It was not until he appeared satis
fied that they had
done so that he spoke, with the tiniest of
smiles curving his
lips.

“Gentlemen,” he remarked, “you
do not disappoint me. I
have heard much about you, and seen a little.
The little I have
seen tells me that the much I have heard may not be
greatly
exaggerated. If you should ever wish to forsake your careers
of crime,
and take service with a foreigner, I should be
delighted to engage
you.”

“Thanks,” said Norman curtly.
“But this is not a crime. In
our eyes, it’s a far, far better thing
than you will ever do. We’ll
waste no more time. Prince, do you agree that
the situation
has
been simplified?”