The Saint Closes the Case (37 page)

The Prince inclined his head.

“I saw you simplify it.”

“And
you say that if we
give you these papers”—Norman
Kent touched his pocket—“we may
leave at once, without
hindrance?”

“That was my offer.”

“Have we any assurance that you’ll stand
by it?”

The thin eyebrows went up in expostulation.

“I have given my word.”

“And apart from that?”

“If the word of a gentleman is not
enough for you, may I
point out that I have twenty-five men
here—some in the gar
den, some inside the house on the other side
of the door which
Mr. Templar has so adroitly barricaded, and some on the
river. I
have but to give the signal—they have but to hear my
voice——
” The
sentence ended in a significant shrug. “You
are at my mercy. And,
after you have given up the papers,
what reason could there be for me to
detain you further? And, in any case, why should I trouble to offer terms at
all, if I did
not remember the service you once did me? It is true that
Mr.
Templar has refused to shake hands with me, but I bear him
no malice
for that. I may be able to understand his feelings.
I have already said
that I regret the circumstances. But it is
the fortune of war. I
make the most generous compromise I
can.”

“And yet,” said Norman Kent, “I
should like to be sure that
there can be no mistake. I have the papers.
Let my friends
go, with the girl, in the car that’s waiting outside. I’ll
under
take that they won’t warn the police, or come back to attack
you; and
I’ll stay here myself, as a hostage, to give you the
papers half an hour
after they’ve left. For that half-hour, you
and Marius must remain
here as security for the safe-conduct
of my friends—at the end of this
gun.”

“Highness!”

Marius spoke, standing stiffly to attention.

“Highness, need we have more of this
parleying? A word to
the men——
”

The Prince raised his hand.

“That is not my way, Marius. I owe these
gentlemen a debt.
And I accept their terms, strange as they seem.” He
turned
back to Norman. “But I need hardly add, sir, that if I find
any cause
to suspect you of treachery, I shall consider the
debt cancelled.”

“Of course,” said Norman Kent.
“That is quite fair.”

The Prince stepped to the window.

“Then, if you will permit me——
”

He stood in the opening and beckoned, and two
men came running. Inside the room, they pocketed their automatics and
saluted.

The Prince addressed them briefly, and they
saluted again.
Then he turned and spoke again in English, with a graceful
gesture of his
sensitive hands.

“Your car is waiting, gentlemen.”
   

Both Roger and the Saint looked at Norman
Kent puzzledly, doubtfully, almost incredulously; but Norman only smiled.

“Don’t forget that you promised to trust
me,” he said. “I
know you think I’m mad. But I was never saner
in my life. I have found the only solution—the only way to peace with
honour.”

Still Simon Templar looked at him, trying to
read what was
not to be read.

It tore at his heart to leave Norman Kent
there like that.
And he couldn’t make out what inspiration Norman could be
acting on. Norman couldn’t possibly mean the surrender.
That
couldn’t possibly be called peace with honour. And
how Norman could see
any way out for himself, alone, hurt
and lame as he was … But Norman
seemed to be without doubt or fear—that was the only thing that could be read
in
his face, that supernatural confidence and contentment.

And the Saint himself could see no way out,
even for the
three of them together. The Prince held all the cards.
Even if
Patricia had been in no danger, and they had shot the Prince
and Marius
and stood the siege, they must inevitably have
been beaten. Even if
they had made up their minds to sell
their lives in the achievement of their
purpose… . But Nor
man had not the air of a man who was facing
death.

And the Prince’s men held Patricia, even as
Marius had held
her the night before. But the same methods could not pos
sibly be
applied this time.

Yet the Saint pleaded: “Won’t you let me
stay, son? I do
trust you, but I know you’re wounded——
”

Norman Kent shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“I shall be carried out of here
in state.”

“When do we see you?” asked Roger.

Norman gazed dreamily into the distance, and
what he saw
there seemed to amuse him.

“I shall be some time,” he said.

And he turned to the Prince.

“May I write a short note?”

“I remind you,” said the Prince,
“that you remain here as a guarantee of the good behaviour of your
friends.”

“I agreed to that,” said Norman.
“Give me a pen and paper,
Roger.”

And once again Marius tried to intervene.

“Highness, you are trusting them too far!
This can only be
a treachery. If they meant what they said, why should
there
be any need for all this——
”

“It is their way; Marius,” said the
Prince calmly. “I admit
that it is strange. But no matter. You should
be a more
thorough psychologist, my friend. After what you have seen
of them can you believe that two of them would leave the
third to
face his fate alone while they themselves escaped? It
is absurd!”

Norman Kent had scribbled one line. He
blotted it care
fully, and folded the sheet.

“And an envelope, Roger.”

He placed the sheet inside and stuck down the
flap.

Then he held out his hand to Roger Conway.

“Good luck, Roger,” he said.
“Be good.”

“All the best, Norman, old man.”

They gripped.

And Simon was speaking to the Prince.

“It seems,” said Simon, “that
this is
au revoir,
Your High
ness!”

The Prince made one of his exquisitely
courteous gestures.

“I trust,” he replied, “that it
is not
adieu.
I hope to meet
you again in better days.”

Then the Saint looked at Marius, and for a
long time he held
the
giant’s eyes. And he gave Marius a different good-bye.

“You, also,” said the Saint slowly, “I shall meet
again.”

But, behind the Saint, Norman Kent laughed;
and the Saint turned.

Norman stretched out one hand, and the Saint
took it in a
firm grasp. And Norman’s other hand offered the letter.

“Put this in your pocket, Simon, and give
me your word
not to open it for four hours. When you’ve read it, you’ll
know
where you’ll see me again. I’ll be waiting for you. And don’t
worry.
Everything is safe with me. Good hunting, Saint!”

“Very good hunting to you, Norman.”

Norman Kent smiled.

“I think it will be a good run,” he
said.

So Simon Templar went to his lady.

Norman saw Roger and Simon pass through the
window
and turn to look back at him as they reached the garden; and
he smiled again, and waved them
a gay good-bye. A moment
afterwards he heard
the rising drone of the Hirondel and
the
soft crunching of tyres down the drive.

He caught one last glimpse of them as the car
turned into
the road—the Saint at the wheel, with one arm about
Patricia’s
shoulders, and Roger Conway in the back, with one of the
Prince’s
men riding on the running-board beside him. That,
of course, would be
to give them a passage through the guards
at the crossroad.
…

And then they were gone.

Norman sat down on the sofa, feeling curiously
weak. His
leg was
numb with pain. He indicated decanter, siphon, glasses, and cigarette-box with
a wave of his automatic.

“Make yourselves at home,
gentlemen,” he invited. “And
pass me something on
your way. I’m afraid I can’t move. You
ought to stop your
men using soft-nosed bullets, Marius—
they’re dirty things.”

It was the Prince who officiated with the whisky and lighted
Norman a cigarette.

“War is a ruthless thing,” said the
Prince. “As a man I like
and admire you. But as what I am, because you
are against
my country and myself, if I thought you were attempting
to trick me I should kill you without compunction—like that!”
He snapped
his fingers. “Even the fact that you once helped
to save my life could not extenuate your
offence.”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” asked
Norman, rather tiredly.

He sipped his drink, and the hands of the
clock crawled
round.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Fifteen.

The Prince sat in an armchair, his legs
elegantly crossed with
a proper regard for the knife-edge crease in
his trousers. In
one hand he held a glass; with the other he placidly
smoked
a cigarette through a long holder.

Marius paced the room like a caged lion. From
time to time
he glanced at Norman with venom and suspicion in his
slitted
gaze, and seemed about to say something; but each time he
checked
himself and resumed his impatient promenade—until the Prince stopped him with a
languid wave of his cigarette-
holder.

“My dear Marius, your restlessness disturbs me. For Heaven’s
sake practise some self-control.”

“But, Highness——
”

“Marius, you repeat yourself. Repetition
is a tedious vice.”

Then Marius sat down.

The Prince delicately stifled a yawn.

Harding, on the floor, groaned, and roused as
if from a deep
sleep. Norman leaned over and helped him to come to a sitting
position. The youngster opened his eyes slowly, rubbing
a tender
jaw muzzily. He would never know how the Saint
had hated having to
strike that blow.

Norman allowed him to take in the situation as
best he
could. And he gave him a good look at the automatic.

“Where are the others?” asked
Harding hazily.

“They’ve gone,” said Norman.

In short, compact sentences he explained what
had hap
pened.

Then he addressed a question to the Prince.

“What is Captain Harding’s position in
this affair?”

“If he does not allow his sense of duty to over-ride his dis
cretion,” answered the Prince carelessly,
“we are no longer
interested in
him.”

Harding scrambled unsteadily to his feet.

“But I’m damned well interested in
you!” he retorted. And
he turned to Norman with a dazed and desperate
entreaty.
“Kent—as an Englishman—you’re not going to let these
swabs——
”

“You’ll see in seven minutes,” said
Norman calmly.

Harding wavered before the level automatic in
Norman’s
hand. He cursed, raved impotently, almost sobbed.

“You fool! You fool! Oh,
damn
you!
… Haven’t you
any decency? Can’t you see——
”

Norman never moved, but his face was very
white. Those
few minutes were the worst he had ever spent. His leg was
throbbing
dreadfully. And Harding swore and implored,
argued, pleaded,
fumed, begged almost on his knees, lashed
Norman Kent with
words of searing scorn… .

Five minutes to go.

Four… . three … two
…

One minute to go.

The Prince glanced at the gold watch on his
wrist, and extracted the stub of a cigarette from his long holder with fas
tidious
fingers.