The Saint laid his hand on Hoppy’s shoulder in an accolade.
“Nothing escapes your eagle eye, does it?”
“Oh, I got experience in dis line, boss,” Mr Uniatz acknowledged deprecatingly. “Once I do a job on a mug’s car wit’ a stick of dynamite wired to de starter. De whole mob says it’s one of de biggest laughs I ever give dem.”
The Saint surveyed his work with an artist’s satisfaction.
“That water grounded to the radiator should lend some authority even to 110 volts — especially if he’s in his stockinged feet.” He turned, picking up the wire, knife, and tape, and headed back towards his bedroom. “Let’s grab some shut-eye while we can. It’ll be daybreak in a few hours.”
Chapter five
It was two hours later when he opened his eyes, instantly and completely awake, with every nerve alive and singing. He lay motionless save for the silent closing of his fingers on the gun at his side, every sense toned to razor keenness, straining to receive consciously whatever it was that had alerted him. From the next bed Hoppy’s snoring rose and fell in majestic rhythm, its pipe-organ vibrato accompanied by a piccolo phrase with every exhalation...
Then he heard it — a faint scratching of metal — and recognised it instantly.
A skeleton key was probing the front door lock.
He was out of bed and on his feet in one smooth soundless motion, and laying a hand on Hoppy’s mouth. The snoring ceased abruptly; Simon swiftly spoke in his ear, and Hoppy’s groggy eruption died aborning. He relaxed, and the Saint removed his hand.