Mancini’s sad eyes suddenly widened as he stared over the Saint’s shoulder, apparently at something behind him.
Simon rather resented that. It implied a lack of respect for his experience, reading background, and common intelligence that was slightly insulting. However he was accommodating enough to start to turn and look in the indicated direction. It was only a token start, and he reversed it so quickly that Mancini’s hand was still inches from his shoulder holster when the Saint’s left exploded against his lantern jaw.
Simon caught the toppling body before it folded and lowered it noiselessly to the carpet.
Mr Uniatz kicked it carefully in the stomach for additional security.
“De noive of de guy,” he said. “Tryin’ a corny trick like dat. Whaddas he t’ink we are?”
“He’ll know better next time,” said the Saint. “But now I suppose we’ll have to open our own doors—”
Blam!
The stunning crash of a heavy-calibre pistol smashed against their eardrums and sent them diving to either side of the hallway.
The Saint lay there, gun at the ready, waiting. The shot had come from the room ahead, where they’d heard the voices, but he noticed that the door was still shut... Seconds passed... A weak moan, muffled by the closed door, punctuated the silence.
Simon signalled Hoppy with a lift of his chin, and they stood up again and advanced noiselessly. He motioned Hoppy back into the shadows as they reached the door. Then he turned the knob, kicked the door open, and stayed to one side, out of reach of possible fire.