He proved this by applied pressure, with one hand gagging Frankie, though the audience could not see that.
It took three more holds, each a little more agonising than the last, with Frankie trying desperately to escape, while none of his putative allies dared lift a finger to help him because Kearney was watching.
“So we’ve got her. Let go!”
“Where?”
“Second floor. Room by the stairs — uh!”
“Front or back?”
“Back—”
“Thank you, Frankie,” Simon said, and his hands moved swiftly.
He jumped up. Frankie did not.
“He’s fainted,” the Saint gasped in well-simulated alarm. “It may be his heart... Get a doctor!”