“This isn’t my pipe, Esteban,” he breathed in the entrepreneur’s ear. “Shall we adjourn to your private office, or would you like bits of your sacroiliac all over the joint?”
Esteban said nothing. He led the way, with the Saint walking apparently arm in arm with him, and Pat still chattering on the other side.
“—and I am going to write to my mother, Mr Esteban, and tell her what a romantic place you—”
“Now we can wash this up,” the Saint said.
He closed the door behind them. Esteban stood very still.
“What do you expect this to get you, Mr Templar?”
“A peek in your safe,” said the Saint softly.
“The safe is locked.”
“This is still the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Sacroiliacs,” Simon reminded him. “The safe can be unlocked.”
“You wouldn’t dare to shoot!”