“The joint is pinched,” he said bluntly. “The Gestapo didn’t stop at me — they checked on you too, since you were Lady Offchurch’s mysterious pal, and they know all about you. Wendel told me. They’ve got both sides of the building covered. Look out the windows if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you,” she said slowly. “But — why?”
“Because Wendel means to catch somebody with the goods on them.”
It was only an involuntary and static reaction, the whitening of her knuckles on the hand that held her purse, but it was all he needed. He said, “You had the imitation necklace today. You pulled the switch tonight. You made a deal, but you kept your fingers crossed.”
“No,” she said.
Now there were heavy feet stumping methodically up the stairway outside.
“You were followed every inch of the way back. They know you haven’t ditched the stuff. They know it has to be here, and they know you can’t get it out. What are you going to do — throw it out of a window? There’s a man watching on both sides. Hide it? They may have to tear the joint to shreds, but they’ll find it. They’ve got you cold.”
“No,” she said, and her face was haggard with guilt.
A fist pounded on the door.
“All right, darling,” said the Saint. “You had your chance. Give me your bag.”