"A very neat piece of work, if I may say so, Fred," he remarked. "Not so original as it might have been, perhaps, but new enough. It's very kind of you to have worked so hard for me."
"What are you going to do?" asked Mr. Tillson weakly.
Simon took the packet out of his hands.
"Relieve you of this encumbrance, brother. It's a very pretty bracelet, but I don't think you could wear it. People might think it was rather odd."
"I'll have the police on to you for this, you —"
Simon raised his eyebrows. "The police? To tell them that I've stolen your bracelet? But I understood your bracelet was in the mail, on its way to your little girl in Paris? Can I be mistaken, Alfred?"
Mr. Tillson swallowed painfully; and then Happy Fred jumped up.
"Damn the police!" he snarled. "I'll settle with this bluffer. He wouldn't dare to shoot —"
"Oh, but you're quite wrong about that," said the Saint gently. "I shouldn't have any objection to shooting you if you asked for it. It's quite a long time since I last shot anyone, and I often feel afraid that if I abstain for too long I may get squeamish. Don't tempt me, Fred, because I'm feeling nervous enough already."
But the Saint's blue eyes were as steady as the gun in his hand, and it was Happy Fred's gaze that wavered.