"I'll get you for this, you swine," was his only printable comment.
"And gag him," said the Saint.
The process was satisfactorily completed under the Saint's expert supervision. Simon had found Mr. Lamantia's cigar-case; and while the knots were being tested he talked and smoked.
"I notice that the welkin hasn't rung with your shrieks for help, Julian. Can it be that you have something on your conscience?.. I'm sorry about all these formalities, but we don't really want a disturbance, and in the heat of the moment you might have been tempted to do something rash which we should all regret. The staff are sure to find you in a year or two, and then you can explain that some pals did this to you for a joke. I'm sure you'll decide that's the best story to tell, but you need a little time to think it over."
He strolled round the room examining the items of Mr. Lamantia's baggage, and eventually chose the smallest bag.
"Is this the one, Peter?"
"That's it."
Simon turned the lock with an instrument he had in his pocket, and glanced inside. The notes were there, in thick bundles, exactly as they had been passed across the counter of the bank. With a sigh of righteous satisfaction the Saint closed the attache case again and picked it up.
"Let's go."
He bowed politely to the speechless man on the bed, replaced the excellent cigar between his teeth, and sauntered to the door. Without a care in the world he opened it — and looked straight into the face of Chief Inspector Claud Eustace Teal.