Simon Templar's fingers stroked over the cloth, found a crumb of bread and massaged it gradually into a soft round pellet. He stole a casual glance at the girl. Her aloof oval face was pale, but that might have been its natural complexion; her composure was unaltered. Sardon's outburst might never have occurred, and she might never have had to interrupt it. Only the Saint thought that he saw a shadow of fear moving far down in her eyes.
Even after Carmen had left the table, and the room was richening with the comfortable aromas of coffee and liqueur, brandy and cigars, Sardon was still riding his hobbyhorse. It went on for nearly an hour, until at one of the rare lulls in the discussion Nordsten said: "All the same, Doctor, you are very mysterious about what this has to do with your own experiments."
Sardon's hands rested on the table, white and motionless, the fingers spread out.
"Because I was not ready. Even to my friends I should not like to show anything incomplete. But in the last few weeks I have disposed of my uncertainty. Tonight, if you like, I could show you a little."
"We should be honoured."
The flat pressure of Sardon's hands on the table increased as he pushed back his chair and stood up.
"My workshops are at the end of the garden," he said, and blew out the four candles.
As they rose and followed him from the room, Nordsten touched the Saint's arm and said in a low voice: "Are you sorry I Dr.agged you out?"
"I don't know yet," answered the Saint soberly.
The girl Carmen rejoined them as they left the house. Simon found her walking beside him as they strolled through the warm moonlight. He Dr.opped the remains of his cigar and offered his cigarette case; they stopped for a moment while he gave her a light. Neither of them spoke, but her arm slipped through his as they went on.