Sardon was pale and dishevelled, his clothes awry. One of his sleeves was torn, and there was a scratch on his face from which blood ran. He flinched from the light as if it had burned him.
"Who is that?" he shouted.
"This is Simon Templar," said the Saint in a commonplace tone. "I just Dr.opped in to say hullo."
Sardon turned the switch down again and went back into the laboratory. The Saint followed him.
"You just Dr.opped in, eh? Of course. Good. Why not? Did you run into Carmen, by any chance?"
"I nearly ran over her," said the Saint evenly.
The doctor's wandering glance snapped to his face. Sardon's hands were shaking, and a tiny muscle at the side of his mouth twitched spasmodically.
"Of course," he said vacantly. "Is she all right?"
"She is quite safe." Simon had put away his gun before the other saw it. He laid a hand gently on the other's shoulder. "You've had trouble here," he said.
"She lost her nerve," Sardon retorted furiously. "She ran away. It was the worst thing she could do. They understand, these creatures. They are too much for me to control now. They disobey me. My commands must seem so stupid to their wonderful brains. If it had not been that this one is heavy and waiting for her time—"