Then he felt her arm go limp, and took the gun out of her unresisting hand. He put it away in his pocket.
"Come for a walk," he said.
She shrugged dully.
"All right."
He took her arm and led her down the block. Around the corner, out of sight of the mayor's house, he opened the door of the first of a line of parked cars. She got in resignedly. As he let in the clutch and the car slipped away under the pull of a smoothly whispering engine, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed silently.
The Saint let her have it out. He drove on thoughtfully, with a cigarette clipped between his lips, until the taller buildings of the business section rose up around them. In a quiet turning off one of the main streets of the town, he stopped the car outside a small restaurant and opened the door on her side to let her out.
She dabbed her eyes and straightened her hat mechanically. As she looked around and realized where they were, she stopped with one foot on the running board.
"What have you brought me here for?" she asked stupidly.
"For lunch," said the Saint calmly. "If you feel like eating. For a drink, if you don't. For a chat, anyhow."
She looked at him with fear and puzzlement still in her eyes.