And the boss can make faces all day...”
The line ended in a vicious rasp of angrily meshed gears, and the station wagon’s engine roared as Valmon jarred in the clutch and pulled away.
Simon watched the lights bumping down the trail, and turned back with a little of the humorous mischief fading from his eyes.
“So,” he said slowly. “That seems to have done it.”
Jean Morland was hugging her father’s arm.
“Did you see?” she said wonderingly. “He looked really — wicked. Did you see, Daddy?”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” said the Saint. “I knew just how to get under his skin, and I couldn’t resist it. I’ve got an evil gift for that sort of thing. You’re right, Jean — he’s bad. But I suppose it still wasn’t my business. Now I’ve blown everything up for you. I’m sorry.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” Morland said quietly. “At least we’ve seen him in his true colours... I’ll go in to town tomorrow and see the sheriff, or whoever you have to see.”
The Saint shook his head slightly.
“You’re going to have trouble,” he said. “Maybe you’ll need some extra help. I kind of brought this to a head, so my offer still goes.”