“A mind like yours wouldn’t understand it, but I am.”
“Then that should be helpful... In fact, it gives me a most amusing idea. Let us go down to the house for a little while.”
He turned and went to the door, with Valmon following him. At once Neumann and Eberhardt closed in behind the Saint and forced him after them.
There was no chance to make a break for it. Even after the dim light inside the mill, the moonlight outside was still bright enough for him to have been a certain notch on Neumann’s Tommy gun before he had run half a dozen yards. Valmon and Julius were already getting into the front of the station wagon. Eberhardt opened the door to the back, and went around to the other side to cover him from there. It was all handled as efficiently as if they had had their training in the old-time gang wars of Chicago — which, Simon reflected, was perfectly probable.
Valmon drove in silence to the ranch house, and stopped. Neumann and Eberhardt got out, one on each side again. The Saint followed. They moved a little way from the car.
Julius said to Neumann, “Bring Morland here.”
Eberhardt, standing a little behind the Saint, touched the small of his back with his revolver to remind him that he was still helpless.
The Saint looked around. They were standing near a corral fence. There were other cars parked a little way off, and among them he recognised his own Buick. So there was probably no doubt that Julius was telling the truth about Jean having been taken. And in another moment Simon had his final proof, when he saw her come to the window of a lighted room with Nails looming behind her. He seemed to be about to drag her back, but Julius called to him with sudden volume, for the window was some distance off: “Let her stay there.”
Neumann came back from the direction of one of the other buildings with another man in overalls. They were half leading and half dragging Morland between them.
“Tie him to the fence,” said Julius.