He waited while Simon was steered into the back seat of the station wagon. Julius took the wheel. Eberhardt sat in the middle seat, facing around, the barrel of the Magnum resting on the back and trained on the centre of Simon’s chest.
There was an idea in the Saint’s head, a picture that he was trying to round out, but his brain still couldn’t quite get hold of it. He sat back and tried to chase the fogs out of his mind.
When they stopped at the side door of the mill again, the disembarking was as efficient as before, even though Neumann was not there. Julius covered one side of the car, to forestall any break in that direction. Eberhardt backed out the other door and made the Saint follow him out. They entered the building in loose procession — Simon first, Eberhardt on his heels, and Julius a little behind. Once again, under the light, Simon was told to turn around. Eberhardt had stepped to one side of the door, and the Saint faced Julius. The Komissar of Supply had an automatic in his hand now, and it was clear that he knew how to use it. He stood just far enough away to be out of reach of any sudden spring.
“Now, my dear Saint,” he said, and it was the first time he had used that name, “I hope you are quite satisfied with my thoroughness.”
The Saint was conscious of his pulses, and they were as steady as perfectly balanced reciprocating motors again. He glanced at the dwindling cigarette between his fingers, and the smoke went up from it as cleanly cut as a vein in marble. His mind was clear and cool — as cool as a Himalayan stream.
“No,” he said regretfully. “No, Ludwig, I’m afraid I’m not.”
“You will tell me why?”
“You’ve had a nice little excursion at my expense. I admit it. And I suppose it was a great moment of triumph for your sadistic little maggoty soul. But it hasn’t changed a thing since we left here.”
“Please go on.”
“You’ve made Morland sign something. All right. But there are still five people who are going to fight it, whatever it is — unless you can get away with killing us all. Which, as I said, is liable to attract some attention. You may have a conniving sheriff in your pocket, but I expect most of us have got friends and relatives here and there, and someone is going to get some publicity for it that even he can’t stop. Then—”