The Saint folded his map.
"Well," he said deliberately, "suppose when this bird had the gates open to let you in, some other blokes who were waiting outside rushed the pair of you, laid him out and let themselves in — would anyone at the house know what had happened?"
The man thought it out laboriously.
"Not till 'e came to an' told 'em."
"Then—"
"But yer carn't git in that wye," Jopley stated flatly. "Not letting me in for it, yer carn't. Wot 'appens when they find aht I done it? Jer fink I wanter git meself bashed over the 'ead an' frown to the muckin' lobsters?"
Simon smiled.
"You don't have to get thrown to the lobsters, Algernon," he said. "I'm rather fond of lobsters, and I wouldn't have that happen for anything. You don't even have to get bashed over the head except in a friendly way for the sake of appearances. And 'they' don't have to find out anything about it — although I don't think they'll be in a position to do you much damage anyway, when I'm through with them. But if it'll make you any happier you don't have to be compromised at all. You just happened to be there when we rushed in, and nobody could prove anything different. And it'd be worth a hundred pounds to you — on the nail."
Jopley looked from one face to the other while the idea seemed to establish itself in his mind. For a few seconds the Saint was afraid that fear would still make him refuse and wondered what other arguments would carry conviction. In mentioning a hundred pounds he had gone to the limits of bribery, and it was more or less an accident that he had as much money as that in his pockets… He held his breath until Jopley answered.
"When do I get this 'undred quid?"