"Take him in, Jopley," he said like a genial host arranging the procession of guests to a dining room.
With an evil grin Jopley pushed the Saint off his balance and half dragged and half carried him through a door at one end of the room. The room that it opened into was almost bare of furniture and smelt strongly of paraffin — even at that moment the Saint's brow wrinkled with puzzlement as he met the rank, powerful odour.
Jopley heaved him up and shoved him roughly into the only chair as Lasser followed them in. The door closed softly behind him — an ancient and massive door of solid oak that settled into place with a faint fuff of perfectly fitting joints, seeming to shut out every sound and contact with the outside world. He stood there smiling benevolently at the Saint, smoothing his large hands one over the other.
"I hope we shan't have to hurt you very much," he said. "If you like to tell me at once what happened to those vans we needn't go any further. But of course I shall take care that your two friends don't have a chance to find out what you've told me, so if they don't tell the same story we shall have to hurt them until they do."
The Saint looked at him and then at Jopley. And as he did so he felt the blood run faster in his veins. For Jopley was sliding his gun away into his pocket.
A flood of strength seemed to surge through the Saint's body like a tidal wave. He could feel the race of it through his muscles, the galvanic awakening of his nerves, the sudden clearing of his brain to crystal brilliance. It was as if his whole being was lifted up in a sublime ecstasy of renewed life. And yet otherwise everything was the same. The corner was just as tight, the prospects just as deadly; but that one action had altered a balance in which the difference between life and death would be weighed. Lasser had already put away his gun. Jopley's gun was going — had gone. It was in his pocket, and his hands were hanging empty at his sides. In that room, with the two of them together against one man bound hand and foot, they had done what any other two men would have done in the confidence of their obvious superiority. And the astronomical hopelessness of the odds had been lessened by the fraction of time that it would take a man to draw a gun from his pocket…
Only the Saint's face betrayed nothing of the fanfares of exultation that were pouring magnificent music through his soul. He moved slightly in his chair, twisting his right hand round as far as he could, and his fingertips touched the hilt of the knife under his sleeve with a thrill that added new harmonies of its own.
"And what happens after we've told you all this?" he asked.
Lasser pursed his lips.
"Well, I'm afraid we shall still have to get rid of you. You know too much, Templar, and we can't risk your being tempted to interfere with us again."