He completed the search, finding cigarettes, matches, money, keys and all the usual contents of an average man's pockets, but nothing to reveal Mr Gump's real identity and nothing to connect him with the mysterious Z-Man. Even the tailor's label inside his breast pocket had been removed.
"Well, gents, we can call it an evening." The Saint wavered his gun muzzle gently over the three men. "Pat, old thing, sling me the torch and then get up to the garage. We've finished here."
She obeyed at once; and a moment later Simon himself was backing up the stairs, keeping his flashlight flooding downwards. As soon as he reached the top he swung the door to and fastened it. It was not a good door. There were cracks in it, the hinges were old and rusted, and the lock had long since ceased to function; but the Saint overcame these trifling drawbacks by the simple expedient of propping three or four heavy wooden stakes against the door. Since it opened outwards the three musketeers would have to work for some time before they could make their escape.
"We have been having a lot of luck lately, haven't we?" Patricia remarked philosophically.
"Have I grumbled?" asked the Saint, making no attempt to lower his voice — and, indeed, speaking quite close to the barricaded cellar door. "We're going to shoot off to Parkside Court now, old dear, and warn Beatrice Avery that she'd better be packing. After what happened to you it's pretty obvious that the ungodly are likely to put in some fast work, and we're going to be just one move ahead of them. If necessary we'll take the fair Beatrice away by force."
"Why didn't you question those fellows about the Z-Man?"
"They wouldn't have come through with a syllable unless I'd beaten it out of them, and I'm not in one of my torturing moods this evening," answered Simon. "Don't worry about the Three Little Pigs — it'll take them about an hour to get out, and I doubt if they'll go after Beatrice again tonight anyway. Ready, darling?"
While he spoke he had been flashing his torch about the garage. There was a telephone in one corner, and this interested him for a moment; but a few odd potatoes lying on the floor against one of the walls interested him almost as much. He picked up the biggest he could find and bent down at the rear of the taxi to jam the providential tuber firmly over the end of the exhaust pipe.
"All set, keed," he murmured, and his eyes were bright with mischief.