"In a way," said the Saint, "you puzzle me. You're not particularly good, and I'm wondering where you got your Frankenstein reputation. I'm beginning to think that you're just an amateur. Blackmailers often are. But your racket isn't exactly common-or-garden black, is it? You seem to mix it with kidnapping on the side. You've hit a new angle of the game, and you've got me guessing."
"Me, too!" fumed the big man in the chair. "I, too, guess! Vot you mean I do not know."
"Oh yes, you do; and you'd better know what I mean when I tell you that Beatrice Avery is now out of your reptilian reach," said the Saint coldly. "She's safely hidden away — and so are your other intended victims."
"You are crazy mad. I had no victims."
"You also have a large sackful of boodle tucked away somewhere, Mr Vell, and when the right time comes I'm going to dig my shovel into it." The Saint was missing none of the Z-Man's many reactions. He watched his victim's hands, his heaving stomach and his dark vicious eyes, just visible behind the big lenses. "As far as I can see you've been running your show too long, so I'm going to close it down." He pulled himself off the door and shifted closer towards the desk. "And now if you don't mind we're going to have a much more intimate look at you, as the bishop said to the actress. Take off the fur and the windows and give your face an airing."
He made a suggestive move of the hand which still rested in his pocket; and then his ears caught a faint whisper of sound behind him. He started to turn, but he was a shade too late. The door behind him was already open, and something round and hard jabbed accurately into his spine. The toneless voice of Mr Raddon spoke behind him.
"Take your hand out of your pocket and keep still."
The Saint kept still.
"This is a dirty trick, Andy," he complained. "I distinctly heard you tell Comrade Vell that you'd meet him tomorrow at the usual place. Why can't you keep your word instead of butting in like this and spoiling everything?"
He continued to keep studiously still, but he did not move his hand from his pocket. The bantering serenity of his voice had not changed in the slightest degree, and the smile on his lips was unaltered. The Z-Man, who had struggled cumbersomely to his feet, did not know that behind that blandly unruffled smile the Saint's brain was turning over like a high-speed turbine.