"And after I've done the necessary spilling I suppose you slit my gizzard with the grapefruit cutter and then bury my remains deeply under the fragrant sod," said the Saint sardonically. "Nothing doing, slug. It's not good enough. I've made myself a hell of a nuisance to you, and you won't be satisfied until I'm as dead as — Mercia Landon."
"You fool," screamed the Z-Man. "I mean vot I say!"
"That makes us even," said the Saint. "But I'm not a film actress, remember. Carving your alphabetical ornamentations on my face won't decrease my earning capacity by a cent. I'm surprised at your moderation. Now that you've got me in your ker-lutches I wonder you don't flay the skin off my back."
His utter indifference to the peril he was in was breath-taking. The mockery of his blue eyes and the cool insolence of his voice had something epic about it, as if he had turned back the clock to days when men lived and died with that same ageless carelessness. And yet even while he spoke his ears were listening. Events had moved faster than he had anticipated. The Z-Man's lofty eyrie, too, was a factor of the entertainment that Simon had not allowed for. Those crumbling stairs couldn't be climbed easily and quietly… Time was the essential factor now; and the Saint was beginning to realize that the support upon which he was relying was not at hand — while he was not so much at the mercy of a man as of a homicidal maniac.
The Z-Man was within arm's length of him now.
"No, I do not slit your gizzard," he said huskily. "I tell you vot I do. I only cut der rope vot hold you up. Und then der stone pulls you down, und we take off der ropes, und you haf had an accident und fallen down. Do you understand?"
The Saint understood very well. He could feel the dizzy emptiness under his dangling toes. But he still smiled.
"Well, why don't you get on with it?" he said tauntingly. "Or have you lost your nerve?"
"You crazy fool! You think you are funny! But if I take you at your word—"
"You're getting careless with that beautiful accent," mocked the Saint. "If you say 'vot', you ought to say 'vord.' The trouble with you is that you're such a lousy actor. Now if you'd been any good—"