"For God's sake," he gasped hoarsely. "Wait—"
"Is dat you, boss?" bawled a foghorn voice far below; and the Saint's smile became a shade more blissful in spite of the wrenching agony in his right shoulder.
"This is me, Hoppy," he said. "You'd better come up quickly — and look out for someone coming down." He looked over the shuddering bundle of the Z-Man at Raddon and Welmont, still frozen in their tracks.
"There's no way out for you unless you can fly," he said. "How would you like to be a pair of angels?"
They made no attempt to graduate into a pair of angels. They stood very still as Hoppy Uniatz crashed off the stairs onto the ledge, followed by Patricia, and briskly removed their guns. A moment later an arm like a tree trunk took the weight off the Saint's hand and hauled him back to the safety of the floor.
Patricia was touching the Saint as if to make sure that he was real.
"Are you all right, boy?" she was asking tremulously. "I was afraid we'd be too late. They'd locked the outside door, and Hoppy was afraid of making a noise—"
The Saint kissed her.
"You were in plenty of time," he said and yanked the Z-Man clear of the edge of the floor. "Think you could hold him, Hoppy?"
"Wit' one finger," said Mr Uniatz scornfully.