The Saint smiled at him benevolently and reached for his gun. But his fingers had only just touched his pocket when light flooded the room from another direction, and a voice spoke behind him.
"Keep still," rasped Luis Quintana.
VII
The saint let his hand drop slowly and turned round. Quintana and Urivetzky stood in the communicating doorway, and Quintana held a gun.
"Good evening, girls," said the Saint winsomely.
Urivetzky let out an exclamation as he saw his face.
"The Saint!"
"In person," Simon admitted pleasantly. "But you don't have to stand on ceremony. Just treat me like an old friend of the family."
Released from the numbing grip on his windpipe, the square man retreated to a safe distance, massaging his throat tenderly.
"I mistook the door," he exploded hoarsely. "I opened this one — and he was inside. He must have been listening. How much he has heard—"