Jill Trelawney stood with her head held high, the contempt undimmed in her imperious eyes, and her beauty made more vivid by its unwonted pallor. Her voice never faltered.
"Why not?" demanded Essenden hazily.
"Because the police are coming here. Because I told the police to come here in time to arrest you—"
"Arrest me?" Essenden chuckled. "There's nothing to arrest me for. There aren't any papers. You didn't believe that story, did you? The only evidence there is is here!" He tapped his forehead. "But I'll never give it. I could clear your father's name, but I never will. He was a meddler, and he had to go. Now you've started meddling as well, and you've got to go, too."
"The police will search the house," said Jill steadily. "They can't help finding this place. And then they will take you and hang you."
And even as she spoke, she knew that her bluff fell on deaf ears. Essenden paused to let her speak, but her words made no impression on his brain. Probably he never even heard them.
"Now you've got to go," he mouthed. "But not — before — I've made you — pay for my — trouble!"
He lurched forward, reaching out pawing hands.
And Simon Templar, lashing himself to the last bitter effort, tore futilely at the chain that held him.
In so doing, he rolled over on his face. And right under his nose was a little cluster of gleaming metal shapes.