Gugliemi shrugged eloquent shoulders.
"Perhaps you make the fairy tale?" he said.
"Perhaps," agreed the Saint, "But of course you'll let me have a look round, just to make sure, won't you?"
"I shall not." Gugliemi straightened up. "You have forced your way in here, and if you do not go quickly I will call for the police."
Simon straightened up also.
"Your ideas of hospitality are deplorable," he remarked genially. "But I'm sure you don't mean it. You're just one of these strong men with no trimmings, and you wouldn't be really troublesome for the world, would you?"
A shining automatic had appeared from nowhere in his hand. He flourished it airily, and Gugliemi became aware of an unpleasant sinking feeling.
"I'm not very used to these little toys," said the Saint mildly, as the gun flourished round and settled down directly opposite the sinking feeling. "I am a man of peace, though nobody ever seems to believe it. But I understand that if you squeeze these gadgets in the wrong place they go bang and make holes in things. I should be frightfully interested to see if that's true. Do you happen to know, by any chance?" His fingers flickered carelessly over the trigger, and Gugliemi went pale. "But what's the idea, my little andante capriccioso? A spot of kidnaping? Some of this heavy desert love stuff you've seen on the cinematografo?"
He waggled his automatic perilously with every question.
Gugliemi reached behind him, but the Saint was a little quicker. He reached out and caught the Italian's wrist in time, and Gugliemi dropped his gun with a yelp of pain. Simon pushed him away and picked it up.