"Jill's hit," said the Saint. "That was a lucky shot for you."
Cullis went in. He found himself in a small bedroom, and a glance at the barred window showed him that the prisoners had been well on the way to making the gap big enough to squeeze through. Then his eyes fell on the bed, and he saw Jill Trelawney lying there with a red stain spreading on her white blouse.
"It's only a flesh wound," said the Saint, "but it's good enough. You'd better send for a doctor."
He turned to see the chief commissioner stuffing a folded handkerchief inside his shirt.
"I'm sorry I didn't get a better bead on you," said the Saint pleasantly.
The chief commissioner grunted.
"You'd better get her downstairs, Cullis," he said. "I'll go out and find a telephone. You're in a better condition to look after this bunch than I am."
But Simon Templar pushed Cullis unceremoniously aside and picked Jill Trelawney up in his arms as lightly and tenderly as if she had been a baby. They went downstairs in procession to the room where Gugliemi was, Cullis covering Simon from behind, and the chief commissioner bringing up the rear. Downstairs, Simon laid the girl gently on the sofa, but when he would have moved away she caught his hand and held him.
The chief commissioner was looking at the prostrate Italian.
"He's moved," he said, "so I didn't kill him."