"You'll get seven years for this night's work alone," he said.
"And how long do you think you'll get, old dear?" asked the Saint very gently.
Cullis returned his gaze stonily.
"I think," he said, "that it won't help you much to try that sort of bluff."
"But suppose," said the Saint — "just suppose, sweet Cullis, that it wasn't entirely a bluff. I admit that for the moment you have us under the lid. of the tureen, so to speak. But that's only a bit of luck: a chance shot through a door that ought to have missed both of us by miles. But it was good enough that Jill couldn't get away through that window — couldn't have run for it, even if we'd come out and put up a fight. And yet, Cullis, it mightn't turn out to be all jam."
"How, for instance?" asked Cullis, as if the idea amused him.
"When your desk was opened last night—"
"Yes?"
"Did you go through your papers after the police had come?"
"I did."