The chief commissioner stood on the threshold. And now he showed no signs of the injury which had at first impressed his assistant. His bearing was erect, he no longer clutched his shoulder, and there was a glitter in his eyes which had nothing to do with anything he had said to Cullis before he left.
Also, there was an automatic in his hand.
"I heard you," he said; and Cullis stepped back a pace.
Cullis still held a gun in his hand, but it hung loose at his side, and he knew that the least movement would be fatal. He stood quite still, and the chief commissioner went on speaking.
"You ought to know," he said, "that I've been watching you for some time. I think I first had my suspicions when those papers were taken from the Records Office; and then the Saint came to me with a story which I couldn't ignore, fantastic though it was."
"You believed a crook?" said Cullis scornfully.
"For my own reasons," said the commissioner. "He was, perhaps, something more than an ordinary crook when he came to me, and I was able to believe him when I shouldn't have believed anyone else in his place. Even you should admit that the Saint has a certain reputation. There was a warrant out for his arrest at the time." The commissioner's lips twitched. "It was one of many that have been wasted on him. But he placed himself unreservedly in my hands, and it seems as if the result has justified us."
Cullis looked around him, and saw that Simon Templar also held a gun; and Jill Trelawney was sitting up on the sofa, mopping at her blouse with a handkerchief.
"Only red ink," explained the Saint sweetly.
Cullis stood like a man carved in stone.