Then—
"It's all right, Donnell," spoke the girl. "I've got him covered."
She was standing behind the Saint, so that Simon and his burden practically hid her. Donnell could not see the gun with which she was supposed to be covering the Saint, for her hand was behind Simon's back, but Donnell believed, and lowered his own gun.
The Saint felt only the gentle and significant pressure of the girl's open hand in the small of his back, and understood.
"Go on," said Jill Trelawny.
Simon advanced obediently.
The movement brought him right up to Harry Donell, who stood with his revolver lowered to the full length of a loose arm. There was only the width of Weald's body between them.
Simon relaxed his hold suddenly and dropped Weald unceremoniously to the floor; and then he hit Donnell accurately on the joint of the jaw.
Donnell went down, and the Saint was on him in a flash, wrenching the revolver out of his hand.
And then, as the Saint rose again, he laughed — a laugh of sheer delight.