He would never have believed that a face like hers could have looked so bleached and frozen.
"Now I know you must be insane," she breathed.
He shook his head sadly.
"No, dear. Not any more insane than your beloved, who is very sane indeed. Sane enough to know that this is too hot now to take any more chances on you, because you know too much anyhow and you might still change your mind." The Saint's voice was utterly passionless and level, and his mind felt as if it were standing alone in the middle of a great empty hall. "Your life is running out while you're stalling, darling. And it doesn't make a bit of difference, because I did see those pajamas."
"I wore those pajamas," she said, "and I think your insinuations—"
"Why not save it? I can see where you might need all those histrionics. You'll need plenty of them for the most dead-pan audience you ever saw — the jury who'll decide whether to give you the electric cure or burden the taxpayers with the cost of your gray uniforms and oatmeal for twenty years. Which will be quite a change from Saks Fifth Avenue and coq au vin."
"You—"
"I am no gentleman," said the Saint regretfully. "Because I know that even if you did wear those pajamas, you didn't buy them — at least not for yourself. They would have been too big for you. They might have fitted Titania, but she would never go for any tomboy styles — she would be strictly for lace and chiffon, ind lots of it. But they were also very obviously too long for Milton. Which confused me more than somewhat for quite a little while; but eventually it made sense. So the showdown is right now, and this is the very last time I can ask you which side you're on."
Her lips were wooden.
"Presently." He nodded.