"What for — blackmail?"
"To turn over to the FBI, when I had enough."
He had learned before that he couldn't needle her, but it was a discovery that she could astound him.
"You mean you were planning to sell your own gang down the river?"
"Of course."
Maybe it was better to occupy his twinging head with material things. On due consideration, he admired the basic ingenuity of the way he was tied up. It was so simple and practical and economical of rope, and yet it completely eliminated all the standard tricks of escape. There was no chance of reaching a knot with the fingertips or the teeth, or cleverly breaking a watch-glass and sawing the cords on a sharp fragment, or employing any of the other devices which have become so popular in these situations. It was one of the most effective systems the Saint had encountered in an exceptionally privileged experience, and he made a mental note to use it on his next prisoner.
Meanwhile he said, without much subtlety: "But would that have been cricket, tovarich? Do you want me to believe that anyone so beautiful could sink so low?"
For an instant he thought that he actually struck a flash from her green eyes.
"Why do you think I'm here now — tovarich?".
"I had wondered about that," he said. "But I decided you might have a fetish about being crucified."