He selected his cigarette with care from one end of the case — it was the single cigarette that had been left there when he refilled it, as it was always still left there when he refilled, for the Saint was never totally unprepared for any emergency. He lighted it, and strolled across the room to deposit the match in an ashtray as Cokey came back from the kitchen.
He was figuring and maneuvering for position with the oblique innocence of a cat encircling a pair of sparrows.
"Before this gets too unpleasant," he said, "couldn't we talk it over?"
"You talk," said Varetti, with his teeth gleaming. "I'll listen."
Simon hesitated a moment; and then with the most natural gesture of decision he put his cigarette down in the ashtray and moved around towards Varetti, while Cokey came around to follow him.
Varetti said: "Not too close, Mr Templar. You can talk from there."
Simon stopped a step further on. Varetti's gun, trained steadily on his midsection, was about four feet away. Cokey was to his right and a little further off, but he had put his gun away to have both hands free for the length of cord he had found.
"Look," said the Saint. "All this business—"
It was at that point that the cigarette he had left in the ashtray went bam! like a small firecracker, which in fact it was.
Varetti would probably have been too smart to fall for any ordinary stall, but he would have been less than animate if he could have heard that noise with no reaction. His head and eyes switched away together; and that was all Simon really needed. The fact that this involuntary movement also happened to angle one side of Varetti's jaw into an ideal position for receiving a left hook was actually only a bonus.