“The speechifying,” he remarked, “will now come from the principal shareholder, so please don’t fluster me. Sit down and listen—you’ve had your turn. . . . Well, here we all are, just like a happy family, and exactly where I wanted you all. I grant you I took a big risk, but I had to do it to get the scene nicely set and the audience all worked up and palpitating in their pews. Also, it happened to be necessary to pass a little time before the moment was ripe for trotting out the big thrill. Now, if you’re ready, I’ll send up the first balloon.” The Saint paused, and smiled from Bloem to Bittle. “Where is Harry the Duke?”
If he had detonated a charge of thermite under their feet he could not have produced a greater sensation. The men looked from one to another, suspicion and rage and fear chasing over their faces deliriously. For a space there was an electric silence, while the Saint leaned back in his chair, smiling beatifically, and felt the last strand of rope break away from his ankles.
Then the storm broke loose. Bittle reached forward and pawed at Bloem’s shoulder frenziedly.
“What’s happened to Harry?” he snarled.
Bloem jumped to his feet and struck down Bittle’s hand.
“Leave me alone!” Bloem’s nerves were raw and jagged. “It isn’t my fault—you never asked me, and you’ve been too busy talking yourself for me to tell you.” He glared round at the Saint. “That meddling puppy got me—I was just taking Harry some food—the door was open, and he got me. I knew he’d found Harry!”
Bittle sprang at the Boer like a wild beast, his face contorted with demoniac fury, and Bloem reeled back from a vicious blow. In an instant Bittle had grabbed a couple of revolvers, and was holding them threateningly in his quivering hands, and Bloem cowered sullenly back from the flaming passion that blazed in Bittle’s eyes. Bittle, in that towering paroxysm, would have murdered the other where he stood, given the slightest provocation, and the Boer knew it.
“Search the ship!” Bittle shrilled. “You—all of you! Get out and search the ship!”
“Why bother?” asked the Saint in his silkiest manner. “If you want to find Harry the Duke, my little ones, you’ll have to go all the way back to Baycombe!”
Bittle swung round.