Bloem gazed back malignantly.
“You need have no fear of that, Mr. Templar,” he replied.
He was just going out when Mr. Hopkins awoke to the realisation that he had been cheated of the glory of arresting an armed desperado, and that this coolly smiling man who, was getting off scot-free had flung him across the room, bruised and shaken him severely, and nearly broken his arm.
“ ’Ere,” said the constable, whose idiom was much the same as that of Orace, “wassal this? Whatever you say, that don’t dispose of the charge of assaultin’ the police.”
“When an innocent man is treated like a criminal,” said Simon virtuously, “he may be pardoned for losing his temper. I’m sure Mr. Bloem will agree with me? . . . In fact,” added the Saint, taking Mr. Hopkins coaxingly by the arm, “I’m sure that if you mentioned the matter to Mr. Bloem, he’d stand you a glass of milk and put a penny in your money-box. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Bloem?”
“Naturally,” said Bloem, without enthusiasm, “naturally I must accept the responsibility for that.”
“Spoken like a gent,” approved the Saint. “Now toddle along and talk big business under the stars, like good children.”
And he urged Bloem and the constable towards the door. They went obediently, for different reasons. It was a victory that the Saint could not help rubbing in.
He slammed the front door on the pair, and returned hilariously.
“Honour is vindicated, mes enfantes,” he said happily. “What about splitting another lemonade on it, Carn?”