“Liskard’s dead?” Todd asked as he was put in handcuffs.
“Don’t sound so hopeful,” Simon answered. “You’re as bad a shot as you are a brawler. You fractured his jaw, but that should only increase any politician’s popularity.”
Anne Liskard had also come into the room. She stared at Todd with shock and horror.
“Why?” was all she could say.
“He’s a tyrant!” Todd screamed hysterically.
“And you wanted to take his place — which is both more truthful and to the point,” Simon put in. “Obviously you didn’t have any hope of getting all the way to the top on your own merits, so you thought it easily might be worth a couple of thousand lives to get there through a coup.”
“It’s a revolution!” Todd raved defiantly. “It can go on without me.”
“There is no revolution,” Anne Liskard said to him icily. “And I don’t know how even somebody as low as you could have the nerve to use that word for the bloody little game you’re playing.”
She and Todd glared at one another. Teal took the prisoner’s arm and pulled him toward the door.
“Coming, Templar?” he asked.
“No, thanks, Claud. I’ll let you bask in whatever limelight you can scrape together at this hour of the morning. The one thing I want in the world at this point is some sleep.”
Teal and his troops left with Todd. As Simon followed, Anne Liskard touched his arm. Her whole manner had changed since he had first met her.
“I don’t know what I can do to...”
“Thank me?” the Saint said. “Just one thing. Try to get the past in perspective, and be nice to your husband. Until anyone better comes along, Nagawiland really needs him. He’s a good man.”
She looked at him seriously, and then her tired face softened into a smile.
“I’m way ahead of you on that,” she said. “I’ve already made enough good resolutions to last me through a dozen New Years’.”
Simon looked back over his shoulder as he walked away.
“And take care of yourself,” he said. “That’s a worthy cause too.”
At ten in the morning of the same day the Saint settled down beside the telephone in his own home in Upper Berkeley Mews. It had begun to snow lightly, and his own personal view of London was beginning to look like sugared cake. The fog was already gone, and by nightfall the stars would probably be as sharp as crystals in a clear sky.
And there would be no Mr Snowball truck lurking in a gray street. Mr Snowball would be happily taking credit for his latest victory over evil, and the gray street would no longer be gray but pure and sparkling white in the pale sunlight.
“Good morning — London Hilton,” came the response to his dialing.
“Miss Bannerman, please,” Simon said.
A little later Mary Bannerman answered.
“Did you think I’d forgotten you?” Simon asked.
“Oh, thank goodness it’s you!” she exclaimed. “Are you all right? I’ve heard everything on the radio — about Jeff and the others being arrested, and Todd, and... and you were right. They were planning to take over in Nagawiland.”
“In fact, their buddies down there murdered two good men before word got there that Liskard was still alive — contrary to their expectations. But it could have been much worse. If the tribes had gone on a rampage...”
“I can imagine,” she said. “And Tom... how is he?”
“He’ll be all right. Todd must have panicked when he got word that Peterson had been picked up, and his hands were shaking when he tried to fake a Liskard suicide by himself. Then he had to make one last mad try at the hospital — but he blew that, too.”
“I’m glad.” The girl’s voice was subdued. “Tom’ll be able to carry on, then?”
“Yes. In fact this could make him a hero. And his wife shows signs of being something more than an anchor, for the first time in years.”
Mary was silent for some moments before she spoke again.
“I suppose the police will be around to get me soon.”
Simon deliberated.
“I’ve thought it over,” he said. “Until now I’ve never gone in much for psychologists’ theories about the treatment of criminals, but I’ll give even a bad idea a chance. You can consider yourself under suspended sentence. I’m taking personal responsibility for your rehabilitation. You’ll have to own up to your little insurance swindle, of course; but if you give the money back I’m sure the Company won’t prosecute you.”
“But Jeff will tell—”
“Tell what? That you gave him those letters? They were yours to do what you liked with — except use for blackmail. But nobody was ever asked for money, except me. And that was only a pretext for something else, so I’ve decided to forget it. You weren’t involved in any of the real violence.
Which seems to leave you in the clear. Aside from the usual requirement of keeping in close touch with your probation officer.”
“Oh, Simon!” she said with incredulous relief shaking in her voice. “Tell me when...”