"A lot of other people are still thinking that," murmured the Saint sardonically.
They slowed up along Fifth Avenue as they came within a block of the Vandrick Bank Building.
"Whadda we do here, pal?" asked the driver.
"Park as close to the entrance as you can get," Simon told him. "I'll wait in the cab for a bit. If I get out, stay here and keep your engine running. Be ready for a getaway. We may have a passenger—and then I'll tell you more."
"Okay," said the chauffeur phlegmatically; and then an idea struck him. He slapped his thigh. "Chees!" he said. "I t'ought ya was kiddin'. Dat's better 'n hoistin' de bank!"
"What is?" inquired the Saint, with slight puzzlement.
"Aw, nuts," said the driver. "Ya can't catch me twice. Why, puttin' de arm on Lowell Vandrick himself, of course. Chees! I can see de headlines. 'Sebastian Lipski an' de Saint Snatches off de President of de Vandrick National Bank.' Chees, pal, ya had me guessin' at foist!"
Simon grinned silently and resigned himself to letting Mr. Lipski enjoy himself with his dreams. To have disillusioned the man before it was necessary, he felt, would have been as heartless as robbing an orphan of a new toy.
He sat back, mechanically lighting another cigarette in the chain that stretched far back into the incalculable past, and watched the imposing neo-Assyrian portals of the bank. A few belated clerks arrived and scuttled inside, admitted by a liveried doorkeeper who closed the doors again after each one. An early depositor arrived, saw the closed doors, scowled indignantly at the doorkeeper, and drifted aimlessly round the sidewalk in small circles, chewing the end of a pencil. The doorkeeper consulted his watch with monotonous regularity every half-minute. Simon became infected with the habit and began counting the seconds until the bank would open, finding himself tense with an indefinable restlessness of expectation.
And then, with an effect that gripped the Saint into almost breathless immobility, the first notes of nine o'clock chimed out from somewhere near by.
Stoically the doorkeeper dragged out his watch again, corroborated the announcement of the clock to his own satisfaction, opened the doors, and left them open, taking up his impressive stance outside. The early investor broke off in the middle of a circle and scurried in to do his business. The bank was open.
Otherwise Fifth Avenue was unchanged. A few other depositors arrived, entered the bank, and departed, with the preoccupied air of men who were carrying the weight of the nation's commerce. A patrolman strolled by, with the preoccupied air of a philosopher wondering what to philosophize about, if anything. Pedestrians passed up and down on their own mysterious errands. And yet Simon Templar felt himself still clutched in the grip of that uncanny suspense. He could give no account for it. He could not even have said why he should have been so fascinated by the processes of opening the bank. For all he knew, it might merely have been a convenient landmark for a meeting place, and even if the building itself was concerned there were hundreds of other offices on the upper floors which might have an equal claim on his attention; nine o'clock was the hour, simply an hour for him to be there, without any evidence that something would explode at that instant with the precision of a timed bomb; but he could not free himself from the almost melodramatic sense of expectation that made his left hand close tightly on the pearl grips of Fernack's gun.
And then, while his eyes were searching the street restlessly, he suddenly saw Valcross sauntering by, and for the moment forgot everything else.
In a flash he was out of the cab, crossing the pavement— he did not wish to make himself conspicuous by yelling from the window of the taxi. He clapped Valcross on the shoulder, and the older man turned quickly. His eyes widened when he saw the Saint.
"Why, hullo, Simon. I didn't know you were ever up at this hour."
"I'm not," said the Saint. "Where on earth have you been?"
"Didn't you find my note? It was on the mantelpiece."
Simon shook his head.
"There are reasons why I haven't had a chance to look for notes," he said. "Come into my taxi and talk—I don't want to stand around here."
He seized Valcross by the arm and led him back to the cab. Mr. Lipski's homely features lighted up in applause mingled with delirious amazement—if that was kidnapping, it was the slickest and simplest job that he had ever dreamed of. Regretfully, Simon told him to wait where he was, and slammed the communicating window on him.
"Where have you been, Bill?" he repeated.
"I had to go to Pittsburgh and see a man on business. I heard about it just after you'd gone out, and I didn't know how to get in touch with you. I had supper with him and came back this morning—flying both ways. I've only just got in."
"You haven't been to the Waldorf?"
"No. I was short of cash, and I was going into the bank first."
Simon drew a deep breath.
"It's the luckiest thing that ever happened to you that you had business in Pittsburgh," he said. "And the next luckiest is that you ran short of cash this morning. Somebody's snitched on us, Bill. When I got into the Waldorf in the small hours of this morning it was full of policemen, and one detachment of 'em is still waiting there for you unless it's starved to death!"
Valcross was staring at him blankly.
"Policemen?" he echoed. "But how——"
"I don't know, and it isn't much use asking. The Big Fellow did it—apparently he said I was treading on his toes. Since his own mobs hadn't succeeded in getting rid of me, I suppose he thought the police might have a try. He's paying their wages, anyway. That needn't bother us. What it means is that you've got to get out of this state like a bat out of hell."
"But what about you?"
The Saint smiled a little.
"I'm afraid I shall have to wait for my million dollars," he said. "I've got five of your men out of six, but I don't know whether I shall be able to get the sixth."
He told Valcross what had been happening, in terse, crackling sentences pared down to the uttermost parched economy of words. The other's eyes were opening wider from the intervention of Fay Edwards at the last moment of the ride—on through the slaying of Dutch Kuhlmann to the unpleasantness of Mr. Kestry and the amazing reprieve that Fernack had offered. The whole staggering course of those last few hectic hours was sketched out in clipped impressionistic phrases that punched their effect through like a rattle of bullets. And all the while the Saint's eyes were scanning the road and sidewalks, his fingers were curled round the butt of Fernack's gun, his nerves were keyed to the last milligram of vigilance.
"So you see it's been a big night," he wound up. "And there isn't much of it left. Fernack's probably wondering already whether I haven't skipped into Canada and left him to hold the baby."
"And Fay Edwards told you the Big Fellow would be here at nine?" said Valcross.
"Not exactly. She asked me to be here at nine—and she was looking for the Big Fellow. I'm hoping it means she knows something. I'm still hoping."
"It's an amazing story," said Valcross thoughtfully. "Do you know what to make of that girl?"
Simon shrugged.
"I don't think I ever shall."
"I shall never understand women," Valcross said. "I wonder what the Big Fellow will think. That marvellous brain—an organization that's tied up the greatest city in the world into the greatest criminal combine that's ever been known— and a harlot who falls in love with an adventurer can tear it all to pieces."
"She hasn't done it yet," said the Saint.
Valcross was silent for a few moments; and then he said: "You've done your share. You've got five men out of the six names I gave you. In the short time you've been working, that's almost a miracle. The Big Fellow's your own idea—you put him on the list. If you fail—if you feel bound to keep your word and go back to Fernack—I can't stop you. But I feel that you've earned the reward I promised you. I've had a million dollars in a drawing account, waiting for you, ever since you came over. I'd like to give it to you, anyhow. It might be some use to you."