The Saint rose.
"Buenas tardes, senores," he murmured courteously.
"Seńor," said the senior comisario sternly, unfolding a paper overloaded with official seals, "I regret that I have to trouble a visitor illustrious, but I am ordered to request your honour to allow your honour to be taken to the prevencion, in order that in the morning your honour may be brought before the tribunal to answer a charge of grievously assaulting the Seńor Shannet."
He replaced the document in his pocket, and bowed extravagantly.
The Saint, with a smile, surpassed the extravagance of the bow.
"Seńor polizante," he said, "I regret that I cannot come."
Now the word "polizonte," while it is understood to mean "policeman," is not the term with which it is advisable to address even an irascible guardia-much less a full-blown comisario. It brought to an abrupt conclusion the elaborate ceremony in which the comisario had been indulging.
He turned, and barked an order; and the escort mounted the steps and ranged themselves along the veranda.
"Arrest him!"
"I cannot stay," said the Saint sadly. "And I refuse to be arrested. Adios, amigos!"
He faded away-through the open door of the dining room. The Saint had the knack of making these startlingly abrupt exits without any show of haste, so that he was gone before his audience had realized that he was on his way.
Then the guardias, led by the two outraged comisarios, followed in a body.
The bungalow was small, with a large veranda in front and a smaller veranda at the back. The three habitable rooms of which it boasted ran through the width of the house, with doors opening onto each veranda. The dining room was the middle room, and it had no windows.
As the guardias surged in in pursuit, rifles at the ready, with the comisarios waving their revolvers, the Saint reappeared in the doorway that opened onto the back of the veranda. At the same moment the doors to the front veranda were slammed and barred behind them by Archie Sheridan, who had been lying in wait in an adjoining room for that purpose.
The Saint's hands were held, high above his head, and in each hand was a gleaming round black object.
"Senores," he said persuasively, "I am a peaceful revolutionary, and I cannot be pestered like this. In my hands you see two bombs. If you shoot me, they will fall and explode. If you do not immediately surrender I shall throw them-and, again, they will explode. Is it to be death or glory, boys?"
He spoke the last sentence in English; but he had already said enough in the vernacluar to make the situation perfectly plain. The guardias paused, irresolute.
Their officers, retiring to a strategic position in the back ground from which they could direct operations, urged their men to advance and defy death in the performance of their duty; but the Saint shifted his right hand threateningly, and the guardias found the counter-argument more convincing. They threw down their arms; and the comisarios, finding themselves alone, followed suit as gracefully as they might.
The Saint ordered the arsenal to be thrown out of the door, and he stepped inside the room and stood aside to allow this to be done. Outside, the guns were collected by Archie Sheridan, and their bolts removed and hurled far away into the bushes of the garden. The cartridges he poured into a large bag, together with the contents of the bandoliers which the Saint ordered his prisoners to discard, for these were required for a certain purpose. Then the Saint returned to the doorway. "Hasta la vista!" he murmured mockingly. "Until we meet again!"
And he hurled the two gleaming round black objects he carried, and a wail of terror went up from the doomed men.
The Saint sprang back, slamming and barring the doors in the face of the panic-stricken stampede; and the two tennis balls, which he had coated with Kelly's providential enamel for the purpose, rebounded off the heads of the cowering comisarios, leaving great splashes of paint on the gorgeous uniforms and the gorgeous mustachios of Santa Miranda's Big Two, and went bouncing insolently round the room.
The Saint vaulted over the veranda rail and ran round to the front of the bungalow. Sheridan, his bag of cartridges slung over his shoulder, was already mounted on one of the police horses, and holding the other by the bridle. From inside the dining room could be heard the muffled shouting and cursing of the imprisoned men, and on the panels of the barred doors thundered the battering of their efforts to escape.
The Saint sprang into the saddle.
"Vamos!" he cried, and smacked his hand down on the horse's quarters.
The pounding of departing hoofs came to the ears of the men in the locked room, and redoubled the fury of their onslaught on the doors. But the mahogany of which the doors were made was thick and well seasoned, and it was ten minutes before they broke out. And then, on foot and unarmed, there was nothing for them to do but to return to Santa Miranda and confess defeat.
The which they did, collaborating on the way down to invent a thrilling tale of a desperate and perilous battle, in which they had braved a hundred deaths, their heroism availing them naught in the face of Simon Templar's evil cunning. But first, to restore their shattered nerves, they partook freely of three bottles of Sheridan's whisky which they found. And it may be recorded that on this account the next day found them very ill; for, before he left, Archie Sheridan had liberally adulterated the whisky with Epsom salts. in anticipation of this very vandalism. But, since guardia and comisario alike were unfamiliar with the flavour of whisky, they noticed nothing amiss, and went unsuspecting to their hideous fate.
But when they returned to Santa Miranda they said nothing whatever about bombs, wisely deeming that the inclusion of that episode in their story could not but cover them with derision.
Meantime, Simon Templar and Archie Sheridan had galloped neck and neck to Kelly's bungalow, and there Kelly was waiting for them. He had a kitbag already packed with certain articles that the Saint had required, and Simon took the bag and lashed it quickly to the pommel of his saddle.
Sheridan dismounted. The Saint shook hands with him, and took the bridle of the spare horse.
"All will be well," said the Saint blithely. "I feel it in my bones. So long, souls I See you all again soon. Do your stuff- and good luck!"
He clapped his heels to his horse, and was gone with a cheery wave of his hand.
They watched him till the trees hid him from view, and then they went back to the bungalow.
"A piece of wood, pliers, screws, screwdriver, and wire, Kelly, my bhoy!" ordered Sheridan briskly. "I've got some work to do before I go to bed to-night. And while I'm doing it you can gather round and hear the biggest laugh yet in this revolution, or how the Battle of Santa Miranda was nearly won on the courts of Wimbledon."
"I thought you weren't coming back," said the girl accusingly.
"I didn't know whether I was or not," answered the shameless Archie. "It all depended on whether the Saint's plan of escape functioned or not. Anyway, a good-bye like you gave me was far too good to miss just because I might be coming back. And don't look so disappointed because I got away. I'll go down to the town and surrender, if that's what you want."
Towards sundown a squadron of cavalry galloped up to the bungalow, and the officer in command declared his intention of making a search. Kelly protested.
"You have no right," he said, restraining an almost irresistible desire to throw the man down the steps and thus precipitate the fighting that his fists were itching for.
"I have a warrant from the Minister of the Interior, El Supremo e Ilustrisimo Seńor Manuel Conception de Villega," said the officer, producing the document with a flourish.
"El Disgustado y Horribilisimo Seńor!" muttered Kelly.
The officer shrugged, and indicated the men who waited below.