“Come on, Miss Little.”
Amity stared in wide-eyed panic at Simon. Aside from his natural desire not to see her hurt, the Saint knew that under threat of torture she couldn’t be expected to keep her identity as the real and indispensable Amos Klein a secret.
“Wait a minute, Warlock,” he said. “There’s no need for any rough stuff. I’ll work with you. I don’t have any choice.”
“No, you don’t have any choice,” Warlock replied. “And here are my conditions: that you come up with a detailed and workable plan for robbing Hermetico within forty-eight hours. Naturally, that time limit doesn’t allow for any more escape attempts.”
“Naturally,” Simon said. “But it’s still not long enough. I can’t do it.”
“You can, and you will. Otherwise Miss Little goes on this table — and your own future won’t be any brighter.”
The Saint became thoughtful.
“If I could see Hermetico, it might be possible.”
“See it in person?” Warlock asked.
“Yes.”
“Considering your behaviour tonight, that’s an almost laughable proposition. Besides, you have the model.”
“And the plans,” put in Nero Jones.
“It’s not enough,” Simon argued. “I wouldn’t even write a book based on that kind of secondhand information, much less plan a real job. I always visit any place I’m writing about, and if you’ll remember the Bank of England scheme you’ve based this Hermetico thing on, there were several visits necessary.”
Warlock rubbed his jowls meditatively.
“It’s true,” he said, “there were visits in the book. I believe in sticking to the book, but...”
“It’s necessary,” Simon insisted. “I’d have told you that this afternoon if I hadn’t been planning to escape tonight.”
“So now you’ll just try to escape if we take you to look at Hermetico.”
“You want your prisoner’s word of honour?” asked the Saint.
Warlock returned his slightly mocking look with a cynical smile.
“I’m afraid in this day and age most of us have learned not to put much faith in honour. I put much more faith in the fact that if you are at Hermetico, Miss Little will be a hostage here. And how would you propose we get into the place for our tour of inspection?”
“The same way it was done in the book: impersonating foreign diplomats who are considering making some large and mysterious deposit in the vaults. We’ll show up pretending our secretary had made all the arrangements in advance... or better still you could actually make the arrangements. Then we’d be sure of getting in.”
“I’m impatient,” Warlock said. “We’ll just go there and act confused and indignant when they’re not expecting us — just as it happened in your book.”
“But can you come up with some authentic-looking identification papers?”
“Of course. S.W.O.R.D. can arrange anything. The papers will be ready in time for us to make the visit this morning before noon.”
“This morning?” Simon asked.
“It’s 2 a.m. now, Mr. Klein. You’ve kept us up late.”
“Then shall we get some sleep?” suggested the Saint.
“Not before I impress you with what will happen if you try to escape again. Miss Little, over here.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Simon began.
He stepped forward, but Monk caught his arm with all the gentle finesse of the pincers of a giant crane clamping down on a boulder.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” Warlock said. “This will only be an edifying demonstration.”
Nero Jones stepped up beside Amity and nodded towards the metal slab. Amity cast a pleading glance over her shoulder at the Saint.
“It’s all right,” he told her, hoping his words were true. “He’s got no reason to do anything to you.”
“Right,” Warlock oozed.
He welcomed Amity with the unpleasant smile of a charlatan coaxing a reluctant subject on to the stage for a demonstration of hypnotism.
“Get on the table,” Jones said bluntly.
“You — you shouldn’t be doing this to me!” she said.
Simon admired her for not already having told them she was the real Amos Klein. He was prepared to tell the truth himself at the first sign that she was in danger.
“What are you up to, Warlock?” he asked. “I’ve told you I’ll co-operate.”
“Just a warning. Nobody gets hurt.”
Amity submitted then. At Warlock’s direction, she lay back on the steel table, keeping her frightened eyes on the Saint’s as if even that contact with him gave her comfort.
“If you hurt her, Warlock...”
The Saint did not need to finish his threat. The cold, hard edge of his voice said enough. Warlock, however, did not react with any sign of uneasiness. He was like an infant fumbling eagerly with a new plaything as he pushed shut the metal rings around the girl’s wrists and ankles. Amity lay spread-eagled, the short chains giving her almost no room for movement. She raised her head and looked along the length of her body to be sure that Simon was still there. He gave her an encouraging nod, which was all the help he could manage under the circumstances.
Warlock went to a control panel which sloped down from the wall at waist level a few yards from the steel slab.
“This invention of mine has several uses,” he said. “Some wouldn’t be understood easily by anyone without scientific training. The particular use it will be put to if you double-cross us, Mr. Klein, can be understood by anybody.”
Warlock pushed several buttons, and from the ceiling above the steel table something resembling a giant X-ray apparatus lowered itself with a soft hum and came to a standstill five feet above Amity’s body. Its thick glass lens was like the huge protuberant eye of some Cyclopean monster from another world. The eye was surrounded by a cluster of dull black cones whose lower, smaller ends were open, pointing down at Amity.
“Are you trying to scare her to death?” Simon demanded.
“I’m trying to scare you,” Warlock said. “I want you to have a vivid idea of exactly what will happen if you do anything to cause us trouble.”
He moved a short lever on the sloping panel and the device which had been centred directly over Amity’s body moved horizontally down the length of the table towards her feet until it was aimed at the bare surface of the slab between her ankles.
“I’ve combined multiple laser beams with ultra-sonic sound,” Warlock went on. “The cones surrounding the laser produce the sound. In combination, focussed sound and light rays are capable of fantastic things. My friend here has great possibilities as a weapon.” Warlock stroked the instrument panel as if it were a pet cat. “Of course the many ways it could incapacitate and destroy a human being are hypothetical... as yet. Nero, give me one of your shoes and start the accelerator.”
The pale-eyed man squinted at Warlock for an instant and then grudgingly took off one of his stylishly pointed black shoes and handed it to him. As Jones then went to a second central panel, Warlock placed the shoe on the steel table between Amity Little’s ankles.
“This will only be a demonstration. Don’t be alarmed. Nero, please...”
There was a throbbing sound from the ceiling, and the device above Amity began to whine with rising pitch. Warlock fiddled with some control knobs.
“First you’ll see an effect of the ultra-sonic beams, and then the laser,” he said excitedly, raising his voice in order to be heard. “In real use, the table could be slowly raised in temperature until it reached a red glow. Now I’m directing all the energy only at Nero’s shoe.”
“Couldn’t you let me up from here?” Amity called to him over the increasing sound of the machine.
Warlock, his eyes gleaming, ignored her.