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.Now he was wearing his only remaining suit, and this too hadbeen wrecked, leaving him with literally nothing but rags to his name.Combined with a natural resentment towards strangers who took advantage of hiskindly instincts to try to stick daggers into his digestive apparatus, it wasthe last straw.But instead of blinding him, anger only made his actions more precise.Hegrasped the wrist of the knife hand as it went by, and pivoted, locking thethin man's arm under his own.He held that position with cold calculation,just long enough to make sure that an adequate quorum of witnesses had stoppedand stared and thoroughly registered the fact of which one was holding theknife; and then he made another swift sharp movement that resulted in a crackof breaking bone and a short scream from his victim.The stiletto fell to thepavement.Without releasing his grip on the thin man's wrist, Simon freed his otherhand, carefully adjusted the position of his target, and put all his weightinto a piston stroke that planted his left fist squarely in the center of theother's face.Under the impact, nose and face gave way with a most satisfyingcrunch, but the man went down without an-other vocal sound, and lay still.Allthings considered, Simon decided, as his fury subsided as quickly as it hadflared, it had been only a humane anesthetic for a fractured ulna.The whole incident had taken only a few seconds.Looking around warily for anypossible sec-ond assault wave, he saw a small Fiat standing at the other endof the alley where it connected with the next parallel street.The door on thenear side was open, and a blue-chinned bandit sat at the wheel, staringPage 20 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmltowards the Saint with his jaw still sagging.Then he suddenly came to life,slammed the door, and stepped frantically on the gas.Simon picked up the fallen stiletto, ignoring the gathering crowd whichgesticulated and jabbered around him but kept a safe distance.It wasperfectly balanced, the blade honed to a shaving edge, a deadly tool in thehands of an expert.The Saint was not sorry to think that at least one suchvirtuoso would not be working for some time.A policeman finally came pushing through the mob, one hand on his holsteredpistol, and Simon coolly tendered him the hilt of the souvenir.3"This is what I was attacked with," he said, taking none of the risks of unduediffidence."All these people saw me disarm him.I shall be happy to help youtake him to the police station and sign the charges against him."The policeman swivelled a coldly professional eye over the crowd, whosemembers immediately began a circulatory movement as the spectators in frontwere stirred by a sudden desire to be in the rear.Simon saw his witnessesrapidly evaporating; but before the last law-shy personality could melt awaythe polizie, inured to coping with the evasiveness inspired by his vocation,had stepped forward and collared two of them a pimply youth with an acute caseof strabismus, and a portly matron bedizened with bangles like an animatedjunk stall.The only things they had in common were their observation of theknifing attempt and a profound reluctance to admit this to the constabulary.Nev-ertheless, the policeman quarried from them a grudging admission that theyhad seen some of the events which had occurred; though the ocular abnormalityof the younger one might have cast doubts on the value of his testimony.Hethen appropriated their identity cards, which they could redeem only byappearing at the police station to make depositions.Dismissed, they retiredgratefully into the background; and the policeman brought his functionallyjaundiced scrutiny back to the Saint."Why did you kill him?" he asked, looking gloomily from the knife in his handto the recumbent figure on the sidewalk."I didn't kill him," Simon insisted patiently."He tried to murder me, but Ididn't feel like letting him.So I disarmed him and knocked him out.The knifeyou're holding is his, not mine."The policeman examined the weapon once more, flicking open the mechanism ofthe blade with his thumb nail.He closed it again with one hand and pushed thesafety button into place with an automatic motion which revealed longfamiliarity with such devices.Behind him, two more police officers appeared, causing the crowd to lose allfurther interest and disperse.The one who had been first on the scene salutedthe more lavishly gold-braided of the new-comers and mumbled an explanation indialect.His superior stared at the Saint darkly, but showed no inclination todiscuss the crime further in the public street.Simon accepted their glumdetach-ment with seraphic indifference, and even allowed himself to be jammedinto the rear of an undersized police car without further protest.Whateverconse-quences were to develop next would have to reveal themselves at thequestura.Once inside that ancient building, the recording and annotating of the fracasproceeded with pon-derous solemnity.There was an incredible amount oflaborious writing on multiple forms, and the continual thumping of rubberstamps accompanied it like a symbolic drum-roll of bureaucracy.The onlyripple in the remorseless impersonality of the routine occurred when the Saintpresented his passport for examination, and raised eyebrows and knowingglances informed him that his reputation was not entirely unknown even there.When the knife-wielding citizen was brought in, Simon saw that his injurieshad been partly patched up by a police sugeon: one splinted arm hung in asling, and a large wad of gauze was taped over his nose.From behind the edgesof it, a pair of bloodshot eyes glared hatred at the Saint, who responded witha beatific smile.With the preliminary recordings completed, another door opened and thePage 21 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlmaresciallo del carabinieri made his impressive entrance.His elaborately decorated and braided jacket and cap, worn even in the heat ofthe office, left no doubt of the eminence of his rank.His head was noblyRoman and graying at the temples, not un-like the average man's mental pictureof a Caesar; though the softness of the lower lip suggested Nero rather thanJulius.He stared coldly down the straight length of his nose at Simon; then swivelledhis eyes, like the black orifices of cannons coming to bear, towards thebandaged knife-wielder."Well, Tonio," he said stolidly, "you were not out of trouble very long thistime.""I did nothing, maresciallo, nothing! I swear on my mother's tomb.It was thisfannullone" the man called Tonio jerked the thumb of his good hand towardsSimon "who caused the trouble.He is a madman, perhaps
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