'Pass right down the car, gents,' he murmured, encouragingly.
He crossed the room. He appeared to cross it slowly, but that, again, was an illusion. He had reached the two men before either of them could move. His left hand shot out and fastened on the lapels of the bearded man's coat—and the bearded man vanished. It was the most startling thing that Mr. Montgomery Bird had ever seen; but the Saint did not seem to be aware that he was multiplying miracles with an easy grace that would have made a Grand Lama look like a third-rate three-card man. He calmly pulled the sliding mirror back into place, and turned round again.
'No—not you, Montgomery,' he drawled. 'We may want you again this evening. Back-pedal, comrade.'
His arm telescoped languidly outwards, and the hand at the end of it seized the retreating Mr. Bird by one ear, fetching him up with a jerk that made him squeak in muted anguish.
Simon steered him firmly but rapidly towards the open,cupboard.
'You can cool off in there,' he said; and the next sensations that impinged upon Montgomery Bird's delirious consciousness consisted of a lot of darkness and the sound of a key turning in the cupboard lock.
The Saint straightened his coat and returned to the centre of the room.
He sat down in Mr. Bird's chair, put his feet on Mr. Bird's desk, lighted one of Mr. Bird's cigars, and gazed at the ceiling with an expression of indescribable beatitude on his face; and it was thus that Chief Inspector Claud Eustace Teal found him.
Some seconds passed before the detective recovered the use of his voice; but when he had done this, he made up for lost time.
'What,' he snarled, 'the blankety blank blanking blank-blanked blank——
'Hush,' said the Saint.
'Why?' snarled Teal, not unreasonably.
Simon held up his hand.
'Listen.'
There was a moment's silence; and then Teal's glare recalorified.
'What am I supposed to be listening to?' he demanded violently; and the Saint beamed at him.
'Down in the forest something stirred—it was only the note of a bird,' he explained sweetly.
The detective centralised his jaw with a visible effort.
'Is Montgomery Bird another of your fancy names?' he inquired, with a certain lusciousness. 'Because, if it is——'
'Yes, old dear?'
'If it is,' said Chief Inspector Teal grimly, 'you're going to see the inside of a prison at last.'
Simon regarded him imperturbably.
'On what charge?'
'You're going to get as long as I can get you for allowing drinks to be sold in your club after hours—
'And then——?'
The detective's eyes narrowed.
'What do you mean?'
Simon flourished Mr. Bird's cigar airily.
'I always understood that the police were pretty bone-headed,' he remarked genially, 'but I never knew before that they'd been reduced to employing Chief Inspectors for ordinary drinking raids.'
Teal said nothing.
'On the other hand, a dope raid is quite a different matter,' said the Saint.
He smiled at the detective's sudden stillness, and stood up, knocking an inch of ash from his cigar.
'I must be toddling along,' he murmured. 'If you really want to find some dope, and you've any time to spare after you've finished cleaning up the bar, you ought to try locking the door of this room and pulling up bits of wainscoting. The third and fifth sections—I can't tell you which wall. Oh, and if you want Montgomery, he's simmering down in the Frigidaire. . . .
