minutes' grace which had been given, the awakening of doubts in the detectives' minds, the vital cue to Monty and the two police officers sitting there quietly at the table.
'You came here from Siegertsbrun together?'
The eyes had never wavered from the scrutiny. Neither had Simon Templar's.
The Saint raised his glass.
'Cheerio,' he said.
Almost mechanically the other groped around and took up his own drink. His colleague did the same. Both of them were looking at the Saint. He could see the ideas that were working simultaneously through their minds. They had recovered from the first stunning confusion of the bluff, and now in the reaction they were thinking on top gear—turning the defense over under the searchlights of habitual incredulity, probing remorselessly into its structure, reading behind it into the balance of probabilities.
And yet they drank. They ignored the customary clinking of glasses, and their perfunctory bows were so slight as to be almost imperceptible.
Simon put down his glass and drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. At that moment he could have laughed.
'No, brother,' he said gently. 'We missed Siegertsbrun. But we had a swell time in Innsbruck.' He smiled sweetly at the startled bulging of the detectives' eyes, and on the tablecloth their empty glasses seemed to rise on tiptoe and cheer for him. 'It's been lovely meeting you, and I hope this chat won't get you into trouble at headquarters.'
The nearest man half rose from his chair, and the Saint stepped swiftly up and caught him as he went limp.
Simon wrung him affectionately by the hand. He slapped him on the back. He gripped him by the shoulders and bade him an exuberantly cordial farewell. And in so doing he settled the man carefully back into his chair, lumped him forward, propped his chin up on his hand, and left him huddled in a lifelike pose of contemplation.
'Be good, brother,' said the Saint, 'and remember me to auntie. Give my love to Rudolf'—out of the corner of his eye the Saint saw that Monty had arranged the other detective in a similar position—'and tell him I hope it chokes him. Tootle pip.'
They walked quickly across the dining room and paused to glance backwards from the door. The two detectives at the far corner table, with their backs turned to the room, appeared like a couple of Bavarian Buddhas wrapped in immortal meditations.
Simon smiled again.
'Such is life,' he whispered.
Then he moved out into the vestibule. As they emerged into the hall the Saint glanced casually about him, and in that same casual way his glance rested for a long moment on the back of a man who was leaning over the janitor's desk by the main doors. He was talking earnestly to the head porter, and a long jade cigarette holder was tilted up in the fingers of one sensitive white hand.
VII. HOW SIMON TEMPLAR BORROWED A CAR
AND AGREED TO BE SENSIBLE
SIMON'S long arm shot out and grabbed Monty by the shoulder, halting him in his stride and spinning him half round. The Saint's eyes were debonair.
'Steady, old scout,' murmured the Saint blithely. 'This is where you go home!'
Monty's brow crinkled. And the Saint laughed. The laugh was almost silent; and not one syllable of what he said could have been heard a yard away.
'Buzz up and collect Pat and all the luggage,' said the Saint quietly. 'Get down by the fire escape—you're good at that. And I'll see you at the station.' He jerked a thin sheaf of reservations from his pocket and thrust them neatly into Monty's hand. 'If you want to know why, you can peep back on your way up the stairs. You might even listen for a bit—but I shouldn't wait too long. The train goes in fifteen minutes. Happy landings!'
The same shoulder-hold sped Monty on; and the Saint circled slowly on his heel and continued his stroll across the floor.
Looking back from a flight of stairs that was partly screened by the iron grille of the elevator shaft, Monty had an angle view of him coming up behind the man who was still standing by the
