16 The Saint Overboard

said the Saint. 'What's the number of your room?'

'Twenty-eight. But——'

'I'll walk up as if I owned it. Can you bear to wait?'

4

She was wearing a green silk robe with a great silver dragon crawling round it and bursting into fire-spitting life on her shoul­ders. Heaven knew what she wore under it, if anything; but the curve of her thigh sprang up in a sheer sweep of breath-taking line to her knee as she turned. The physical spell of her wove a definite hiatus in between his entrance and his first line.

'I hope I intrude,' he said.

The man who was with her scowled. He was a hard-faced, hard-eyed individual, rather stout, rather bald, yet with a solid atmosphere of competence and courage about him.

'Loretta—how d'ya know this guy's on the rise?'

'I don't,' she said calmly. 'But he has such a nice clean smile.'

'Just a home girl's husband,' murmured the Saint lightly. He tapped a cigarette on his thumb-nail, and slanted his brows side­long at the objector. 'Who's the young heart's delight?'

She shrugged.

'Name of Steve Murdoch.'

'Of Ingerbeck's?'

'Yes.'

'Simon to you,' said the Saint, holding out his hand.

Murdoch accepted it sullenly. Their grips clashed, battled in a sudden straining of iron wrists; but neither of them flinched. The Saint's smile twitched at his lips, and some of the sullenness went out of the other's stare.

'Okay, Saint,' Murdoch said dourly. 'I know you're tough. But I don't like fresh guys.'

'I hate them, myself,' said the Saint unblushingly. He sat on the arm of a chair, making patterns in the atmosphere with ciga­rette-smoke. 'Been here long?'

'Landed at Cherbourg this morning.'

'Did you ask for Loretta downstairs?'

'Yeah.'

'Notice anyone prick up his ears?'

Murdoch shook his head.

'I didn't look.'

'You should have,' said the Saint reprovingly. 'I didn't ask, but I looked. There was a bloke kicking his heels in a corner when I arrived, and he had watchdog written across his chest in letters a foot high. He didn't see me, because I walked through with my face buried inside a newspaper; but he must have seen you. He'd 've seen anyone who wasn't expecting him, and he was placed just right to hear who was asked for at the desk.'

There was a short silence. Loretta leaned back against a table with her hands on the edge and her long legs crossed.

'Did you know Steve was here?' she asked.

'No. He only makes it more difficult. But I discovered that a ferret-faced bird with the most beautiful line in gent's half hose was sitting on my tail, and that made me think. I slipped him and came round to warn you.' Simon looked at her steadily. 'There's only a trace of suspicion attached to me at the moment, but Vogel's taking no chances. He wants to make sure. There's probably a hell of a lot of suspicion about you. so you weren't likely to be forgotten. And apparently you haven't been. Now Steve has rolled up to lend a hand—he's branded himself by asking for you, and he'll be a marked man from this moment.'

'That's okay,' said Murdoch phlegmatically. 'I can look after myself without a nurse.'

'I'm sure you can, dear old skunk,' said the Saint amiably. 'But that's not the point. Loretta, at least, isn't supposed to be looking after herself. She's the undercover ingenue. She isn't supposed to have anything to look after except her