showed on her underlip.
'Could you call me a taxi?'
'I could do better. I sent for one of my more ducal cars, and it's waiting outside now. You won't mind if I see you as far as the Carlton, will you ? I don't want you to be put to the trouble of having to call me out again tonight.'
For a moment he thought she was going to lose her temper, and almost hoped that she would. But she turned her back on him and sailed out into the corridor without a word. He followed her into the elevator, and they rode down in supercharged silence. At the door he helped her into the Daimler and settled himself beside her. The car moved off.
They drove a couple of blocks without a word being spoken. Lady Valerie stared moodily out of the window on her side, scowling and biting her lips. The Saint was bubbling inside.
'A penny for them,' he said at last.
She turned on him with sudden fury and looked him wrathfully up and down.
'You make me sick!' She flared.
The Saint's eyebrows rose one reproachful notch.
'Me?' he protested aggrievedly. 'But why, at the moment? What have I done now?'
She shook her shoulders fretfully.
'Oh . . . nothing,' she said. 'I'm fed up, that's all.'
'I'm sorry,' said the Saint gravely. 'Perhaps you've had a dull evening. You ought to get about more—go places, and meet people, and see things. It makes a tremendous difference.'
'You think you're very funny, don't you?' she flashed. 'You and your blonde girl friend—the world's pet hero and heroine!' She paused, savouring the sting of her own acid. 'She is nice looking—I'll give her that,' she went on grudgingly. 'But I just wish she'd never been born. . . . Oh well, perhaps we can't all be heroines, but there's no reason why the rest of us shouldn't have a pretty decent time. You'll be a bit fed up yourself when Algy and Luker get those papers, won't you ?'
'Are you quite sure you aren't going to give them to me?' he said.
She laughed.
'I suppose you think I ought to give them to you for saving my life,' she jeered extravagantly. 'With tears of gratitude streaming down my cheeks, I should stammer: 'Here they are—take them.' That's why you make me sick. You go about the place rescuing people and being the Robin Hood of modern crime, and then you go back to your blonde girl friend and have a grand time being told how wonderful you are. So you may be; but it just makes me sick.'
'Well, if you feel sick, don't keep on talking about it— be sick,' said the Saint hospitably. 'Don't worry about the car—we can always have it cleaned.'
She gave him a withering glare and turned ostentatiously away. She seemed to want to make it quite clear that his conversation was beneath her contempt and that even to endure his company was a martyrdom. She huddled as far away from him as the width of the seat permitted and resumed her scowling out of the window.
The Saint devoted himself to the tranquil enjoyment of his cigarette and waited contentedly for the climax which he knew must come before long.
It came after another five minutes.
All at once her eyes, fixed vacantly on the window, froze into a strange expression. She sat bolt upright.
'Here,' she
