only a stretch of coincidence to thank. On the night when some of the events already mentioned were told to Simon they had dined at a favourite restaurant of theirs in Beak Street, a quiet little Spanish eating-house where the food was good and cheap and the crowd neither fashionable nor pseudo-Bohemian. It was some time after eleven o'clock when they left, and wandered through side streets towards Shaftesbury Avenue with the vague idea of having another cup of coffee somewhere before going home. They were just turning a corner when Simon saw the man from St. Louis emerging from a doorway. In a flash Simon had caught Patricia's arm and jerked her back into the narrow lane from which they had just been turning. He leaned against the wall, covering her with his body, with his broad back turned to the Yankee gunman.
'Tex himself!' he said. 'Pretend to be powdering your nose-get out a mirror.'
His ambition to see Tex Goldman again included a time and place of his own choosing, with the circumstances carefully reviewed and his plan of campaign completely polished-not a chance encounter in a back street that would do little more than advertise his return.
In the girl's mirror, he saw Goldman step into a taxi and drive off. Patricia saw the gunman for the first time.
'That's the boy who's causing all the trouble. And I wonder what he's doing around here tonight?'
They walked on, and Simon studied the doorway that had exhaled the new menace to the peace of London. A small illuminated sign over the lintel announced it as the Baytree Club. The door was open, but all that could be seen was a short passage leading to a flight of stairs, from beyond which came subdued sounds of music. It appeared to be one of those centres of furtive gaiety which one passes almost without noticing in daylight, and which suddenly become attractive when the neon signs wake up and the unprepossessing street outside is hidden in a kindly gloom.
The Saint stood on the opposite pavement with a cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth and surveyed the premises in a contemplative silence. A private car turned into the street and drew up outside the doorway to exude two men who went down the passage and up the stairs.
'Feel like a spot of night life, Pat?' queried the Saint.
There was a promise of mischief in his gaze. It might have come to anything or nothing, as the Fates decreed, but he felt that he would like to know more about a place where Tex Goldman descended to common or garden frivolity.
She nodded.
'O.K., boy.'
They were crossing the road when the Saint's keen ears became aware that the music inside the club had stopped. There was nothing very remarkable in that, for even the most energetic orchestras must rest for a few moments now and then to expand their lungs and gargle. And yet it made the Saint hesitate. Somehow he associated that stoppage with the arrival of the two men who had just gone in-and the peculiar fact that their car was still standing outside, where parking was not allowed. Perhaps the glimpse he had had of Tex Goldman leaving the same premises a few minutes before had made him unduly suspicious. He turned off diagonally along the road, drawing Patricia with him. He seemed to hear the muffled sounds of some commotion inside the club-a commotion that was rather more than the usual babble of conversation that springs up between dances.
And then he heard the sound of feet pelting down the stairs.
He guided Patricia into the nearest porch, as if he were merely an innocent young citizen taking his girl friend home from a movie, and again used her mirror inconspicuously. He saw the two men dash out of the doorway and plunge into their car, and before they disappeared he had seen that the lower halves of their faces were covered by their white evening scarves.
The car pulled out and whirled up the street, passing them where they stood. Other feet were pounding down the steps of the club, and Simon looked round and saw the owner of the first pair reach the pavement. He was a frantic-looking young man with his bow tie draggling loose down his shirt front, and he yelled 'Police!' in a voice that echoed down the street. In a few seconds he was joined by others with the same cry. One or two pale-faced girls crowded out behind the leading men.
Simon glanced after the departing car. He could still see its tail light as it was swinging round the next corner, and his hand flew to his hip. . . .
It stayed there. His other hand followed suit, on the other hip. With his coat swept back behind his forearms, he lounged over towards the panic-stricken mob on the pavement. A police whistle was shrilling somewhere near by. He might have been able to do some damage to the bandits' car, but the official attention to his tactics might have been more embarrassing than the damage would have been worth. He was not yet ready to take the law into his own hands.
The frantic-looking young man confirmed his guess of what had happened.
'They held us up-it must have been the gang that's been holding up all the banks. Took all our money and the girls' jewellery. We couldn't do anything, or some of the girls might have got hurt. ... I say! Officer --'
A running policeman had appeared, and the young man joined the general surge towards him. Simon faded away from the group and rejoined Patricia.
'Let's stick around,' he said. 'If I know anything, Claud Eustace will be along.'
He was right in his diagnosis. The chattering crowd gradually filtered back into the club to make its several statements, under the constable's pressure; and a couple of plain-clothes men arrived from Marlborough Street. After a while another taxi entered the street and released a plump, familiar figure. Simon buttonholed him.
'What ho, Claud!' he murmured breezily. 'This is a bit late in life for you to take up dancing. Or has someone been trying to buy a box of chocolates after nine o'clock?'
The detective looked at him with a rather strained weariness.
'What are you doing here, Saint?'
'Taking an after-dinner breather. Giving the gastric juices their ozone. I just happened to be around when the fun started.'
' Did you see the men ?'
Simon nodded.
