his cue. On it was written:
Ivar Nordsten Hawk Lodge, St. George's Hill, Weybridge.
'I want to know why one of the richest men in Europe is so anxious to meet your brother,' he said. 'And I think your brother will have to keep the appointment to find out.'
He saw the fear struggling back into her eyes.
'But------'
The Saint laughed and shook his head. He indicated Hoppy Uniatz, who had transferred his balance to the other foot and his scratching operations to his left ear.
'There's your brother, darling. He may not have all the artistic gifts of the real Timothy, but he's a handy man in trouble, as I told you. I'll lend him to you free of charge. What d'you say?'
'Hot diggety,' said Mr. Uniatz.
IV
WHEN Annette Vickery woke up, the sun was streaming into her bedroom window, and she looked out into a wide glade of pine trees and silver birches lifting from rolling banks of heather and bracken. It was hard to believe that this was less than twenty miles from London, where so many strange things had happened in the darkness a few hours ago, and where all the forces of Scotland Yard would still be searching for her. They had driven down over the dark glistening roads in the Saint's Hirondel--a very different proposition from the spavined taxi which he had driven before--after a telephone call which he put through to a Weybridge number; and when they arrived there were lights in the house, and a gruff-voiced man who walked with a curious strutting limp waiting to put the car away without any indication that he was at all surprised at his master arriving at four o'clock in the morning with two guests. Whisky, sandwiches, and a steaming pot of coffee were set out on a table in the living room; and the Saint grinned.
'Orace is used to me,' he explained, 'If I rang up and told him I was arriving with three hungry lions and a kidnapped bishop, he wouldn't even blink.'
It was the same man with the limp who came in with a cup of tea in the morning.
'Nice day, miss,' he said.
He put the cup down on the table beside the bed and looked at her pugnaciously--he had a heavy walrus moustache which made it permanently impossible for anyone to tell when he was smiling.
'Yer barfs ready,' he said, as if he were addressing a dumb recruit on a parade ground, 'an' brekfuss'll be ready narf a minnit.'
It was only another curiosity in the stream of fantastic happenings that had carried her beyond all the horizons of ordinary life.
She was down to breakfast in twenty minutes; but even so she found the Saint drinking coffee and reading a newspaper, while Hoppy Uniatz finished up the toast. Simon served her with eggs and bacon from the chafing dish.
'You'll probably find the egg a bit tough,' he remarked, 'but we have to toe the line at meal times. When Orace says 'Brekfuss narf a minnit' he means breakfast in exactly thirty seconds, and you can check your stop watch by him. I hid a piece of toast for you, too; or else Hoppy would have had it. How d'you feel?'
'Fine,' she told him; and, tackling succulent rashers and eggs that were not too tough to make the mouth water, she was surprised to find that a fugitive from justice could still eat breakfast with a good appetite.
She looked out of the French doors that opened from the dining room onto the same view as she had seen from her bedroom when she awoke, the sunlit glade striped with the shadows of the trees, and said: 'Where am I?--isn't that what everyone's supposed to say when they wake up?'
The Saint smiled.
'Or else they call for Mother.' He pushed back his chair and tapped a cigarette on his thumbnail. 'This is Mr. George's hill itself, though you mightn't believe I can drive you from here to Piccadilly Circus without hurrying in half an hour. I bought this place because I don't know anywhere else like it where you can forget London so easily and get there so quickly if you have to; but it seems as if it has other uses. By the way, there's some news in the paper that may appeal to your sense of humour.'
He passed her the folded sheet and marked a place with his forefinger. It was a brief paragraph in a minor position which simply recorded that Scotland Yard detectives had entered the Barnyard Club in Bond Street and taken away a man and a young woman 'for questioning.'
'Of course, the part where I butted in may have been too late for this edition,' said the Saint. 'But I still don't think the public will hear any more about it just now. If there's anything in the history of England which Claud Eustace Teal would perjure his immortal soul to keep out of the news, I'm willing to bet it's that little game we played last night. But it still wouldn't be fatal if the story did leak out--you've only got to see Nordsten long enough to introduce your brother, and then you push off. If he did get inquisitive afterwards, Tim wouldn't know anything-- would you, Hoppy?'
'No, boss,' said Mr. Uniatz, shaking his head vigorously. 'I don't know nut'n about nut'n.'
'But what about Jarving?' put in the girl.
'Jarving is safe in clink,' said the Saint with conviction. 'If the first person who found him wasn't a policeman, which it probably was at that hour of the morning, I don't think anyone who found him could get those handcuffs off without a policeman happening along. So the coast seems to be as clear as we're ever likely to have it.'
She finished her breakfast and drank the coffee which he poured out for her; and then he gave her a cigarette.
'Get hold of yourself, kid,' he said. 'I want you to be starting soon.'
For an instant her stomach felt empty as she realized that, once outside the shelter of that house, she was a fugitive again, even if the very idea of policemen seemed absurd in that peaceful place. And then she felt his blue eyes resting on her appraisingly and managed a smile.
