“Home again,” drawled the Saint. “This is a peach of a round game, what? as dear Algy would say. Now can I see the offices? House-agents always end up their advertisements by saying that their desirable property is equipped with the usual offices, but I’ve never seen one of the same yet.” “Let me attim,” uttered the butler, shifting round the table. The Saint smiled, his hands in his pockets. “You try to drop-kick me down the front steps, and you get welted on the boko,” said Simon speculatively, adapting style to audience. “Now you want to whang into my prow—and I wonder where you get blipped this time?” Bittle stepped between the two men, and in one comprehensive glance summed up their prospects in a rough-house. Then he looked at the butler and motioned towards the door. The ex-pug went out reluctantly, muttering profane and offensive things, and the millionaire faced round again. “Suppose you explain yourself?” “Just suppose!” agreed Templar enthusiastically. Bittle glowered. “Well, Mr. Templar?” “Quite, thanks. How’s yourself?” “Need you waste time playing the fool?” demanded Bittle shortly. “Now I come to think of it—no,” answered the Saint amiably. “But granny always said I was a terrible tease. . . . Well, sonny, taken all round I don’t think your hospitality comes up to standard; and that being so I’ll see Miss Holm back to the old roof-tree. S’long.” And he took Patricia’s arm and led her towards the french window, while Bittle stood watching them in silence, completely nonplussed. It was just as he seemed about to pass out of the house without further parley that the Saint stopped and turned, as though struck by a minor afterthought. “By the way, Bittle,” he said, “I was forgetting—you were going to pass over a few documents, weren’t you?” Bittle did not answer, and the Saint added: “All about your side line in usury. Hand over the stuff and I’ll write you a cheque now for the full amount.” “I refuse,” snapped the millionaire. “Please yourself,” said the Saint. “My knowledge of Law is pretty scrappy, but I don’t think you can do that without cancelling the debt. Anyway, I’ll tell my solicitor to send you a cheque, and we’ll see what happens.” The Saint turned away again, and in so doing almost collided with Patricia, who had preceded him into the garden. The girl was caught in his arms for a moment to save a fall, and the Saint was surprised to see that she was gasping with suppressed terror. A moment later the reason was given him by a ferocious baying of great hounds in the darkness. In one swift movement Simon had the girl inside the room, and had slammed the french windows shut. Then he stood with his back to the wall, half-covering Patricia in the shelter of his wide shoulders, his hands on his hips, and a very saintly meekness overspreading his face.