“A thousand pardons, Doctor.” Bloem bowed to Carn, and then turned and bowed to the girl. “I am deeply sorry, Miss Holm, that I should be compelled to do this in your presence. Perhaps you would like to retire for a minute. . . .” Patricia tossed her head. “Thanks—I’ll stay,” she said. “I’m sure there’s a mistake, and perhaps I can help. I’ve been with Mr. Templar most of the evening.” Bloem’s eyes rested long and significantly on the girl’s torn frock and scratched arms, but she met his gaze boldly, and at last he turned away with a lift of shoulder and eyebrow. “I’ll explain,” he said. “I was reading in my study, shortly after eleven this evening, when this man walked in. He threatened me with a revolver, making some remark which I did not understand. I am not a young man, but I have led a hard life, and I did not hesitate to grapple with him. He is very strong, however, and he managed to hit me with the butt of the revolver. I remember nothing more until the time when I came to and found him rifling my desk. Since he was armed, and had already beaten me once in a hand-to-hand tussle, I pretended to be still unconscious. He searched the room minutely, but apparently failed to find whatever it was he was looking for. When he left I followed him, and traced him here. Then I went and fetched Hopkins. That is the complete story.” “Anjew better come along quietly,” advised the policeman, tightening his grip on the Saint’s shoulder and holding his truncheon at the ready. “Fine,” said the Saint softly. “I should like to be searched now, so that your statement about the revolver can be verified.” Bloem smiled. “You left it behind,” he said. “Here it is.” Carn took the weapon from Bloem’s hand and examined it. “Belgian make,” he said. “Is this yours, Mr. Templar?” “It is not,” answered Simon promptly. “I object to firearms on principle. They make such a noise.” “Come along,” urged the constable, jerking the Saint forward. Simon was not easily peeved, but one thing that made him see red was anybody trying to haze him. For a second he forgot his saintly pose. He caught the policeman’s wrist with both hands and twisted like an eel. There was a flurry of arms and legs, a yell, and George Hopkins landed with a crash on the other side of the room, with most of the breath knocked out of him. The Saint straightened his tie, and looked bang into the muzzle of an automatic in Bloem’s hand, but that he ignored. “Anyone who wants a quiet life is advised to keep their filthy hands off me,” murmured the Saint. “Don’t do it again, son.” The constable was getting shakily to his feet. “That’s assaulting the police,” he stormed. “Oh, don’t be childish,” drawled the Saint, cool again. “When we want your little chatter we’ll ask for it. Just now, Bloem, we’ll argue this out by ourselves. We can soon smash this cock-and-bull yarn of yours. One: were you alone in the house?” “I was.” “Where was Algy?” “He’d gone over to see Miss Holm.”