“When an innocent man is treated like a criminal,” said Simon virtuously, “he may be pardoned for losing his temper. I’m sure Mr. Bloem will agree with me? . . . In fact,” added the Saint, taking Mr. Hopkins coaxingly by the arm, “I’m sure that if you mentioned the matter to Mr. Bloem, he’d stand you a glass of milk and put a penny in your money-box. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Bloem?” “Naturally,” said Bloem, without enthusiasm, “naturally I must accept the responsibility for that.” “Spoken like a gent,” approved the Saint. “Now toddle along and talk big business under the stars, like good children.” And he urged Bloem and the constable towards the door. They went obediently, for different reasons. It was a victory that the Saint could not help rubbing in. He slammed the front door on the pair, and returned hilariously. “Honour is vindicated, _mes enfantes_,” he said happily. “What about splitting another lemonade on it, Carn?” The detective looked at the Saint and nodded slowly. “I think we might,” he assented. “Such luck ought to be celebrated. I suppose it would be indiscreet to ask how Orace came to arrive so fortunately?” “But why indiscreet?” cried the Saint. “All’s fair and above board. Orace, tell the gentleman how you happened to blow in on your cue.” Orace cleared his throat. “Being accustomed to take a constitooshnal,” he began, in the stilted language which he would have employed before his orderly officer, “I’m in the ’abit of walking this wy of a nevenin’; and the winder bein’ open an’ me ’avin’ good eyesight——” “Of course I believe you,” said Carn. “You deserve to be believed. There’s some whisky in the kitchen, Orace.” Orace saluted and marched out, and the Saint doubled up with silent mirth. “Orace is unique,” he said. “Orace is all that, and then some,” Carn returned ruefully. Soon afterwards Simon and Patricia left. They walked the short distance to the Manor without speaking, for the Saint was enjoying the novel experience of finding his flow of small talk entirely dried up. He had thought of nothing to say until the girl was opening the door, and then he could only make a postponement. “May I see you to-morrow morning?” he asked. “Of course.” “I’ll come right after breakfast.” Suddenly she remembered Agatha Girton. “I think—would you mind if I came over to you instead?” “I’d love you to. And if I haven’t bored you to tears by then, you can stay for lunch. Tell me what time you’ll be leaving, and I’ll send Orace over to fetch you.” She was surprised. “Is that necessary?” “Very necessary,” replied the Saint gravely. “Tigers have nasty suspicious minds, just like me, and by this time one Tiger is wondering just how dangerous you are, Pat. Yes, I know it’s screamingly funny, but let me send Orace—for my own peace of mind.” “Well—— About half-past ten, if you like.” “I do. And Orace will adore it. One other thing. Will you do me a great favour?”