“Ya mean de Torpedo ain’t knocked off fair and square?”
The Saint nodded thoughtfully.
“Indubitably not — if instinct serves, and I think it does. At any rate, we’re going to look into the matter.”
“What are you going to do, Simon?”
The Saint smiled at her, and then at the gun lying on the palm of his hand.
“We’re going to call on the man who owns this,” he said. “Wish we could take you along, but unfortunately...”
“But you said you didn’t even see who it was who left that gun here!” she exclaimed. “How do you know who—”
“I know who owns these initials,” said the Saint patiently, lifting the gun for her inspection. He showed her the monogram in fancy script on the metal. “They’re rather difficult to untangle but I think you can make them out.”
Hoppy leaned over.
“Initials?” he queried, peering at the gun. “Where?”