The Saint’s shoulders lifted slightly. “Karl? We’ve met.” He glanced at Connie. She was still standing, watching him tensely. “One of Doc Spangler’s favourite thugs.” He struck a light and lit his cigarette, aware of Nelson’s silent curiosity about his visit. “Unfortunately,” he commented, “his mind has too much specific gravity — which is only natural, perhaps, when you consider that there’s more solid ivory on top of it than even my friend Hoppy Uniatz can boast.”
“Who?” Nelson asked wonderingly.
They all turned to the door as a sudden story of giant footfalls came pounding up the stairs.
“That would be him now,” Simon announced calmly.
“Boss!” Hoppy’s laryngismal bellow shook the panels of the door almost as forcefully as the crash of his fist. “Boss, you all right? Boss!”
The Saint sprang to his feet, but Connie was already opening the door.
Hoppy surged in, looking round alertly. He spotted Simon with a gusty sigh of relief.
“Hoppy,” Connie cried in alarm. “What’s the matter?”
“Chees!” wheezed Mr Uniatz. “I see dat monkey Karl comin’ out after you go in, an’ when you don’t come out after him—”
“You really thought that brainless ape had taken me? You didn’t stop him to find out?”