“I was advised to come here. A Mr Weiss...” Simon let his voice die away.
Big Hazel Green rubbed her furry chin. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Mr Weiss, huh? I guess you want to move in here. Is that it?”
Simon nodded.
Big Hazel said, “Shouldn’t you have been here before?”
“I don’t know,” Simon said feebly. “Mr Weiss did say something about... But I had my rent paid in advance at... at the place where I was staying. I couldn’t afford to waste it. I... I hope I haven’t done anything wrong.”
He could feel her eyes boring into him like gimlets.
“That isn’t for me to say. I just take reservations and see who checks in.”
The woman rang a bell. A thin meek little man came from somewhere and blinked inquiringly.
Big Hazel said, “Take over. Be back pretty soon.” She forced her bulk out of the cubby-hole and took Simon’s arm in strong fingers. “I’ll show you your room. Right up here.”
The Saint let her guide him towards the back of the hall, through a door, and up winding stairs. Behind the glasses, his blue eyes were busy — charting, noting, remembering. Like many old Chicago structures, this one was a warren. There was more than one staircase, he saw, which might prove useful later.