"That one," blubbered Dumaire.
It was a small black sedan, far more suitable for the transport of unwilling passengers than the open Hirondel.
Simon released his informant, who tottered and almost fell when the Saint's supporting grip was removed. The Saint lighted another cigarette and spoke to Peter.
"You can use their car. Take them to Upper Berkeley Mews."
He looked up to find Hoppy Uniatz' questioning eyes upon him. There were times when Mr Uniatz had a tendency to fidget, and these times were usually when he felt that a very obvious and elementary move had been delayed too long. It was not that he was a naturally impatient man, but he liked to see things disposed of in the order of their importance. Now he grasped hopefully for the relief of the problem that was uppermost in his mind.
"Is dat where we give dem de woiks, boss?"
"That's where you give them the works," said the Saint. "Will you come outside for a minute, Peter?"
He took Peter out into the hall and gave him more detailed instructions.
"Did you hear enough while you were waiting to convince you that I haven't been raving?" he said.
"I always knew you couldn't be," Peter said sombrely, "because you sounded so much as if you were. I'm damned if I know how you do it, but it always seems to be the way."