Fairweather cleared his throat.
"The man is becoming a perfect nuisance," he said imperially. "But I think we can deal with him soon enough. I'm glad you told me about it. I'll have a word with the commissioner of police in the morning and see that he's taken care of."
"Oh no, you mustn't do that," she said quickly. "I can. take care of myself all right, and it's rather thrilling to be pestered by a famous character like the Saint. That isn't what I rang you up for. What I wanted was to ask your advice about something Johnny left with me."
"Something Kennet left with you?"
"Some papers he gave me to read only a week or two ago — a great thick wad of them."
Mr Fairweather experienced the curious sensation of feeling the walls close in on him while at the same time the floor and the ceiling began to draw together. Since he was at that moment in a booth which had very little space to spare after enveloping his own ample circumference, the sensation was somewhat horrifying.
It had caught him so completely unprepared that for a few seconds he seemed to have mislaid his voice. A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. He felt as though he were being suffocated, but he dared not open the door of the booth to let in the air for which his lungs were aching. In fact, he drew it tighter.
"Papers?" he got out hoarsely. "What papers? What were they about?"
"I don't know. Johnny seemed to think they were terribly important; but then he thought so many things were terribly important that I just couldn't keep track of them all. So I didn't even read them."
The inward rush of the walls slackened for a moment. Mr Fairweather managed to snatch a handful of oxygen into his chest.