He smiled.
“That was the name,” he said, “before I saw the error of my ways.”
Belden said, “This is wonderful. You know, Iris is one of your most devoted fans, Mr Templar. She’s crazy about you.”
Simon restrained an impulse to empty the remains of a Martini over him, and said, “I think that’s a wonderful way to be crazy. But of course I’m prejudiced.”
“I was just telling Mark the other day that the only person in the whole world whose autograph I’d really like to have was the Saint,” Iris Freeman said.
“Isn’t that sort of turning the tables on your public, Miss Freeman?” murmured Patricia sweetly.
The actress laughed gaily, with every note beautifully modulated for imaginary microphones.
“Hardly a habit of mine. But we all have our weaknesses, don’t we? And the Saint’s also one of mine, darling... Mark, do you have a piece of paper?”
Belden fumbled in his pockets and produced a folded sheet.
“Here you are.”