“Honest, Rick, I shook ’em clean.”
This was when Simon Templar quietly opened the door and stepped into the room.
“That’s right, Rick,” he corroborated gravely. “He shook all of ’em except me... Just don’t do anything reckless, boys, and I won’t hurt you either.”
The position of his left hand in the side pocket of his coat made his proposition especially persuasive.
Lansing kept his hands on top of the desk and considered the situation without a change of expression.
“Good evening, Mr Templar,” he said at length.
“Good evening, Rick,” said the Saint amiably. “I believe you wanted to see me. So here I am. You didn’t need to make a production of it. I’m only too anxious to hear what’s on your mind. Shall we talk it over in private, or does Sonny Boy here make you feel safer?”
Lansing sat still for a moment, and then made a slight movement of his hand.
“Beat it, Joe.”
“That’s better,” said the Saint. “Now he can collect the rest of the mob outside the door, which will make you feel really comfortable, but they know I’ve got you here, so I haven’t a thing to worry about. We can let our hair down and enjoy it.”