"I said five hundred," murmured the Saint.
Mr. Potham turned back to his file with a hurt expression.
"Now here, Mr. Templar," he said, "we have No. 27, Cloudesley Street, Berkeley Square —"
"Which faces north," murmured the Saint.
"Does it?" said Mr. Potham in some pain.
"I'm afraid it does," said the Saint ruthlessly. "All the odd numbers in Cloudesley Street do."
Mr. Potham put back the sheet with the air of an adoring mother removing her offspring from the vicinity of some stranger who had wantonly smacked it. He searched through his file for some time before he produced his next offering.
"Well, Mr. Templar," he said, adjusting his spectacles rather nervously, "I have here a very charming service flat —"
Simon Templar knew from bitter experience that this process could be prolonged almost indefinitely; but that day he had one or two helpful ideas.
"I saw a flat to let as I came along here — just round the corner, in David Square," he said. "It looked like the sort of thing I'm wanting, from the outside."