"Why not tonight? What time does Alan let you go?"
"Half past five."
"I'll call for you at six — that'll just give you time to put your hat on, darling," said the Saint angelically, and rang off before she could make a suitable reply.
He was engaged in a running commentary on her inevitable feminine manoeuvres in front of a mirror in Alan Emberton's outer office when the glass-panelled door of the inner sanctum opened, and the sound of a voice that seemed vaguely familiar made him break off in the middle of a sentence. In another second, to her intense astonishment, he had vanished under a desk like a rabbit into its burrow; and if she had not turned abruptly back to her mirror while Emberton showed his client out, she would have had to burst out laughing.
But Simon was on his feet again when the jeweller came back and he was completely unruffled by his own extraordinary behaviour.
"Hullo, Templar," said Emberton, noticing him with some surprise. "Where did you spring from?"
He was a big man, with a jovial red face, who looked more like a retired butcher than an exclusive jeweller, and he liked the Saint in spite of his sins. He held out his beefy hand.
"I was under the desk," said the Saint unblushingly. "I dropped a penny and I was looking for it. How's life?"
"Not so good as it might be," answered the other frankly. "However, I suppose I can't grumble. I've just sold a thousand-pound diamond bracelet to that fellow I was showing out. Did you see him?"
"No," said the Saint untruthfully.