"A very charming man," thought the Saint as he paused on the pavement outside the building which housed Mr. Croon's offices.
Since at various stages of the interview Mr. Croon's effusive bonhomie had fairly bubbled with invitations to lunch with Mr. Croon, dine with Mr. Croon, shoot with Mr. Croon, watch Mr. Croon's horses win at Goodwood with Mr. Croon, and spend week-ends with Mr. Croon at Mr. Croon's house on the river, the character which Simon Templar had been playing might have thought that the line of the Saint's lips were unduly cynical; but Simon was only thinking of his own mission in life.
He stood there with his walking cane swinging gently in his fingers, gazing at the very commonplace street scene with thoughtful blue eyes, and became aware that a young man with the physique of a pugilist was standing at his shoulder. Simon waited.
"Have you been to see Croon?" demanded the young man suddenly.
Simon looked around with a slight smile.
"Why ask?" he murmured. "You were outside Croon's room when I came out, and you followed me down the stairs."
"I just wondered."
The young man had a pleasantly ugly face with crinkly grey eyes that would have liked to be friendly; but he was very plainly nervous.
"Are you interested in bootlegging?" asked the Saint; and the young man stared at him grimly.
"Listen, I don't know if you're trying to be funny, but I'm not. I'm probably going to be arrested this afternoon. In the last month I've lost about five thousand pounds in Croon's schemes — and the money wasn't mine to lose. You can think what you like. I went up there to bash his face in before they get me, and I'm going back now for the same reason. But I saw you come out, and you didn't look like a crook. I thought I'd give you a word of warning. You can take it or leave it. Goodbye."