Simon dropped two lumps of sugar into his cup and stirred it lugubriously.
"Pat," he said, "you may put this down in your notes for our textbook on Crime — the perfect confidence trick, Version Two. Let me tell you about it."
She lighted a cigarette slowly, staring at him.
"The Mug," said the Saint deliberately, "meets an Unpleasant Man. The Unpleasant Man purposely makes himself out to be so sharp that no normally healthy Mug could resist the temptation to do him down if the opportunity arose; and he may credit himself with a title just to remove all suspicion. The Unpleasant Man has something to sell — it might be a brass Buddha, valued at fifteen shillings, for which he's got to realize some fantastic sum like two thousand quid under the terms of an eccentric will. The Mug admits that the problem is difficult, and passes out into the night."
Simon annexed Patricia's cigarette, and inhaled from it.
"Shortly afterwards," he said, "the Mug meets the Nice American who is looking for a very special brass Buddha valued at fifteen thousand bucks. The nice American gives away certain information which allows the Mug to perceive, beyond all possible doubt, that this rare and special Buddha is the very one for which the Unpleasant Man was trying to get what he thought was the fantastic price of two thousand quid. The Mug, therefore, with the whole works taken right down into his stomach — hook, line and sinker — dashes around to the Unpleasant Man and gives him his two thousand quid. And he endorses a receipt saying he knows it's only worth fifteen bob, so that the Unpleasant Man can prove himself innocent of deception. Then the Mug goes to meet the Nice American and collect his profit… And, Pat, I regret to say that he pays for his own lunch."
The Saint gazed sadly at the folded bill which a waiter had just placed on the table.
Patricia was wide-eyed.
"Simon! Did you —"
"I did. I paid two thousand quid of our hard-won boodle to the perambulating sausage —"