"Is that a bet?" he said temptingly.
"Do you expect me to put it in writing?"
He smiled back at her.
"I'll take your word for it… We must tell the newspapers."
He left her to puzzle a little over that last remark, but by the time she went to bed she had forgotten it. Consequently she had a second spell of puzzlement a couple of mornings later when she listened to the twittering voice of one of her society acquaintances on the telephone.
"My dear, how too original! Quite the cleverest thing I ever heard of!.. Oh, now you're just playing innocent! Of course it's in all the papers! And on the front page, too!.. How did you manage it? My dear, I'm madly jealous! The Saint could steal anything I've got, and I mean anything! He must be the most fascinating man — isn't he?"
"He is, darling, and I'll tell him about your offer," said the countess instinctively.
She hung up the microphone and said: "Silly old cow!" There had been another ball the night before, in aid of a seamen's mission or a dogs' hospital or something, and she had had to deal with the usual charitable ration of champagne and brandy; at that hour of the morning after her reactions were not as sharp as they became later in the day. Nevertheless, a recollection of the Saint's parting words seeped back into her mind with a slight shock. She took three aspirins in a glass of whisky and rang for some newspapers.
She didn't even have to open the first one. The item pricked her in the eyes just as the sheet was folded: