"Yes," she squawked.
"This is Inspector Fernack of Centre Street," clacked the diaphragm. "I suppose you've seen that story about the Saint and yourself in the papers?"
"Oh yes," said the countess sweetly. "I was just reading it. Isn't it simply delightful?"
"That isn't for me to say," answered the detective in a laboured voice. "But if this is a serious threat we shall have to take steps to protect your property."
"Take steps — Oh, but I don't want to make it too easy for him. He always seems to get away with everything when the police are looking out for him."
There was a strangled pause at the other end of the wire. Then:
"You mean that this is really only a publicity stunt?"
"Now, now," said the countess coyly. "That would be telling, wouldn't it? Good-bye, Inspector."
She handed the telephone back to her maid.
"If that damn flatfoot calls again, tell him I'm out," she said. "Get me some more aspirin and turn on my bath."