"I shouldn't worry about that. We can always hold up a bank." The Saint watched her while she devoured a sandwich, a double order of bacon and eggs and a slice of pie. She ate intently, quickly, without speaking. Without seeming to stare at her, his keen eyes took in the shadows under her che'ekbones, the neat patch on one elbow of the cheap dark coat, the cracks in the leather of shoes which had long since lost their shape.
"I wish I had your appetite," he said gently, when at last she had finished.
She smiled for the first time, rather faintly.
"I haven't had anything to eat for two days," she said. "And I haven't had as much to eat as this all at once for a long time."
Simon ordered more coffee and offered her a cigarette. He put his heels up on the top rung of his stool and leaned his elbows on his knees. She told him her name, but for the moment he didn't answer with his own.
"Out of a job?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head.
"Not yet."
"You aren't on a diet by any chance, are you?"
"Yes. A nice rich diet of doughnuts and coffee, mostly." She smiled rather wearily at his puzzlement. "I work for Oppenheim."