Fulton shook his head. He was a few years older than the girl, and Simon liked the clean-cut good looks of him.
"Don't worry about me," he said. "You try to get Meryl back. I'm going to make this prehistoric wreck move under its own steam if I stay here all night."
Meryl Vascoe was already in the Saint's car; and Simon returned to the wheel with a grin and a shrug. For a little while he was completely occupied with finding out just how high an unlawful speed he could make through traffic. When the Saint set out to do some fast travelling it was a hair-raising performance: but Meryl Vascoe's hair was fortunately raise-proof. She spent some minutes repairing various imperceptible details of her almost flawless face, and then she touched his knee anxiously.
"When we get there, just put me down at the comer," she said. "I'll run the rest of the way. You see, if Father saw you drive up to the door he'd be sure to ask questions."
" 'What are you doing with that scoundrel?' " Simon said melodramatically. " 'Don't you know that he can't be trusted with a decent woman?' "
She laughed.
"That isn't what I'm worried about," she said. "Though I don't suppose he'd be very enthusiastic about our being together — I haven't forgotten what a scene we had about that dance where you picked me up and took me off to the Cafй de Paris for the rest of the night. But the point is that I don't want him to know that I've been out driving at all."
"Why not?" asked the Saint, reasonably. "The sun is shining. London is beginning to develop its summer smell. What could you do that would be better and healthier than taking a day in the country?"
She looked at him guardedly, hesitating.
"Well — then I ought to have gone out in my own car, with one of the chauffeurs. But he'd be furious if he knew I'd been out with Bill Fulton, so when I went out this afternoon I told him that I was going shopping with an old school friend."