“Better call Valmon,” he said over his shoulder.
The thin man nodded, and went over to a corner where there was an old-fashioned wall telephone. He took off the receiver and cranked it.
Presently he said, “This is Eberhardt. The Saint is here. He came to the mine, and Neumann and I caught him.”
His voice was as thin as he was, with a strongly accented whine. He listened for a while and said “Ja.” Then he said “Okay,” and hung up the receiver and came back.
“They’ll be right up,” he said.
Simon gazed at the two men pleasantly.
“It’s rather an unusual way to announce a visitor,” he remarked, “but I suppose you have the real welcoming spirit underneath it all. By the way, will you offer me a cigarette or shall I smoke my own?”
“You can smoke,” Neumann said stolidly. “But don’t try any funny business.”
The Saint took out a pack of cigarettes, and took a cigarette from the pack. He flicked a match with his thumb-nail and lighted it.
“Incidentally,” he went on, in the same easy conversational tone, “how is the good old Bund making out these days? You must feel sort of lost with your Gauleiter in the sneezer and so many new laws everywhere about your marching around and heiling Hitler.”