“Look,” said Freddie Pellman belligerently. “Your name is Simon Templar, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Simon told him.
“You are the feller they call the Saint?”
“So I’m told.”
“The Robin Hood of modern crime?”
Simon was tolerant.
“That’s a rather fancy way of putting it.”
“Okay then,” Pellman lurched slightly on his bar stool, and took hold of his highball glass more firmly for support.
“You’re the man I want. I’ve got a job for you.”
The Saint sighed.