"God!" he muttered shakily. "Are you a lunatic?"
"No," said the Saint mildly. "But I'm afraid you'll look like one if you waste any time denying that you're the Z-Man. By the way, did you notice that in your perturbation you said 'God' just now instead of 'Gott'? You want to watch little details like that when you disguise yourself. Respectable manufacturers' agents don't keep guns in their desk drawers, either — or any other kind of drawers, if it comes to that. Besides, I heard Mr Gump — Mr Raddon to you — talking to you over the phone. He made an appointment for tomorrow. That's why I'm here this evening."
The Z-Man stared at him without speaking, rolling a pencil monotonously between his fingers. The sudden shattering discovery that the notorious Saint knew so much must have hit him like a blow in the stomach. Recovery was not easy. Meanwhile Simon had leisure to inspect his victim with greater care. His sight had accommodated itself to the unequal lighting, and he was able to form a fair picture of Mr Zeidelmann's appearance.
He had to acknowledge that if he had set out to feast his eyes he was doomed to be disappointed again. Mr Zeidelmann was no feast except in sheer quantity. He was grossly fat, with a great swelling belly which occupied all the space between his chair and the desk. A thick woollen muffler was bundled round his neck, and above it the Saint could catch only a glimpse of the dark beard which camouflaged the shape of his chin. Big horn-rimmed spectacles with clumsily thick rims covered his eyes, and a wide-brimmed soft hat was pulled well down over his forehead.
"You know, brother, if you're one of the curios I wouldn't want you on my mantelpiece," observed the Saint critically. "You remind me of a great, fat, overgrown slug. Only in appearance of course; for slugs are highly moral and inoffensive creatures, and their only crime is to sneak up on your lettuces at night and test their succulency. By the way, I wonder if you leave a visible trail of slime behind you wherever you go?"
"You make the mistake!" Zeidelmann said gutturally. "I nodding vot you say understand. I am not this man you say. You come here, und you insult me—"
"And call you a slug—"
"Und say I am a Z-Man, votever that iss," proceeded Mr Zeidelmann wrathfully. "I tell you, you make the mistake. You are one pig fool."
"You can't get away with it, Ariolimax Agrestis — which, believe it or not, is what Mama Slug calls Papa Slug when she wants to cut a dash," said the Saint imperturbably. "You didn't know I was such a walking encyclopedia, did you? There's no mystery about it really. You see, slug, I always make a point of knowing everything there is to be known about obnoxious vermin and pernicious germ life."
"Vill you go avay?" thundered Mr Zeidelmann.