Simon Templar's house on St George's Hill was not easily found at night, but Hoppy Uniatz knew every inch of that aristocratic neighbourhood with its nameless roads and its discreetly hidden residences which were far too exclusive to be demeaned by ordinary numbers. The passengers in the car caught vague glimpses of pine trees and silver birches which rose from the rolling banks of rhododendrons and bracken.
There were bright lights in the windows as the limousine came to a standstill outside the front door; and a man with a loose walrus moustache and a curious strutting limp came out on the step.
"Here we are, Orace," said Patricia as she got out.
"Yer lyte," replied Orace unemotionally.
He took charge of the suitcases and showed no surprise at seeing three of the prettiest girls in England follow Patricia out of the car. If they had been three performing kangaroos he wouldn't even have blinked. Years of employment in Simon Templar's service had deprived him of any quality of surprise he might have once possessed.
"Dinner narf a minnit," he said when they were in the hall, and stumped off to his own quarters.
"He means it too," smiled Patricia. "But for once Orace and the dinner must be kept waiting."
She led them into the living room and looked from Irene Cromwell to Sheila Ireland with quiet calmness. Mr Uniatz, who had helped to carry the bags in, licked his lips and gazed longingly at the cocktail cabinet, where liquor was always to be found in plenty and in great variety. But he caught Patricia's warning eye, and he knew that the time for refreshment had not yet come. His impersonation of a police officer was no longer important, but Patricia Holm felt that the sudden shock of Mr Uniatz's speech would be lessened if she explained certain other things to her guests beforehand.
"You'll forgive me, I hope, for practising a small deception," she said, in her forthright way. "Miss Avery knows that I'm not really connected with Scotland Yard. I am Patricia Holm, and this house belongs to Simon Templar."
"You mean — the Saint?" asked Irene with a little quiver of excitement and incredulity.