"Who's that?" asked Graham feverishly.
"You!"
The word hit Graham in the midriff and almost doubled him up. He gaped at the Saint with his Adam's apple jigging up and down like a yo-yo for some seconds before his voice came back.
"Me?" he croaked.
"Who else? You were the last person in the flat. You were very steamed up about seeing Ingleston. You were fuming when the maid slung you out. The last thing you told her was that you'd have something to say to Ingleston later. It's the sort of clue that even a policeman couldn't miss. They're looking for you now… Which reminds me."
He reached out for the telephone and called the porter's desk downstairs.
"That you, Sam?… Simon Templar speaking. You know that bloke who came to see me earlier this morning, who went out with me?… No, you're wrong. He didn't come back. In fact he never came here at all. You never saw him in your life. Nobody's been to see me today. Have you got that?… Good man."
Graham was still breathing heavily.
"But — but—"
"I know," said the Saint patiently. "But let's take things one at a time. Teal's sure to make enquiries here — in fact I wouldn't mind betting that he's already got a team of flatfeet galumphing along here to pick up my trail. So long as they can't definitely hook you up with me it'll be something in your favour, my reputation being what it is. They'll draw your digs and your office, of course, but that doesn't matter. It's a good job you didn't leave those bonds at home, though, or they'd have had a warrant out for you by this time."