And at that moment, with his uncanny genius for keeping his opponents in suspense, the Saint left the last word unsaid and strolled over to sit on the table, leaving the driver nothing but the threat of his own imagination.
"What's your name, Algernon?" he asked mildly.
"Jopley."
The word fell out after a tense pause, as if the man was fighting battles with himself.
"Been driving these trucks for long?"
"Wot's that got—"
"Been driving these trucks for long?"
"I bin drivin' 'em for a bit."
"Do pretty well out of it?"
The driver was silent again for a space, but this time his silence was not due to obstinacy. His frown probed at the Saint distrustfully; but Simon was blowing wisps of smoke at the ceiling.