The Saint looked at him almost without seeing him, and a faint aimless smile touched his lips.
"Nothing," he said. "Can you drive a car?"
"Fairly well."
"Drive this one. She's a bit of a handful, so you'd better take it easy. Don't put your foot down too quickly, or you'll find yourself a mile or two ahead of yourself."
"But—"
"Go back to my place. You'll find a girl there — name of Patricia Holm. I'll phone her and tell her you're on your way. She'll give you a drink and prattle to you till I get back. I'd like to pay this call alone."
"But—"
Simon swung his legs over the side and pushed himself off onto the pavement.
"That seems to be quite a favourite word of yours," he remarked. "On your way, brother. You can tell me all about it presently."
He stood and watched the Hirondel take a leap forward like a goosed antelope and then crawl on up the road with a very mystified young man clinging grimly to the steering wheel; and then he turned into a convenient tobacconist's and put a call through to Patricia.