"You've been reading some good books," said the Saint, and his smile was serene but watchful. "It looks as if you have what is known as the Bulge — for the time being anyway. So where do we go from here? Would you like us to sing and dance for you? Hoppy's just discovered that he can yodel, and he's dying for an audience."
"I'm afraid we haven't time for that. Jopley—"
The driver came out of his temporary stupor. He thrust himself forward and retrieved his gun from the Saint's pocket and shuffled crabwise around the room in the direction of the door, keeping well clear of the girl's line of fire. Remembering the stage at which their conversation had been interrupted, the Saint could understand why he had not been so quick to seize his opportunity as might have been expected, and a malicious twinkle came into his gaze.
"What — you don't want him, do you?" he said. "We thought we'd do you a good turn and take him off your hands."
"I came back for him," she said, "so I suppose I do want him."
Simon acknowledged the argument with a slight movement of his head.
"You didn't waste much time about it either," he said appreciatively. "How did you track him down — by smell?"
"I followed you. I pulled into a side turning in West Holme and waited to see if you'd go that way. Then I just kept behind you. It wasn't difficult."
It didn't sound very difficult when the trick was explained. The Saint sighed ruefully at the reflection of his own thoughtlessness.
"That's the worst of lorries," he complained. "It's so hard to notice what's behind you. Something ought to be done about it… But I hope you'll take care of Algernon if you're borrowing him. We were just starting to get matey."