He strolled across the lobby to the little newsstand and glanced quickly over its wares. A guidebook with a shiny stiff paper cover caught his eye, and he bought it, and wiped the cover briskly with his handkerchief while he waited for his change. He walked back, holding the book by one corner, to where M Olivant was taking his talkative leave of Valerie North.
“I come ’ere, zen, at five o’clock. I ’ave so much to tell you about your poor fahzer, and what ’e does for us in ze Resistance before ze Gestapo take ’im... To sink I ’ave not see you since you were such a leetle girl!”
“I’ll look forward to it,” said the girl, self-consciously letting her hand be kissed, and looked at the Saint. “May I run upstairs just for a minute and see my room before we go?”
“Sure.”
As she left, Simon showed M Olivant his book, holding it in such a way that the other was practically forced to take it.
“M Olivant, would you say this was any good?”
Olivant took the book and thumbed perfunctorily through a few pages.
“Eet is probably quite ’elpful, Mr Tombs. So you don’t work ’ere all ze time?”
“No, this is a special assignment”
“Ah. I ’ope you make a good story.”