4
Simon Templar came out of the front gates of the Embassy and stood on the sidewalk for a while, gazing idly up and down the Via Vittorio Veneto, like a man trying to make up his mind where to go. What he wanted was to be sure that anyone who might already be watching for him outside would not be left flat-footed by too sudden a departure.
Presently he walked a few steps to the entrance of the Hotel Excelsior, which was only next door. He paused inside to give the lobby a leisurely survey, and at the same time to give the population of the lobby plenty of time to survey him. Then he crossed to the porter’s desk.
“Do you have any messages for me?” He added, very clearly. “The name is Templar — Simon Templar.”
“Your room number, sir?”
“Six-seventeen.”
The porter examined his pigeonholes.
“No, Mr Templar.”
“Thank you. Where is the cocktail bar?”
“On the left, sir, down the stairs.”