“Apart from his obvious phoniness,” said the Saint, “I know I had something when I shook hands with him. He looks like one of the idle rich, but he has corns on his hands like a laborer. He didn’t get them from pottering about in his garden. He’s been doing several years at hard labor.”
The girl’s hand shook a little as she drew at the cigarette.
“And he’s waiting for me downstairs!”
“I’m sure it would take a lot to keep him away.”
“We must tell the police!”
“Not yet. We still haven’t got enough evidence for a murder charge against him. And we still want that other medal. So we’re going to meet him just as if you didn’t expect a thing.”
“I couldn’t!”
Simon Templar gazed down at her with level blue eyes in which the steel was barely discernible.
“You must, Valerie. And you must go along with anything I say, no matter how absurd it sounds. You said you’d let me help you. I haven’t done badly so far, have I? You’ve got to let me finish the job.”