The girl bit her lip.
“I...I’ve got to do something,” she stammered. “I don’t know how to say it — I hate asking you, after all this — but I’ve got to have something to see me through till the bank gets a reply from Boston, and they can’t do that till after the week-end. Or when Jack gets to Innsbruck about Tuesday — I can send a wire to him there. I... I know I’m practically a stranger, but if you could lend me just enough—”
“My dear,” said the Saint blandly, “I should be delighted. But I haven’t got it to lend.”
Her eyes opened wide.
“You haven’t got it?”
She spread out a brown hand.
“Take a look. My luggage went off in advance this afternoon. All I’m going to need — toothbrush and towel and blankets — is in my rucksack. My bill here is paid, and I’ve got about forty marks in my belt — enough to buy food and beer. I can’t get any more till I get to Bolzano. I couldn’t even send you on to Innsbruck — the third-class fare for one is about fifteen marks, and the remaining twenty-five wouldn’t feed me.”
She stared at him aghast. Her pretty mouth quivered. There was a moistness very close to the tears of sheer hysterical fright in her eyes.
“But what on earth am I going to do?” she wailed.
Simon lighted a cigarette, and allowed his gaze to return to her face.