"Is this-a Mr. Templar I have-a da honour to spik to?" asked Naccaro, doffing his bowler elaborately.
"This is one Mr. Templar," admitted the Saint cautiously.
"Ha!" said Mr. Naccaro. "It is-a da Saint himself?"
"So I'm told," Simon answered.
"Then you are da man we look-a for," stated Mr. Naccaro, with profound conviction.
As if taking it for granted that all the necessary formalities had therewith been observed, he bowed the girl in, bowed himself in after her, and stalked into the living-room. Simon closed the door and followed the deputation with a certain curious amusement.
"Well, brother," he murmured, taking a cigarette from the box on the table. "Who are you, and what can I do for you?"
The flourishing bowler hat bowed the girl into one chair, bowed its owner into another, and came to rest on its owner's knees.
"Ha!" said the Italian, rather like an acrobat announcing the conclusion of a trick. "I am Domenick Naccaro!"
"That must be rather nice for you," murmured the Saint amiably. He waved his cigarette towards the girl and her bundle. "Did you come here to breed?"