The Saint became mercenary. This was a language which Louie Fallon could talk, much as he disliked it. He offered to return the money which Simon had invested. He did, in fact, actually return the money; and the Saint wavered. Louie became reckless. He was not quite as broke as he had tried to tell Mr. Solomon.
"I could give you five hundred pounds," he said. "That's a quick profit for you, isn't it? And you would still have your salary as manager."
"Five hundred pounds isn't a lot of money," said the Saint callously.
Louie winced, but he held on. After some further argument, in which he played a tragically unsuccessful part, a bonus of fifteen hundred pounds was agreed on.
"I'll go round to the bank and get it for you right away," he said.
He did not go round to the bank, because he had no bank account; but he went to see Mr. Solomon, who on such occasions served an almost equally useful purpose. Louie's credit was good, and he was able to secure a loan to make up the deficiencies in his own purse at a purely nominal fifty per cent interest. He hurried back to the flat where he had left Simon Templar and stuck the notes into his hand — it was the only time Mr. Fallon had ever parted gladly with any sum of money.
"Now I shall have to get to work," said Mr. Fallon, indicating that he wished to be alone.
"What about my contract as manager?" murmured the Saint.
"I'll ring up my solicitor and ask him to fix it right away," Louie promised him. "Come round and see me again tomorrow, and I'll have it waiting for you."
Five minutes after Simon Templar had left him, he was tearing back to Mr. Solomon in a taxi, with the paraphernalia from his washstand stacked up on the seat, and his suitcases beside him.