"You must remember to take that microphone out of his office first thing in the morning," he remarked. "It might spoil things if Titus came across it, and I don't think you'll need to listen any more… Here, where did you get that from?"
"From sowing my wild Oates," said Patricia angelically, as the waitress departed with a five-pound note on her tray.
Simon Templar regarded her admiringly.
"Darling," he said at length, "there are no limits to your virtues. If you're as rich as that, you can not only buy me another Old Fashioned but you can take me to dinner at the Barcelona as well."
On the way to the restaurant he bought an Evening Standard and opened it at the table.
"Midorient closed at 21," he said. "It looks as if we shall have to name a ward in our Old Age Home for Retired Burglars after Comrade Oates."
"How much shall we make if we buy and sell with him?" asked the girl.
The Saint smiled.
"I'm afraid we should lose a lot of money," he said. "You see, Titus isn't going to sell."
She stared at him, mystified; and he closed the menu and laughed at her silently.