"An inferior poison, as compared to beer, but perhaps more warming," he said.
They drank gratefully, and felt the cold recede from the radiant trickle of Three Star. And then the Saint gave her a cigarette and lighted one for himself.
"Where did you tell the chauffeur to drive?" she asked.
"Reading. We can go on to London from there in the morning: I don't want too many people to know all our movements. Teal found my Sloane Street address quickly enough, but it was never my best hidey-hole. I've got another little place in Chelsea that I'll swear he's never even dreamed about. You can make that your home, and I'll go back to Upper Berkeley Mews quite openly, just to annoy Claud Eustace. I might even ring him up and ask him to toddle over and chew some gum with me."
He could see her face in the faint glow as she drew at her cigarette.
"I suppose the Saints have to depart?" she said.
He struck a match to see her better, and his eyebrows went up with the trickle of smoke exhaled.
"Why?"
She hesitated. Then—
"I thought you meant you were cutting out."