"But it is true, sair."
"Which policeman?" inquired the Saint skeptically.
"A big man — with a moustache — like this—"
Gugliemi frowned down his eyebrows, twisted his mouth, and thrust out his jaw in a caricature which the Saint recognized at once. So did Jill.
"Cullis!"
Simon sat down on the bed, regarding the Italian with a thoughtful air.
"But how did you get here?" Jill was asking.
"Oh, I breezed along," said the Saint. "As a matter of fact, I was coming round to see you. My respectable friend thought he'd like to meet you, so I was sent off to bring you along. Just as I turned the corner by the studio I saw you get into a car and drive away. There wasn't a taxi in sight to give chase in, and in the circumstances I couldn't raise happy hell in the street. But I nailed down the number of the decamping dimbox, and then it was easy enough to find out who the owner was."
"But how did you do that?"
"I consulted a clairvoyant," said the Saint, "and he told me at once. It took a bit of time, though. However, I got the man just as he was putting the car away in the garage. He was persuaded to talk—"