THERE was silence for some distance before Simon Templar condescended to make a remark or Jill Trelawney could think of one. Then—
"Lucky I rolled up," said the Saint calmly. "Saved you a taxi fare home."
She did not venture to inquire what he had been doing there himself, but a few minutes later he volunteered an explanation.
"But you oughtn't to be poaching on my preserves," he said aggrievedly. "I told you I was watching this place. After I'd left you, I went right back home and changed into more ordinary clothes and came along here in my own time. I just arrived in time to hear your bit of fancy shooting. Did you kill him?"
He put the question with such a cheerful carelessness that she had to laugh.
"I wasn't even trying to," she said mildly. "I probably shall one day, but that'll keep. Did you see much?"
"Only the exteriors."
"Then you must have seen the police," she said. "But you didn't offer to lend a hand."
He smiled.
"I was minding my own business," he said. "Your way out was easy enough, and I'd never heard you wanted chaperoning on these parties. If I'd thought you were likely to get in a jam, I'd have horned in; but since I saw the policeman waddling along a hundred yards astern with his suspenders bursting under the strain, and you skipping away like a young gazelle, I didn't see anything to get excited about. I've run too many races against the police myself, in my younger days, to get seriously worried about any policeman who's less than three miles in the lead when he starts chasing me. But it does them good to run, Jill — it shakes up their livers and stops their kidneys congealing."