"I did."
"Then," said Cullis deliberately, "what is more natural than that you should have in your possession a five-pound note which can be traced back to Waldstein's account?"
The Saint looked at him. And the Saint smiled, and shook his head.
"Not good enough," he said. "That might possibly be made to account for this note which I've got here; but will it account for the others which can probably still be found somewhere among your belongings?"
"Which you could have planted there."
"That excuse didn't save Sir Francis Trelawney," said the Saint, cold as a judge. "Why should you think it will save you?"
Their eyes met for a long while, and then Cullis took a slow step forward. His face had become a mask of granite.
"I see," he said again, very slowly.
"So glad you appreciate the point," said the Saint. "It is going to be a bit awkward for you, isn't it? But it ought to go a long way towards clearing Sir Francis Trelawney's name."
"And who," said Cullis, in the same soft voice, "is going to make a search of my possessions before I have time to get those notes out of the way?"