"Play it for me," said the Saint. "And miss out the middle verse."
He went on towards Buckingham Palace Road as soon as he had heard the introductory bars moaned out on the machine; and his departure was watched by vengeful eyes from the drawing-room window.
"You let him get clean away," snivelled Weald. "We had him—"
"Don't be an imbecile!" snapped the girl. "He only came to see if he could tempt us into doing anything foolish. And if we had, he'd have been tickled to death. And I just asked him to come so I could get to know a little more about him, for future reference. He's—"
"What's that bull with the organ singing?"
They listened. The words of the unmelodious performance came clearly to their ears. The troubadour, startled by the magnitude of the Saint's largesse, was putting his heart into the job.
"Maaaye fairest chiiild-da, I have no gift to giiive
theeee; No lark-ka could pipe-pa to skies sow dull and
gra-a-ay;
Yet-ta, ere I gow, one lesson I can leeeave theeee For every da-a-ay…"