They were at Upper Berkeley Mews, where they had repaired for a very late supper, but it was more like breakfast than anything else.
Then the story of Lord Essenden was told, and also the story of Waldstein, and the chief commissioner's verdict was given. He looked at the girl and smiled.
"I believe you," he said. "There's the Saint to back you up in the story of Essenden, and now that I know you a little better I'm not sure that I should question it even without that. As for the rest, outside of our four selves there is no one left alive who knows anything worth knowing. And I don't think any of us will ask for trouble. We've had enough of the Angels of Doom."
He looked across at Teal for confirmation, and Chief Inspector Teal nodded drowsily. He seemed to be on the point of falling asleep.
"And the 'Wanted for Murder' business?" asked the Saint.
"That can be forgotten. Fresh evidence has come to light, and the charge has been withdrawn. That can be arranged without any fuss. And if Miss Trelawney is going back to the States—"
"I want," said Chief Inspector Teal, with a sudden and startling loudness, "to wash my hands."
Three pairs of eyes revolved slowly in their sockets and centred on him with an intentness that would have shattered the nerve of a lesser man, but Chief Inspector Teal suffered his blushing honours without visible emotion.
And then the Saint laughed.
"But of course," he said. "There's a barrel of very good beer in the kitchen — you might try that. Duodecimo's out there blowing himself tight with Chianti, but Orace will move him on if you say the word… Will you want any soap?"