The butler glowered.
"Miss Trelawney is out," he said.
"You lie, Ferdinand," said the Saint pleasantly, and went on up the stairs.
He really had no idea whether the butler was lying or not, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt. As it happened, this generous impulse was justified, for Jill Trelawney opened the door of the sitting room just as Simon put his hand on the knob.
"Hullo," said the Saint amiably.
His eyes flickered with an offensively secret mirth, and he caught the answering blaze from hers before she veiled them in a frozen inscrutability.
"Lovely day, Jill," remarked the Saint, very amiably.
She relaxed wearily against the jamb.
"My — sainted — aunt! Have you got away from your keeper again?"
"Looks like it," said the Saint apologetically. "Yes, I will stay to tea, thanks. Ring down to the kitchen and tell them not to mix arsenic with the sugar, because I don't take sugar. And it's no use putting strychnine in the milk, because I don't take milk. Just tell 'em to shovel the whole bag of tricks in the teapot."