"Thanks, pal. Did you bring out a special edition and tell the rest of the world too?"
"I did not," said the city editor primly. "I acted according to the agreement I made with you, as soon as I heard what had happened to Vaschetti."
"How did you hear?"
"The reporter who was supposed to be taking care of him and waiting for you arrived back at the office. I asked him what he thought he was doing, and he said he'd been given a message that I wanted him back at once. Since I hadn't sent any such message, I guessed something was going on. I wasn't any too happy about my own position, so I thought I'd better come over and look into it myself. I met Lieutenant Kinglake downstairs, and I told him what I knew."
"And so we come up here," Kinglake said comfortably, "and catch the Saint just like this."
The repetition of names ultimately made its impression on the comatose house detective.
"Gosh," he exhaled, with a burst of awed excitement, "he's the Saint!" He looked disappointed when nobody seemed impressed by his great discovery, and retired again behind his cigar. He said sullenly: "He told me he was the police."
"He told the assistant manager the same thing," Kinglake said with some satisfaction. "A charge of impersonating an officer will hold him till we get something better."
Simon studied the Lieutenant's leathery face seriously for a moment.
"You know," he said, "something tells me you really mean to be difficult about this."