Fernack took a breath.
"I don't know."
"Did you talk to him yourself?"
"Yes. He asked for me."
"Why?"
"People do sometimes. Besides, it's been published quite a bit that I'm the man who's supposed to do something about you."
"Fame is a wonderful thing," said the Saint admiringly. "And what did this anonymous fan of yours have to report?"
"He said: 'I was passing Mr Linnet's house on East Sixty-third Street, and I saw a man who looked as if he was breaking in. He looked just like the pictures of that fellow the Saint. I didn't get it at first, and then when I did I walked back and there were noises | in the house as if there was a fight going on.' "
Simon nodded a number of times with the gravest respect.
"I can see that I shouldn't have underestimated your public," he drawled. "They come from a very talented class. They know' just whose house they're passing on any street in town. With their catlike eyes, they can recognise characters like me in dark corners in a dimout. They can tell at a glance whether I'm trying to break in, or whether I'm just looking for the bell or the right key. And of course they know that you're the only officer in New York to call out on a case like that. They wouldn't dream of losing face by just mentioning it to the first cop they met on his beat."